Instead of bills there’s a fishing mag waiting in my mailbox. I’m cradling it tightly threading my way through cars, chores, and girlfriends, hoping the porcelain throne and it’s locking door will provide me the uninterrupted ability to digest it properly.

Fly fishing magazines are “anti-matter” for the Playboy’s of our youth; the former is read by looking at the pictures, and the latter digested by reading only the articles…

.. at least that’s the story Ma got when she found my stash.

Grab any two covers off the current crop of angling literature and you can’t help wonder why these fellows weren’t first round NBA draftee’s. Most anglers are sturdy enough, of unknown size as they’re usually crouching –  and all possess a singular trait that the NBA scouts have to covet..

… hands bigger than their head.

Is it a freak of nature, or is this the reason I’m only marginally successful? Is the Spey rod craze merely an excuse to get a longer cork handle – so them “cover-guys” can get a comfortable grip for once?

Wouldn’t surprise me one bit – but it’s a tad discouraging, all the “fly tyer” covers have guys with normal hands, so we’re to toil in frustration while “Meat” goes home with the Prom Queen?

Dammit, I thought them days was a chilling and distant memory.

With the multi-million dollar contracts of the NBA, these lads are either philanthropists or they can’t dribble.

It certainly gives me pause – but I’m odd like that.

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