Picture this if you will -- a beautiful, new, bone-colored Afterhours junior spookster. You hold it your whole ride to the shore, whispering sweet nothings into its ear, telling it to catch you fish -- BIG ones. When you get to the water, you triple check the knots, and cast it out hesitantly. Every buoy looks ominous, and you are calculating in your head how difficult it would really be to swim out to save your plug if you got stuck on one. After a while, you get more confident, casting further and further, soon with reckless abandon -- imagining you can make it across a couple football fields with one cast. 'This next cast's gonna be the perfect one,' you say to yourself. Oh, but you could not be more wrong. Rod tip back, pull your weight forward, snap the rod, the reel whirs, and...another snap?! You see your sweet baby boney flying off into the sunset. Backlash of doom. Just your luck. After passing on the idea of bawling, you try to guess where the plug will wash up, and hope that it gets to shore before sunset somewhere somewhat accessible. You sit down on your rock and think, 'What's up with this? Is my name Notaro or something?' Then who comes bounding across the rocks, clothed in full green leotard, looking like a grown-up peter pan, but Super Rob. You have no time to laugh at the silly getup because Super Rob skillfully casts out his pencil popper and hooks your precious plug in one try. Sigh of relief; the day is saved. All that is needed now is a new superhero outfit. I owe it to him.
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