Whoa, son, whoa. Have a look at that marlin.
That right there’s the largest billfish you’ll ever see. I think this one’s a grander. Yes I do. A thousand pounds of the Atlantic’s finest. And she’s a fighter, too. Mackerel, tuna, squid– you name it, she’ll eat it. Queen of the ocean. Beautiful, isn’t she? Nothing else like her. Fifty miles an hour in the water. Crush your backstroke time to bits. You remember this moment with your old man, son. Soak it in.
And the snout on that puppy. My God, that spike could skewer a deer. I hope you can swim, son, because a jab from that fish will sink this boat faster than I hit puberty. Speaking of which.
We’re going to catch this marlin, son. You and me. Maybe it’ll put some hair on that baby-smooth chest. We’ll have the biggest catch on the Cape, son, and if that doesn’t get the women to recognize you, absolutely nothing will.
Easy. Easy, son. Reel her in, but slow, now, slow. Whoa Nelly. Don’t want to end up like Santiago, now, do we, son? Santiago? Who’s– Oh, son, you don’t– you haven’t read The Old Man and the Sea? Hemingway’s best, and you haven’t read it. My own flesh and blood. Tch.
Hold on tight, son.