2014 Bass Pro Shops Southern Open #1 presented by Allstate
Lake Tohopekaliga - Kissimmee, FL, Jan 23 - 25, 2014


Don Barone
Dreams begin here.

About the author

Don Barone

Don Barone

db has been in the reporting biz for over 30 years, won some Emmys and other awards, but is proudest of his four-decade marriage, his two kids and the fact he founded Tackle The Storm Foundation to help children.

“Sometimes you're the windshield…”

Dateline: The Dining Room Table

Hmmm, I think I may need,

a catapult.

Back in 1982/83… “RPGs” (Rocket Propelled Grenades) had not quite entered the lexicon of America. You know probably, but I do know for sure they hadn’t entered into the lexicon of the Fresno, Calif., parking lot I was standing in.



Carl White, my good friend and sometime partner in un-planned comedy, also the sports anchor at the TV station we both worked for in Fresno, KFSN-TV, and Barb’s and my neighbor, was standing leaning up against a lamp pole in the apartment parking lot.

Between you and me, he was big time “duding” me.

“Dude yourself, man … you try and do it. But I’m telling you, you better have a catapult in the trunk of that Mazda thing you drive.”

I knew he didn’t.

I up-duded him.

Behind him, standing three lampposts down … at exactly the lamppost designated as the End Zone Goal line stood another friend of ours

stood laughing

at Carl,

but mostly,


“…you gotta know happy…”

Let me catch you up to speed here.

It was a Sunday in Fresno. For the most part, Carl and I were both off, lived in the same building, which the landlord NEVER told me beforehand. Some Sundays, Carl would knock on the door as Carl; some days he would knock on the front door, and Barb and I would open it only to find Carl as Michael Jackson moonwalking our balcony.


Open. Carl as Carl. Dude, come on down and watch some football for a while, looking at Barb. She would only smile, and I’d be off for a quarter of watching some West Coast NFL team I didn’t care much about.

Halfway into the 1st quarter, a glass of red wine happens to come into contact with Carl’s landlord-provided, white drapes.

“Dude, call Barb, she’ll know what to do about it.”


“Blah, blah, blah, white drapes, blah, blah, blah, red wine, uh huh, uh huh, okay I’ll tell him.”

“Dude, what did she say to do?”


At which time, I got a noogie on my exposed head from Carl White, who I have been blaming for decades as the person who caused my baldness through excessive noogie-ing.

“Come on, let’s toss the football around during the break,” said the sneak noogie maker.

So, as we go around the corner, we find another one of our friends coming to see if we were home and wanted to come out and play.

And he’s the dude standing on the goal line of the third lamppost down, twirling the football on his finger and




Carl and me.

“…you gotta know glad…”