The Second Fiasco
By noon, the group had settled into a rhythm:
• Earl drilling new holes
• Duane trying to fix his crooked one
• Marv wrestling with a portable fish house like it was a wild animal
• Linda catching actual fish
Then Earl’s bobber twitched again.
“Oh no,” Duane whispered. “Round two.”
Earl braced himself. Feet planted. Knees bent. Center of gravity low.
He tugged.
The fish tugged back.
Neither moved.
Then from beneath the ice a loud crack echoed.
Everyone froze.
Marv whispered, “Uh… Earl… maybe let go?”
Earl shook his head. “Not this time.”
The crack grew louder.
Linda stepped back. “Earl, if you break this lake”
Suddenly the line snapped, sending Earl flying backward into Marv, who toppled into Duane, who knocked over the thermos, which rolled into Linda’s boot.
Linda sighed. “You boys are why we can’t have nice things.”
The Minnesota Ending
As the sun dipped low and the cold deepened, Earl looked out over the lake.
“Y’know,” he said, “fishin’ ain’t really about the fish.”
Duane nodded. “Nope. It’s about the coffee.”
Marv added, “And the near‑death experiences.”
Linda smirked. “And the entertainment you three provide.”
Earl grinned, frost clinging to his mustache. “Well. At least we’re good at somethin’.”
And the four of them sat there on the ice laughing, freezing, and catching absolutely nothing of value which, in Minnesota, is pretty much the perfect day.