Just as its gills flare to suck in the doomed fish, the football changes its mind, breaks off its attack, and-now-you-see-me-now-you-don't-vanishes. I bring the fingerling in, stare at it momentarily, and let it go. It disappears, too. The whole encounter has taken about 15 seconds, and now I'm left staring into the empty pool, which has already stopped rippling, as if there never was a tiny fish, much less a monster. But my trembling hands tell a different story. Yes, I'm disappointed, frustrated, and heartsick. I'm a boy, after all, with a boy's dreams of glory. But I feel that I've just been baptized, initiated. I've been given the secreet knowledge. I now know that there are magical fish in here, fish bigger and wilder than anybody would believe. One of these days I will catch one of them.