db: Lake Hartwell déjà vu

“Made sweet memories of friends from the past…”

Dateline: My First Bassmaster Classic

“The past is never dead, it is not even past.”
William Faulkner

I was a Carp, at an all Bass tournament.

And the all Bass tournament was the 2008 Bassmaster Classic on Lake Hartwell.

My first ever, FIRST EVER, Classic, first ever as a “Senior Writer, Bassmaster,” day one of the new gig, and I’m standing on the floor of these dudes, Super Bowl.

Something called, The Classic…actually The Classic.

They thought I was a fish out of water, and for the nitty gritty of the event, I was.

‘Cept.

‘Cept.

I had just spent two decades covering the baddest mobs, the baddest people, the meanies, the things under your bed, the shadows in your closet, liars, cheats, womanizers, frauds, politicians, people who drew dirty cartoons, several murderers, a few mass murderers, one Queen, two Kings, and a beauty pageant contestant who told me she sharpens her nails with stuff tougher than me.

All of them, every one of them, thought I was out of my league, this fish out of water thing.

I took the, “over.”

Most, I think, went with the, “under.”

The “over/under” on how long I would be here, here at this gig called, B.A.S.S., this thing called the Bassmaster Classic.

Let’s be honest, the brutal truth is I was forced on the powers of B.A.S.S., not their fault, was a corporate thing.

I remember the looks, the little comments, the larger comments, and frankly I didn’t blame them, I was in a room full of anglers, a room full of writers about anglers, an auditorium full of fans of anglers.

And me, a guy who didn’t fish.

Don’t blame them at all for the polite, corporately correct reception, they knew I would either sink, or swim, say hello, shake hands, wish the ESPN guy well and sit back and watch.

See if he was a Carp in a roomful of Bass.

Turns out, my background for all this, helped, made me buck up, made me tougher, made me humble and caring, made me respectful, made me listen more, made me gentler, and believe it or not, made me calmer.

Yep calmer.

Because I knew these people were right, had earned the right to test me, to put me in my place, if I was going to make it, I was going to make it the hard way, which to me, was the way I wanted it to be.

The way it has always been for me, you say I’m great or something and I’m going to go lie down on the couch and take a nap, you say I suck, and I’m going to work my tail off and light you up.

So yeah, I thank the doubters, thank them for all this that I get to do now, thank them for making me earn my way into the family that is B.A.S.S., and yeah I agree that in a roomful of Bass I was out of place.

Because deep inside I knew that in a roomful of Bass, I was the only…

…shark.

“…always comes to you…”

This Bassmaster Classic means a whole lot to me, means in fact, everything to me.

I will once again stand on the same Classic floor where I stood for my first Classic, it will be my eighth Classic floor.

And dammit, I have earned the right to stand on seven of those.

I will stand on several more Classic floors, each will be special, none though as special as this floor.

This floor will bring tears to my eyes.

I will pick up the confetti from this floor when this Classic ends and I will bring it home and have it framed.

If you want some of that shiny stuff, you email me and I will send it to you. Send it if you understand what it really means, what it means for the competitors, what it means for me.

It means dreams are indeed possible, if you work your arse off.

B.A.S.S. gave me my first Classic, I earned all the rest.

Every competitor who crosses that Classic stage has EARNED the right to be there, the privilege to be there.

I will never hoist that Classic trophy, but I feel damn proud to be standing there at the bottom of the stage.

So as I stand there in a week or so, stand there amongst all my friends, all my family of B.A.S.S., I will wipe a tear, and I will remember, remember that first Classic.

Will remember…

“…when you look for them…”

That photo over there to your right, that was the first photo of me that they tagged my columns with, and it was dead on accurate, my Welcome To The Monkey House look…but then a small, skinny looking guy stepped out of the fog and walked down the steps as the leader that day of the Bassmaster Classic.

Charlie Hartley.

I don’t remember much of the details, when he led, when he didn’t, but there is one moment I will never forget, back behind the stage, back in the tombs of the auditorium he was beseeched by a bunch of writers/reporters all asking him fishing stuff.

As they should.

I stood back, didn’t say anything, and when the impromptu press conference ended and all the media was gone, this Charlie Hartley fellow spotted me leaning up against a wall looking at him, just looking at him.

Charlie: “Who are you.”

Me: “Don, who are you.”

Charlie: “Charlie.”

Me: “So Charlie I guess you did well.”

