OK, so I admit it. Instead of watching the Detroit Tigers decimate the hated New York Yankees in the American League Divisional Series, I went bowhunting.

Really wasn't that tough of decision, actually.

Friday afternoon, Oct. 6, while driving back from the family's favorite Chinese restaurant in Wadhams, my kids were staring out the back of the truck mesmerized by the nearly full moon hugging the treeline. So was I.

I made the decision right then and there to be peering at that harvest moon from a treestand at my new spot in Sanilac County the next evening.

And that's that.

I could hear the slight contempt in my friends' voices as they called my cell phone.

"Are you watching this?" Thad Lucken asked me not believing I wasn't.

"Uh, no. What's the score?" I whispered into the receiver.

"Three to nuthin', they're killin' them," Thad reported.

I then told him I was just getting set up for the evening show overlooking a wheat field, surrounded by a cornfield, soybeans and woods. The whole time I was thinking I musta died and went to heaven to get this opportunity.

"I'll call you later," Thad said and hung up.

Later, his brother Walt called and also wanted to rave about those fanatastic boys from the Motor City.

Again, I concurred in a hush but I don't think Walt could hear me all that well and he, too, said he would call me back.

I wasn't a total smuck. I did make a special trip to Meijer to buy a transitor radio because I did want to keep tabs on the game but I was fairly confident the series was in the bag.

Derek Jeter hanging his head after taking a foul tip strike three in the 8th inning during the second game with a man on was all I needed to see. The whole Yankee team was waiting for their leader to bail them out one more time. It didn't happen.

I had so much stuff going on in the tree I almost wasn't sure if I could get the radio to work. Switching the grunt call out of one pocket, moving the dominant buck urine bottle into my pack from the other, and then slipping the bow onto the hook all the while trying to stay quiet, but somehow I managed to clip the radio on my belt and find the station with the headphones firmly clamped over my camo cap.

Once I heard the score was 7-0 in the fifth inning, I hurrily undid everything and ditched the radio and headphones. That was good enough for me. Deer it seemed were closing in, and I was getting too antsy.

In the end, I ran out of time. The deer didn't come out into the fields until dark. One buck busted me, or I think he did. He was blowing big time behind me but he never did go crashing away like they do when they get spooked. He might have been irritated at what he thought was an intruder but was really the tarsal gland I set out on a log. (This also could be wishful thinking on my part.)

But that's what happens when you've got a million things goin' on and are rushing out the door to catch the moon (and a buck), the Scent-Lok suit gets left behind in the garage.

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