All, in…
“I’m a man with a one track mind…”
Dateline: B.A.S.S. Nation Eastern Divisional
“I came to the realization just how special being here at the divisional really is.”
Mark Cavanaugh
Team Canada
The newsroom, was being dismantled.
Most desks were gone, the carpet was being cut into strips, the assignment desk had already been moved to a spot in another building.
Producers and reporters cubicles were in temporary buildings in the parking lot.
On one side of the room, only two desks remained, Sportscenter producer desks, the phones, the lines, moved. Headphones elsewhere.
I sat at one of the desks, leaning forward, elbows on the wood, chin in my hands, eyes forward. Ears on full.
“What you working on.”
I answered the question.”
“Any other reporters on to the story.”
“Maybe.”
And with that the man talking to me put his gold tipped cane on top of the desk, moved one flap of the cape he was wearing and took out a silver cigarette holder and stuck it in the right side of his mouth and leaned into me and said…
“Well then cut those bastards hearts out.”
I said nothing.
“Break the damn story man, coming in second is for historians.”
And then Hunter S. Thompson popped something into his mouth and started to walk out of the empty newsroom.
The last thing he ever said to me was exactly this: “Never F@*#%^g let up.”
“…so much to do in one lifetime…”
If you have won something easy, give it back. Throw it back. Take the darn thing off your resume.
I’ve won easy.
It’s in the attic.
I’ve won hard.
It’s on the mantle.
I remember every second of the hard, not so much on the easy.
I didn’t play T-Ball, didn’t think it was so bad that my children sat in the back of the minivan crying after the other soccer team handed them their lunch.
I think little Johnny getting an ass whooping on the field is a good thing, good for the kid, good for the future.
Trust me, out here in the world of journalism, we ain’t got no mercy rule.
I’m staying up here in Waddington, NY with Team Canada, I’m honored to do so, and I do so to honor my Grandparents, Clay and Tess. For reasons I won’t get into, my Grandmother, Tess, pretty much raised me, and I have missed her every day of my life since she passed away years ago.
So I don’t take lightly jokes about Canada, or Canadians.
Last night I gave a short talk to Team Canada, shortly afterward team member, Doug Ferguson posted this on his and my Facebook page:
WOW !!!! Don Barone just gave OBN Team Ontario the most amazing talk !!!! This will boost our Team for sure !!!!!!
Basically I told them exactly this:
Don’t look at the standings.
Don’t look at the weights.
Don’t be all socializing and talking.
And go to bed.
It was 8:30pm.
And when I was done, they clapped.
But I’m not fooling.
This is two steps from walking across the Bassmaster Classic stage.
You better damn well be… All In.
“…so I’m living it all…”
Mark Cavanaugh is a Civil Engineer, living in Port Perry, Ontario. “Last night db when you told us how the Elites act and think during a tournament, all I could think about is how we don’t act and think that way.”
As I write this story, Doug Brownridge of Ontario is in 1st place, as of Day 2, with about a 6 pound lead. In the team standings Ontario is in 3rd place, 20 some pounds out of 1st.
It is about 7:30pm and the parking lot outside my motel room is filled with Team Canada guys working on their tackle, I heard them all getting up and getting ready to compete this morning at about 4:30am.
They will have a team meeting after dinner (they haven’t ate yet) and will be talking about strategy and other things…I leave the room when they do that kind of stuff…so they should finish up at about 8:30PM.
A 16 hour day.
At 9PM I’m going to shout out…lights out…and I mean it.
Mark: “Last night when you were talking about what it takes to fish the Bassmaster Classic, I have to tell you db, you lit a fire under me.”
And then, “This is just such an incredible opportunity.”
I have no problem with Team Canada, I have no problem with Team Anyone here, I just worry, just worry that when you are chasing a dream of NOT just being in the Bassmaster Classic…
…when you are chasing a dream of having your name hang in the Bassmaster Classic rafters, I worry that…
…16 hour days…
…are too short.
“…and I’m giving it all…”
To all those who are here, to all those who will one day be here…this isn’t your two week vacation.
This is an opportunity unique in all of sports.
Frankly when I heard about it the first time, I was shocked. Trust me, just because you can stay out of the rough on Saturday, doesn’t mean the PGA is going to give you an invite.
The NBA doesn’t care that you are the stud of the Wednesday Night Men’s league at the YMCA.
Beer ball isn’t the road to an MLB diamond.
But here, you join a B.A.S.S. club, fish your butt off in local tourneys, fish your butt off in the divisionals, fish your butt off at the championship,
and we hand you a ticket to the biggest show of this sport.
As a quarter century sports reporter I have to tell you that is freaking extraordinary.
Let me put it this way, and when I think of it this way I always smile, always love covering these Nation Divisionals, love it because standing here amongst these guys I know in my heart, that one of these guys may only be three fishing tournaments away from,
professional bass fishing immortality.
