Fear And Floating In The Caribbean

We went shark diving (shark diving!) with Rob Gronkowski (Gronk!) in the Bahamas (the Bahamas!)! What could possibly go wrong?!?

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THURSDAY 3 PM: GEARING UP

It’s a fine April afternoon in the Bahamas, and I’m at the checkout counter inside Sunn Odyssey Divers, receiving equipment for a nerve-jangling assignment: help an NFL star cross “shark encounter” off his bucket list with guidance from Discovery’s Shark Week team. It’s a tall order for me, a guy who wakes up afraid most mornings, and I’m second-guessing my life choices as Rob Gronkowski barges through the glass doors.

“What’s up, Sam!” exclaims the ever-exuberant Gronk, who’s been whisked straight here from the airport. The Patriots tight end looks carefree, per usual, like a guy who lives the life we would all want to live if we were rich, 29 and had a six-month off season and the guts to crush it, even if that entailed scuba diving with—“Wait,” Gronk says, looking bell-rung. “What do you mean we're scuba diving?

As it turns out, my guy was not fully aware, or more likely had just forgotten, that his shark encounter would take place well below the surface of the Atlantic. And I’m the one who breaks it to him. “Hold on,” he says. “What are we doing again?”

As Gronk fires questions at his camp—which includes best friend Robert Goon and manager Henry Penzi—I slink away, secretly hoping that this whole thing falls apart.

FRIDAY, 11 A.M.: GAME DAY

The whole thing did not fall apart.