The head, the tail...the whole damn thing

   I took a day off from my Journal to spend a little "family time" with my husband and daughter. This consisted of the 3 of us getting into our rowboat and fishing in the lake that is my namesake.

   I fish fairly well, for a person who refuses to handle any sort of bait. I grew up on a harbor, and have hung in the fisherman sub-culture. Every boyfriend I had for a few summers was involved in lobstering, tuna fishing, or fished- compulsively- as a hobby. I have caught a bluefish, a striper, a smallmouth bass and a pickerel. I have a tendency to name them, and then put them back.

   Scientists say that most fish lack the sensory receptors needed to feel pain. Still, I feel badly for the little SOBs when I get them to the boat/shore. "Fish out of water" is an evocative phrase- terror, disorientation, lack of breath- that doesn't do justice to the way they sort of flop around as I try to unhook them.

   The "family day" consisted of telling Gabby not to eat hooks, worms, life-jackets and whatever else she could get her little hands on. "Anything" would be good bait when fishing for a toddler. She repeatedly expressed surprise as she reeled in the plastic fish at the end of her Fisher-Price Fishing-Rod. It was the only fish pulled into our boat (The Lusitania II) that day.

   I sat for 3 hours in the pose of someone cooking marshmallows over a campfire. I managed to get the elusive inner-forearm sunburn, and fell on my butt in the surf as we brought our vessel ashore. As I sat in the water, my daughter attempted to "fish" me out- bonking me in the head with her plastic fish as she tried.

   Fishing is "fun" in the manner that sex is "profound" to a virgin. Eons of effort for a hurried, often anti-climatic act. The fun has to do with sensory deprivation. To truly fish, you have to go somewhere where absolutely nothing is happening. There is nothing to distract you- and after you soak in some nature, there is nothing to interest you. After a while, your senses demand invigoration. This leads to a heightened sense of interest when you think you feel a tug on your line. The catch- which is actually a hoot- is a mere commercial in a mini-series of anticipation.

   Still, we had a wonderful day in the sun as a family. Maybe Gabrielle will be drafted out of high school into the WNBA, make a million dollars, grow tired of her parents, divest herself of us, and be out of our lives- so we'd better cherish the time we all have together, while we can.

   To reel this back into sports, I will share a few stories. I always ask for comments, and I'm sure someone out there has a better version of the list I am about to put down. Please contribute to:

Fish Stories

- JL is fishing. He throws some mackerel on the hook and casts. He puts the rod in a holder, and waits. He runs up to his house to get beer, and he is back in maybe 2 minutes.

   His rod is gone. He looks all around, but the beach is empty. His wife, who was sunning near the rod, didn't see anyone go by it. He has had some police training, so he starts to look for footprints leading from where he had the rod. He instead follows a groove in the sand that leads straight to the ocean.

   He sees a faint wake, about 30 yards offshore. He stalks out after the rod, and gets it in neck-deep water. He then fights a striper for 5 minutes before finally getting it ashore. It was almost 4 feet long.

   If that striper had a friend who was a Mako Shark, they could have started a new kind of fishing.

- My husband was dozing in a canoe as I swam. I managed to sneak up on him, and got right beside the boat. I made just enough noise to wake him. As he looked over the side, I jumped up and pulled him into the water. I scared a letter out of his name.

   It looked just like the end of Friday the 13th, but with a younger, cuter Jason-ette.

-  We used to live on an ocean, and our yard was separated from the beach by a seawall. Fishermen there would surfcast from the seawall, which would add to the distance of a cast- much like a tower makes a good place to shoot arrows from.

   One night, my husband was fishing for striper- a type of sea bass, for all you inland people- as a Patriots pre-season game was starting. He decided that he could "have it all." He wanted to watch the Pats and keep fishing. He made a deep cast, then starts backing towards the house, without setting the line. He carries the rod- keeping slack in the line until he seated himself- in through a sliding door we had. It was a night game vs Tampa, and the beach was empty.

   He looked like a six and a half foot Beavis. We had just started to goof on him when he hooked up with a fish. He reeled from the couch for awhile, although he had to go to the wall in order to beach the beast. I never thought it could be done, and even the old salts were impressed.

   He caught a 36" striped bass, while drunkenly watching the football game on a couch. Had I been making love to him at the time, it would have been a Triple Play of Real Manhood. One rarely sees the TPORM. Only Ted Williams and Quint have done it, and they ain't around to share the secret.