THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 4:30am and 11:30am.
It’s the opening day of fishing season 2010. The freaking alarm clock is blasting near my head. I don’t even like fishing.
I don’t like the alarm clock. I don’t like fishing. It’s dark outside.
The alarm clock does not show seconds so all times noted are purely an estimation.
It’s exactly five minutes later. I hate the alarm clock. I hate fishing. I hate my pillow because it’s a little clumpy on the edges. I really don’t even care for the 12 year-old sleeping in the other room right now.
I’m dressed. Wife/mom promised last night to get up and make a special fishermen breakfast. Wife/mom needs to get up.
Wife/mom is showing signs of life.
The boy comes to life. He tells me he’s tired and I scream at him at the top of my lungs that I hate fishing.
Breakfast was great.
The creepy neighbor boy is now over and we finish packing the car.
We arrive and the tiny pond is surrounded by more creepy kids and some adults. Many of the adults are dressed as if they should be on some stupid fishing show. I’m tired and it’s cold. But the boy is happy. So I am happy too.
I have a pole in my hands with the line in the water. I’m praying that a fish does not bite my hook.
If this kid crosses my line one more time, the little jerk is going to accidently end up in the lake.
Some kid tells me that I have a nice fishing reel. His mom has a nice rack but I decide to keep it to myself. Thanks kid.
I’m cold so I put my hooded MudHogs Youth Football jacket on. It’s a high quality piece of outerware that I have hand-picked for our HogGear collection. It’s our most popular item. My mind is drifting. It’s a very warm jacket.
Dammit! I’ve been discovered. A football parent begins a conversation with me. He thinks his dopey kid can be a quarterback. The kid can’t even zip his own jacket.
I look way hipper than 80% of these other dads.
My Facebook app on my Blackberry is not working. I hate fishing. I’m cold. I have to pee. The boy looks so happy. I’m happy too.
There’s about 200 people here trying to catch the same five fish. Dumb.
The guy next to me is bleeding. Eww.
Time is not flying by.
There’s a duck in the middle of the pond. I hope some kid hooks it so we can all stone him and teach him a lesson.
People are smoking all around me. It’s a state park. Where’s the DEP guy? Hey these jackasses are flicking their cig butts on the ground near the water. Where is the freaking DEP guy when you need him? Pick up your BUTTS and get OUT of here. Should I scream it out loud… make a scene… make an example out of one of these clowns? Maybe I’ll just blog about it. I’m cold.
The DEP trucks just dumped 3000 more fish into the lake. Every person here has caught at least two fish. Some have caught so many that they are giving them away. The kid standing next to the boy has caught 19 fish. I know this because his annoying mother is counting them out loud as he reels them in. The boy who claims I am his father has not caught a single freaking fish. He’s a good sport though and congratulates the other kids whenever they yank one out of the water.
The boy is one hell of a castor. He can hit an area the size of a quarter. He just can’t hit an area the size of a fish’s mouth.
Damn fly fishermen! Here they come whipping their poles like a bunch of lion-tamers. Walk too closely behind one of the damn fools and you have a good chance of getting slapped in the lip… or the eye.
FINALLY! After a few tips from a wonderful fellow Fishman, the boy hooks two trout. Photo op. Woo-hoo! This is so much fun.
We are in the car with two suffocated fish in blue plastic bags. Two others are swimming in about eight inches of water in a white painters bucket. One of the fisher-guys had told me that I needed to pull the gills back and bleed the fish before bringing them home. I don’t do so well with blood unless it’s coming out of one of my own children.
“Reporting back home Madame President.”