Home Court Advantage

I have never really considered myself the typical Texas boy; my family is from Pennsylvania after all. Oh, how I “shamed [my] shallow and frail town.”[1] Growing up, I often found that I wasn’t interested in some of the things that the other guys in my grade were. Most of them bragged about their truck engines, their truck tires, how high they had jacked their truck, how loud their truck was—pretty much anything to do with trucks, they talked about. Meanwhile, I drove my ’96 Toyota Camry, got 30 miles to the gallon, and loved it. Most of the guys I knew would spend Friday nights going “muddin.” For those of you who don’t know what this is, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to find that it is pretty much self-explanatory. Essentially, to go “muddin” you and your closest friends drive either an ATV or a truck (here we go with the trucks again) through……wait for it…..mud. And get really dirty. Now you know what muddin’ is. And it was never really my thing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuAO5QHQhbY&feature=related 

AHH, A GREAT EXAMPLE OF MUDDIN'. BE SURE TO LISTEN FOR THE GIRL SAYING "COME ON, YOU PUSSY!" AT THE END.

Finally, there was one more big difference between my peers and I.

            Unlike a lot of kids I knew in high school, I had never enjoyed hunting or fishing. In fact, up until about fifth grade, I never even really liked animals. I was definitely not a “little boy, full of joy,”[2]but a kid full of anxiety. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t like them as I feared them. ALL of them. If you can name it, I probably thought it was going to kill me. It didn’t matter how small they were. I was convinced that every dog, especially the one down the street, was intent on biting me, that every cat had razor sharp claws, and that every type of reptile would discover their inner T-Rex if I touched them. I constantly felt the “fear that a beast could appear out of nowhere—through a window—and snatch [me] away,”[3] much like a monster in the closet

GROWING UP, IT WASN'T MONSTERS I WAS AFRAID OF, BUT ANIMALS.

Don’t worry, I am much better now (though I still hate cats). However, I am sure that my previous paranoia of everything on four legs contributed to my distaste for the “sports” of hunting and fishing. This fact became pretty important once I started dating in high school.

            I basically had one girlfriend for the duration of my high school career, and her family was definitely a Texas family. Their living room was pretty much a shrine to dead animals: deer heads, ducks, and cow skins. 

BASICALLY WHAT MY GIRLFRIEND'S HOUSE LOOKED LIKE.

Her dad was a large man with broad shoulders, dip constantly in his mouth, and, of course, a truck. Despite our differences though, we all managed to get along really well. Yet, our differences were never more apparent than when I would accompany them on fishing trips.

            These fishing outings were always pretty awkward. For one, I hate fishing. Those days were probably the longest, most boring experiences of my life. For two, I am quite possibly the worst fisherman of all time. My official stat line up until this time: 1 fish caught, 6 broken lines, 13 lost bait, 0 fun had, and one scary experience.

            The last trip I went on with them was to Galveston in the Gulf of Mexico. For this particular trip, we got up before the sun did, tied a bucket of shrimp to our waists, and the proceeded to wade out into shoulder deep ocean water. I wasn’t exactly in my element. On top of that, right before we set out on our journey, Mr. Stetson (my girlfriend’s dad) turns to me and says “Just be sure to drag your feet. You don’t want to step on a sting ray and end up like Steve Erwin.” This, of course, made my enthusiasm for the trip go through the roof. Also, our expedition didn’t get much better, as I felt might happen. About two hours in, we were able to spot a shark fin in the distance. I found myself slowly backing away, with every brush against my leg causing a rise in my heart rate. Those shrimp around my waist weren’t exactly giving me a sense of security either. However, after many hours of waiting, I was able to catch something. Whatever it was, it felt big. I had a hard time just holding on to my pole. “I was scared. This thing did not feel like a fish at all. I knew, as I cranked on the reel, that I had hooked something powerful and hostile, something that did not want to be disturbed.”[4] Moments later, I heard my girlfriend’s younger brother say, “You got a baby shark! Alright!” “Oh no,” I thought.

THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME, HAD I NOT BEEN SO FREAKED OUT.

With my line taught, nothing but stories from Shark Week going through my head, and trying to put on the bravest face I could muster, I managed to give the tiny shark enough time to break free and, ultimately, out of the vicinity of my legs. I have never been so glad to fail at something in my life. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfGvwCiaXTI

IMAGES LIKE THESE KEPT GOING THROUGH MY MIND.

But it was at that time that I really appreciated the power of animals, especially when they are in their natural habitat. When they have the home court advantage, we are no longer on top of the food chain, but rather just a potential meal like anything else.

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[1] Gerard Hopkins, “The Sea and the Skylark,” X165

[2] William Blake, Spring, X141

[3] Stephen Harrigan, “The Tiger is God,” X151

[4] Stephen Harrigan, “Swamp Things,” X157