For many bass fishing fans, the night before the Bassmaster Classic carries the same excitement as Christmas Eve. It is the evening before one of the sport’s biggest stages comes to life. Anglers prepare for competition, fans anticipate the weigh-ins, and the city hosting the event buzzes with energy.
An adaptation of the classic poem captures that feeling well.
’Twas the night before the Bassmaster Classic, when all through Knox
Not an angler was stirring, not even John Cox;
The rods were rigged in their boxes with care,
In hopes that a brown trophy soon would be sat there.
The children were nestled all snug in their B.A.S.S. merch,
While visions of giant bass danced in their heads.
And a mama in her “On ’Em” tee, and one in a #bellypat cap,
Had just settled their brains for a “before weigh-in” nap.
When out on the banks of the Tennessee River there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the shuttle I flew like a flash,
Tore open the new Sitka bibs and threw open a Coike.
The moon over the convention center and newly released gear
Cast a shine on baits that anglers hoped would bring cheer.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature Bass Pro Shops Toyota Tundra playset for kids
And 58 competitive anglers lined up like reindeer.
Some were dreaming in hotel rooms.
Others were wide awake, already imagining the first cast.
Then a voice came down the hotel hall so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be ol’ Dave Mercer.
More rapid than eagles his calls they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
“Now, Schlapper! Now, Ebare! Now Howell and Aoki!
On, McKinney! On, Loberg! On, Palaniuk and Berlinsky!
To the top of the leaderboard! To the top of the contenders!
Now fish away! Fish away! Fish away all!”
As leaves before the wild winds fly,
When they meet with a big wave and mount to the sky,
So up to the weigh-in the competitors flew,
With boats full of smallmouth and largemouth, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on Bassmaster.com
The excitement of every boy and girl in the crowd
Waiting to watch their heroes take the stage.
As I turned around, down the river they came with smiles inbound.
The music started and time seemed to fade away.
They were dressed in sponsor logos from head to toe,
And giant screens of their faces filled the seats.
A bundle of Senkos hung from one angler’s bag,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes twinkled. His dimples were merry.
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
Then I realized I was still dreaming.
The Classic was tomorrow.
But the vision lingered. Children and grandfathers excited about fish.
Little girls looking up to the BassmastHER anglers.
Fans walking the show floor ten times and still missing something.
One angler’s life about to change in a single moment.
Three hundred sixty-four days of preparation will end in the next breath and immediately begin again.
Just as the anglers seemed ready to head toward the arena, I heard an ambulance outside my hotel window and the dream faded.
But I heard one final voice before it disappeared:
“Happy Bassmaster Classic to all, and to all a good night.”
And in the words of Cody Johnson, if you have a dream, chase it, because a dream will not chase you back.
Head up. Hammer down.
See you out there.
