One day while visiting Georgia football great Terry Hoage at his winery in Paso Robles, California, he stood by a small lake he had built. He recalled catching a nice fish from the lake early one balmy morning.
As I recall, it was a three-pound bass that allowed me to enjoy his experience vicariously. In my mind’s eye, I could see the pull of the fish on the line—its determined fight to shake loose—and the expression of exhilaration on Terry’s face that came with the experience.
This is a man who has a Super Bowl ring, one who knows the joy of taking a studied look at a play developing and then watching the movement of 22 men; he figures out where the ball is going—ending up with a canny interception that thrills a stadium packed with more than 75,000 fans.