North by Southleft

To conclude "Groo Week," it feels necessary to include Groo's opposite number, The Sage. As bright as Groo was dim, the Sage (and his dog, Mulch) often found himself thrown together with the wanderer. Like so many readers, the Sage felt affection for the poor dumb bugger.

A representative scene of their relationship is below. The Sage stumbled upon Groo fraying alone against dozens of soldiers. Groo was, as per usual, winning. Taking pity on the soldiers, the Sage shouted that Groo had the plague. The soldiers ran away, and the Sage was pleased. But as he turned to speak to Groo, he found the barbarian gone as well. The Sage looked around until...

It's not Noel Coward, but it's funny, consarn it.

...

Groo the Wanderer brought joy. Pure, goofy joy.

Among my many thousands of comics are only a handful of issues preserved in mylar bags. They are random comics here and there, usually bagged for no particular reason than one was handy as I was putting the comic away. Only one spot in one longbox holds an uninterrupted string of carefully-bagged issues. Ayup. Groo is the only comic I ever bothered to protect like that. I love them so.

Groo the Wanderer was a well-drawn book crammed with detail and style, starring a good-hearted killing machine with the brain of a turnip. The book was jam-packed with poetry, jokes, and references to gardening.

It is one of the greats.

And yet there is more. For beyond these great qualities, there is also its philosophical merit, unparalleled in comics.

Is there another comic that so encapsulates the human condition?

I think not.

VIVA EL GROO!

Cheese dip for everyone, on me!