As I pondered what I was going to blog about today, my wife reminded me that I am supposed to do a follow-up to lasts week’s post….buuuut I’m totally over it! And since this is my blog and nobody can tell me what to do, I am going to share a fall back story that I have been saving for a rainy day where my creativity seems to be lacking severely (today qualifies as one of those days).
A lifetime of living around old people in Utah has taught me one thing: a real man has a great fishing story and a great BYU football story. (I totally made that up, there are several things I have learned from my elders and that actually isn’t one of them, but it’s essential to set up the story.) At the age of 26 I finally have one of my own that better be passed down from generation to generation. Lucky for you it’s a combo story, a football and fishing story all rolled into one…a fishootball story!!! Ideally this story should be told in front of a chalkboard so that a suitable diagram could be constructed, but we’ll have to make do.
A week before the beloved Cougs set out for Arlington to take on the highly ranked Sooners of Oklahoma, I took a Thursday evening fishing trip up the mighty Provo River with a fellow angler (he’s an angler, I like to consider myself more of a “fisher of men” if you know what I mean). After arriving at one of our favorite spots and experiencing little success, I decided to head upstream a ways and look for more uncharted territory. A log—seemingly placed in the river by divine intervention about 15 feet out from the shore—provided a perfect place for me to work my magic. As I waded through the river to the log the cold water caused the 44 oz. Diet Coke that I had just sucked down to digest more rapidly than it would have otherwise.
After about 15 minutes of complete solitude, I figured it would be safe for me to answer the call of nature from my current location, as a trek back through the frigid water would only make my dilemma all the more urgent. I strategically positioned myself in such a way that if somebody did come from the path I would be shielded by a tree back on the bank and if they came from the opposite direction only my backside would be in view and would be less revealing and obvious.
As I started peeing (sorry, I truly sat here for 15 minutes trying to find a more appropriate way to say that and for the life of me…), I was startled by a rustling in the bushes directly in front of me, but I took comfort in the assumption that it was just one of the members of a family of beavers that passed by about two minutes before. So you can imagine my horror when BRONCO MENDENHALL popped out of the thicket with a full frontal nudity shot of me being too lazy to find a more private location. The awkwardness was so thick you could cut it with scissors.
Five minutes later I landed the most beautiful rainbow trout I have ever caught in that river and feeling the need to put the past behind me I stupidly and boyishly said, “Hey Bronco, check out my fish!” He politely replied, “That’s a nice lookin’ fish,” and then he looked at me with these eyes that seemed to say “I know you know who I am, and I know that you know I come up here to be alone, so if you are going to fish next to me let’s keep the chit-chat to minimum.”
Despite having embarrassed myself in front of one of my idols, I did walk away with a feeling of pride having outfished the coach. The very next Thursday I went back up to fish that exact same spot to see if I could have some more luck, but somebody had beat me to it…Bronco Mendenhall!
A lifetime of living around old people in Utah has taught me one thing: a real man has a great fishing story and a great BYU football story. (I totally made that up, there are several things I have learned from my elders and that actually isn’t one of them, but it’s essential to set up the story.) At the age of 26 I finally have one of my own that better be passed down from generation to generation. Lucky for you it’s a combo story, a football and fishing story all rolled into one…a fishootball story!!! Ideally this story should be told in front of a chalkboard so that a suitable diagram could be constructed, but we’ll have to make do.
A week before the beloved Cougs set out for Arlington to take on the highly ranked Sooners of Oklahoma, I took a Thursday evening fishing trip up the mighty Provo River with a fellow angler (he’s an angler, I like to consider myself more of a “fisher of men” if you know what I mean). After arriving at one of our favorite spots and experiencing little success, I decided to head upstream a ways and look for more uncharted territory. A log—seemingly placed in the river by divine intervention about 15 feet out from the shore—provided a perfect place for me to work my magic. As I waded through the river to the log the cold water caused the 44 oz. Diet Coke that I had just sucked down to digest more rapidly than it would have otherwise.
After about 15 minutes of complete solitude, I figured it would be safe for me to answer the call of nature from my current location, as a trek back through the frigid water would only make my dilemma all the more urgent. I strategically positioned myself in such a way that if somebody did come from the path I would be shielded by a tree back on the bank and if they came from the opposite direction only my backside would be in view and would be less revealing and obvious.
As I started peeing (sorry, I truly sat here for 15 minutes trying to find a more appropriate way to say that and for the life of me…), I was startled by a rustling in the bushes directly in front of me, but I took comfort in the assumption that it was just one of the members of a family of beavers that passed by about two minutes before. So you can imagine my horror when BRONCO MENDENHALL popped out of the thicket with a full frontal nudity shot of me being too lazy to find a more private location. The awkwardness was so thick you could cut it with scissors.
Five minutes later I landed the most beautiful rainbow trout I have ever caught in that river and feeling the need to put the past behind me I stupidly and boyishly said, “Hey Bronco, check out my fish!” He politely replied, “That’s a nice lookin’ fish,” and then he looked at me with these eyes that seemed to say “I know you know who I am, and I know that you know I come up here to be alone, so if you are going to fish next to me let’s keep the chit-chat to minimum.”
Despite having embarrassed myself in front of one of my idols, I did walk away with a feeling of pride having outfished the coach. The very next Thursday I went back up to fish that exact same spot to see if I could have some more luck, but somebody had beat me to it…Bronco Mendenhall!
Dude, beautiful rendition of a classic story. This story will be told from generation to generation. And in keeping with traditional storytelling it will end up one day being told with bits of exaggeration. Like Bronco offering tickets to the BYU-OKLA if you tell him what flies you were using to which you politely decline by saying "Bronco, I will tell you if you guarantee me a win on opening day". And we all know how that turned out.
ReplyDeleteThat is one big fish story Jared.
ReplyDeleteIt doesn't matter who caught what or who saw what. It’s they both had a story to tell. The fishing story is always bigger in the eye of the beholder. Wink Wink The moral of the story is: When fly fishing don't forget your flies :)
ReplyDeleteWho is Bronco Mendenhall?
ReplyDeleteI don't know why you had to sit for 15 minutes coming up with another way to say pee. It took me less than 30 seconds to "google" it and came across a website that is seriously called otherwordsforstuff!! No need to waste precious minutes debating over another appropriate way to say pee I got you covered. "tinkle","Tap A Kidney,"squirt the dirt," or "going to meet a man about a horse" just to name a few.
ReplyDelete~you are welcome
ReplyDeleteWhat kind of Defense do you think Bronco would play if you charged him in the forest?
ReplyDelete4-3?
Cover-two?
I bet he'd have some sort of blitz package.
I wonder if he was rustling through the bushes to find bait........ Im sure what he saw wasn't the worm he was lookin for
ReplyDelete