Full disclosure: I love Jim Wilbur. Not many people can pull off the grumpy lovable guy thing. I can see him rolling his eyes at that statement–stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking away in a ratty old man cardigan. A million years ago (also known as the early ’90s), Jim and my friend, Liz, were boyfriend and girlfriend. Steve and I would hang out with them almost every weekend, playing a card game called Pooch and drinking beer.  After a few drinks, Jim would threaten to…