Captain, my Captain

As they say in Hollywood, know how to make an entrance. The Day we met Emilio Estevez.

The day we met Emilio Estevez was one of those experiences that feels even more implausible today than it did when it happened. And like all things that collect dust in ye ole memory bank, the telling of the tale is subject to historic levels of inaccuracy and subjectivity.

Like — I’m pretty sure he didn’t ride in on an elephant singing show tunes. But maybe he did. Maybe in some alternative universe, he is still on that elephant, quacking for all us sinners. So, please take everything I’m about to share as being mostly accurate. I did a lot of acid in my twenties, banged my head for recreation, and survived enough trauma to forever make things in the distant past fuzzy. But through the haze, a few things stand out in technicolor.

Like the day he arrived at hockey camp and became our coach.