It was San Francisco in the mid-Seventies … the Vietnam War had ended two years earlier, so there was plenty of Peace, the Castro District was filling rapidly, so there was oodles of Love, and the Haight-Ashbury had degenerated from counter-cultural nexus to outright Heroin addiction, so there was plenty of Dope …
… and the best class in High School … the only class we dared not cut was Foods.
That’s where those in search of a boost to their Grade Point Average went – after being bitch-slapped by Math, Science, or English.
Foods … first you went out back to spark a Fatty with your pals, then you hustled yourself to Foods, where you’d gorge on half baked chocolate cupcakes, or Oatmeal cookies made with Cornmeal, or something sweet or fattening that had been stepped on, undercooked, or someone had spit in when you weren’t looking …
With my youth as backdrop, why is it only now that I can move to South Carolina, letter in fishing and score a four year scholarship, plus dangle the Homecoming Queen on my arm – instead of her fawning over that troglodyte linebacker with his single eyebrow ?
“If it was recognized as a varsity sport, then your benefits would be you can letter in it, you can get scholarships,” said Camden Fishing Club member Catie Charles, a freshman. “But right now you don’t. You just go out there for fun and nobody really notices.”
– via Fox News.com
If I could’ve fished my way through 2nd period, Foods class would have been a distant memory, and we might’ve damaged less brain cells that were a Food’s prerequisite (not to mention the occasional brush with ptomaine poisoning).
“I heard that throwing 150 casts is equivalent to throwing 100 pitches in a game,” said Fishing Club member Carson Morgan. And, according to their coach, serious anglers often make 500 casts in a day.
… and based on the above whopper, it’s obvious those kids are learning the all important ethics lessons of fishing, truth before all else.
As bass boats and terminal tackle would be in obvious short supply, we could ensure all the loafers, dopers, and riff-raff avoided class by requiring participants to strip and don athletic supporters.
(Wild rolling of eyes … Strip and expose my video game sculpted flesh to public scrutiny, OhMyGawd, anything but that …)