Dick Cepek Tires Bassmaster Elite at Lake Seminole presented by Hardee's
Lake Seminole - Bainbridge, GA, Mar 13 - 16, 2014

Special happens

Kevin ShortDon BaroneKevin Short
And then there was Kevin Short, K-Pink is what I called him after we first met some 7 years ago on Lake Champlain. Kevin was the first Elite angler I ever met back when I had no idea what an Elite angler was or what Bassmaster was for that matter.

Kevin is my best friend on the tour, and his wife, Kerry (K-2), has become my older-younger sister.

I normally don’t stay around on Sunday. I usually hit the road for the next event but because my roommate Shaw was fishing on the last day, and especially because Kevin was fishing the next day, I stayed.

The last time Kevin took the Elite stage as one of the last standing was 2010: “The last three years have been hell.”

I know, because I was there.

I know, because I never knew what to say to a great friend who just finished in 68th  place or 80th or worse – 52nd – two below the cut, two places out of $10,000.

I know, because I had no words for a great angler caught up in a bad streak.  People ask me all the time who do I want to win, and I always say, I don’t care. But I do, I care for my friend and I always hope he wins.

“db, this is a great start to the season, a double positive, and I know he is coming into it with a whole new attitude. 

“I’ve heard him say that he can’t change yesterday or tomorrow but he can change today, and it has been working great,” according to K-2.

Kevin, my friend, the reason I only asked you one question during our interview is simply because I ride the waves with you out there on the many lakes. I know how you feel on the bad days, been there, know how you feel when you win one of these things, been there, too.

Good friends win together.

Good friends lose together.

Special Happens, with friendship.

“…in every…”

I miss my blind friend who made colorful kites. 

We were visiting from California, staying at my parents’ house in Kenmore, N.Y., when my mother, Helen, brought down an old box she was going to throw away.

She told me it was mine and asked if I wanted it; if not, it was going to be tossed. When I opened it, it was the white kite.

In the corner of an old cemetery in Tonawanda, N.Y., may still lay a white kite colored in with crayons,

by my then one-year-old daughter.

I miss my blind friend who made colorful kites,

and who left a box of crayons,

and a blank white kite,

for a child not born yet,

to one day,

color.

Special Happens…

“…grain of sand.”

“Every Grain of Sand”

Bob Dylan

 

db

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