Sometimes it's hard to figure out people.
Take my brother-in-law.
He lives in Ohio, averages playing golf three times a week and is building a house on, what else, a golf course.
When I visit him, I play golf. When he visits me, I play golf.
But never, ever does he go fishing with me.
He can't stand it.
Neither can Liz Flach, a copy editor on the sports desk, who's writing the anti-fishing piece to accompany my splendid work.
I just don't get it.
What's not to like?
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