Charlie: “Don, I’m here and I’m fishing the Bassmaster Classic, that’s about as well as it gets.”

Me: “Hope you win.”

Charlie: “I already have.”

I have stood at the bottom of many big stages, stood in the bowls of many coliseums, stood with winners, stood with losers.

Never has anyone ever told me what this stranger told me, this Charlie angler dude told me.

Never has any of those others I stood with told me the truth.

Told me the right answer.

Only Charlie did, only Charlie did.

I remember…

“…and your inspiration…”

…remember…

Watching a mother and two young children take the Bassmaster Classic stage and talk about her husband, their father, Tim Tucker.

Tim Tucker was a Senior Writer for B.A.S.S., covered the sport for some 25 years, died in an automobile accident coming back from an event.

I didn’t know Tim well, met him only one time, at the Bassmaster Elite Tournament on Lake Champlain in 2007. Sat with him for a couple of minutes, both said some small talk to each other, don’t remember what, left the picnic table thinking that Tim was a nice guy.

When his wife, Darlene was talking, it was emotional, very emotional, and I remember looking around, people on the Classic floor were crying, people in the stands were crying.

Crying because of the death of a writer.

That’s the moment when I came to respect Tim’s co-workers, came to respect Tim’s readers, came to respect, you.

It was during Darlene’s talk that I realized I was working within a family, working for a family.

I was taken with the respect you showed Tim, and his family, taken with the respect and honor that B.A.S.S. showed one of their own, knew at that moment that covering this sport would be different than all those other sports I covered.

When you cry for a sportswriter, it is a show of love for the writer, but also for the sport.

It’s a sport you want to go all out for.

Fans you want to always go the extra mile for.

I remember…

“…love may have last…”

…remember.

Those on the final stage.

Iaconelli, Kreit, VanDam, Pace, Hartley, Jones.

Strangers then, all good friends now. Only Iaconelli and Pace from that crew will grace this Classic stage.

When asked, “Who do you want to win,” or “Who do you think will win,” I always say, have always said, simply, “The Sport.”

I want, on this the biggest stage, I want the sport to win.

I tell young folks to always, “…love the sport, take lightly the players.”

I tell young folks to, “honor the game, honor and enjoy the sport, cherish the sport, but role models are the people who tuck you in at night, role models are those who love you, role models are your parents, grandparents, those who place your well-being above their own.”

Take lightly, all others.

These players who will take to the Bassmaster Classic stage are all, for the most part, good friends, but as a sportswriter it is my job to be a storyteller, to be a caretaker of the game.

It is the tales of the athletes who play the game, that we will tell you, but it is our honor, our duty, to hand down to you, The Game.

And to hand it down to you, intact, hand it down to you as something you will be proud of.

I will never take lightly, your game.

I remember…“…may it come to you…”

Remember…you.

I remember standing on my first Classic floor and looking up at the crowd, watching you watch us.

I have stood on sidelines where fans have thrown beer and urine on the opposing players.

I have stood on sidelines and dodged snowballs.

Been in stadiums and have heard the most foul language from men and women fans.

Stepped over lakes of puke, watched cars overturned, windows broken, people beat up…and that from the winning crowd.

At my first Classic, I expected that from you, I was accustomed to it, actually when I saw all the children in the crowd, worried about the young ones.

In my book, you are the class of sports spectators.

You dignify the sport in your actions, yeah you have fun and yell and clap, but I have never heard cursing, never had beer rain down on me, or worse, never saw you riot, never saw you disrespect the game, or yourself.

We work harder for folks like you. All of us, all the people on stage, all the people behind the stage, all those of us who chronicle the stage.

I remember…

…being a stranger in a strange land.

I remember…

…being a shark in a tank of bass.

I remember…

…how I felt walking onto the floor of my first Classic, here at Lake Hartwell.

I will always remember how I will feel walking onto the floor of my eighth Classic, how I feel honored, how I feel humbled, how I feel priviledged.

And how I want to now thank all of you who made me earn my place on the floor.

You did it for the game.

As it should be.

And sometime when I’m on the floor of this, my Classic Déjà Vu, I will turn around to you in the stands, will come sit with some of you.

Tell you, I hold gently your sport.

Tell you, I hold greatly your support.

Tell you, I appreciate your hospitality.

And whisper in your ear,

Thank You.

 “…time and time again.”
Early Days
Paul McCartney

db

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”
– Dr. Seuss