My mom's physical therapy office in Twin Falls had a TV stuck on a channel showing nothing but bass fishing tournaments, and I watched two full hours of guys whispering about crankbaits like it was the Super Bowl. I still don't fish. I still don't care about fish. But something about a guy pulling a 6 pounder out of a lake while I'm waiting for my mom to finish her knee exercises just gets its hooks in you, pun fully intended and fully embarrassing. I figure it's the same thing as your car show, it's the payoff that grabs you, the before and after, the beat up thing turning into the good thing. My TV at home has like 400 channels and I can't find anything to watch, but stick me in a waiting room with one boring channel and suddenly I'm emotionally invested.

Grabbed one of those cheap extendable ones from the hardware store years ago and it snapped the same way, wet sand just kills the hinge. I switched to a picker with a metal trigger and thicker jaws, think it was an Unger, and it's lasted two seasons of beach cleanups. Bring gloves no matter what, the cut from that can lid is the real lesson here. Wet sand gets into every joint so rinse it out with fresh water after each trip or it'll rust up solid.