Editor's note: This column appears in the November-December issue of New England Lacrosse Journal.
Stew Curran introduced himself to me on a lacrosse field in the mid-1990s with a perfectly placed shot and some choice words about just how pretty it was.
He told me it was about to be a long afternoon. It turned into a long friendship.
That was not my first impression, however. I had recently moved to Massachusetts and was recruited by friends to join their pretty bad team in a regional summer league; anxious to play again in an area where I didn’t know the landscape, I was raring to go.