I’m completely jealous, first bass fishing, now even sailfish angling has big money contests – replete with bikini clad babes, corpulent sponsors, grandiose prizes, free champagne, and opulent spreads of free food.

So why did trout fishing get shut out of the cash bonanza?

The knee jerk response: “trout fishing is the quiet sport practiced by introverts that wish to commune with their natural surroundings.”

Sounds good on the surface, but it’s too close to the prose used to brush off a second date, too”politically correct” and it’s time to face the harsh truth, we’re a quaint, boring lot.

There, I’ve said it … took me ten grand worth of shrink to utter them words, but I’m feeling better by the moment.

Too many predator poses leaning expectantly over a foppish rod intent on floating dander in midstream – praying we’re gonna outwit something while the camera’s focused on our hindquarters. Waders preclude those from being photogenic, so our audience is left to shudder and look elsewhere.

Trout fishing is going backwards, not forwards. We deify the tackle and technique of decades past, and ignore the compelling technological innovations of the present; strobe lights, sirens, and text messaging.

Witness the latest from Zebco, they’re not bemoaning the demise of cane or fiberglass, they’ve got blinking red lights for “bite alerts” and liberally use “glow in the dark” materials so’s you don’t step on your rod when reaching for beer. That’s tangible advancement of the sport, not fiddling with decimal points in modulus and gross weight, whose benefit is lost even on the owner.

We need to focus on the audience, rather than on our own passions, we need to turn trout fishing into a spectacle.

We got SUV’s, they got SUV’s, we just need to imbed ours in a riverbank once or twice. Mother Nature is fine for the ecology types, but the way we spray discarded water bottles, tippet dispensers, and leader wrappers proves we spend more time trying to look up her skirt then ensuring She’s chaste … the glee with which you park your SUV in the streambed should be commensurate.

To hell with elitism, we tried that at least a couple hundred years and have declining participation to show for it – what this sport needs is a good doping scandal.  Some fellow wearing an umpire uniform gazing sternly at some other fellow, waders around his ankles, pissing into a plastic cup. Roger Clemens & Wife was “yesterday’s news” until the rest of the world discovered all that lycra-spandex hid needle tracks, now they’re likely to vote her into the Hall of Fame as well.

A little “dirty” means huge endorsement dollars – a yearly television contract, and attention from Nike. We’ve had popes and presidents, astronauts and test pilots, and we’re still not invited to the “show.” What’s needed is some debauched starlet hanging on the arm of a Yellowstone guide, or some quaint angling association popped for running a Meth lab…

No single camera can showcase the sport properly and we’ll need assistance from the NFL to catch the action. We could have yellow lines marking the feeding lanes, penalty flags when numbed fingers are unable to change flies fast enough, and cheerleaders. What they’ll do I’m not sure – but it’ll give the camera something to focus on when competitors start swearing loudly.

Most of all we need pratfalls; some helpless SOB moonwalking on slimy rocks desperate to maintain balance, and failing miserably. A sanctimonious oaf droning on about the lifecycle of Mayflies, desperately avoiding the word “screw” –  then going arse over teakettle with only an oil slick to mark the spot.

We’ll treat them with respect, we’ll pay enormous cash prizes and allow them to hawk tackle during the off season, but they’ve got to eat 12 gallons of icy Gatorade in their waders on a win.

I’ll stack our babes against their babes any day. Sure we’ve got mighty few of them, but they’re all lean, hungry, and have as many wardrobe malfunctions as anything on MTV. Our gals ain’t wallflowers, and can hold a conversation, a stark contrast to Miss Ford-Lincoln-Mercury whose there merely to drape herself on whatever is closest to the trophy.

Perhaps it’s tiresome that only PETA has an interest in us, were they to sponsor a couple of tournaments, we’d rethink the entire fishing issue.

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