Come here and work late into the night in a cold dark hotel parking lot.
Come here and stuff yourself and all your gear into a tiny cramped motel room.
Come here as a no-name, and win this shindig.
Come here as a no-name, and win the next shindig.
Come here as a no-name, and win the biggest Bass fishing shindig of them all.
Do all that, and then everyone in bass fishing,
will know your name.
“…it ain’t much I’m asking…”
Know this name, Des Barnes.
Des is a crusty old dude that I watched from afar. Didn’t know what to make of the guy sitting on his boat, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, tumbler of Scotch sitting next to the topwater rig.
I’ve been around sports, been around humans enough to know talking to this guy could go one of two ways, could be horrible, could be only not to bad.
Dez I’m sure had the same feeling look back my way.
From a safe distance I already knew this about Dez…he is the guy who years ago founded the first Ontario B.A.S.S. fishing club…knew that every single Canadian angler in this parking lot around me, wouldn’t be here if not for that dude over there with the cigarette butt dangling from his mouth.
So I went in: “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Then I stand looking up at him in his boat, then he lights another smoke and looks down at me leaning on his craft.
That went well, he’s still looking at me.
“I’m Don Barone…”
“Hi Don…”
“Can we talk.”
“Uh-huh.”
My head is screaming…leave, leave now don’t waste the ink. My gut said…stay and as I was wrestling with whether to bag all of this, suddenly, off to my right, sitting under the open tailgate of a minivan like thing, suddenly I heard a woman’s voice, scared the bejesus out of me because I didn’t know she was there and then the lady says, “When Des drives around in the car he looks at the terrain around him and as we drive he always keeps telling me what that would look like if it was underwater and where the bass would be sitting, does this as we are driving.”
“And you are.”
“Veronica…Veronica Barnes.”
And as I turn to look at Des, the cigarette in his mouth is jumping up and down as he is laughing. He looks at me, takes a sip and says, “Doesn’t everyone.”
Ah…that would be no.
I want you to know this, right in the middle of my interview with Des Barnes I put my pen down and walked to where he was sitting in his boat and asked to shake his hand.
I shook his hand then out of absolute respect for what he had just told me.
I shook his hand because HE WAS PLAYING THE GAME AS THE GAME SHOULD BE PLAYED.
Come here, play this game, play it as hard as you can, play it with all you’ve got, play it to honor all those who came before you, all those who will come after you, play it like Des.
“One day Don I’m sitting in my boat chasing these little green animals and suddenly it hits me, suddenly I know I should…”
Des is 57 years old, retired from a job, he told me what it was but I forgot, Veronica tells me, “He’s not someone who talks much, more of a quiet strategist,” cagey would be my description.
“We get smarter the longer we play this game, I get stronger fishin’, you get stronger writing.”
Then: “If there is one lone tree in a field, the hawk will be sitting in that tree, I’m the hawk.”
Where have I heard stuff like that before…oh yeah…Clunn.
Back to why I put my pen down and shook his hand, “…suddenly I know I should learn how to scuba dive. Just a couple of weeks ago I got certified to scuba dive by myself so I’m going to be spending more time under the water watching, just watching how the bass act but doing so in their environment.”
Now anglers learning how to scuba dive so they can live for awhile with bass fish may be common, I’ve never heard of it before, but wow, just wow for giving it your all to try and get to the biggest stage of your life…and then he says…
“I was underwater watching this bass and my son was snorkeling a little ways off, the bass is looking right at me, and my son moves a rock and this crawdad scurries out from underneath it and as soon as the crawdad moved, the bass immediately turned it’s head in that direction…”
At this point I’m just looking at and listening to Dez.
“…so you know what, you know what db, I’ve been underwater now some and I’ve been lifting rocks looking for crawdads, and guess what, I think the bass can hear the sound of crawdads scurrying over rocks, and I think, I know I can hear it too.”
And with that I put down my pen and shook his hand.
If you are spending time under water listening to crawdads, you are honoring the game, you are playing the game, as it should be played.
“…if you want the truth…”
To all those who will one day come to this event, play it like Des.
Listen to the crawdads, be the hawk in the lone tree.
Honor the sport, honor yourself, leave nothing on the water.
Leave nothing in the parking lot.
Leave nothing, behind.
Come here…to win.
All of you on your way someday here, you are being given an extraordinary opportunity.
Take it not lightly.
Take it not as a vacation.
Take it not as time with the boys.
Take it for what it is…your opportunity to be the best at what you do.
Take it for the chance to have your name hang over the Bassmaster stage next to names like…Clunn…VanDam…Brauer.
As I write this, there lies on a table a piece of cloth,
and on that cloth there is stitched,
Bassmaster Classic,
2015,
the rest of the cloth is empty,
because only you,
can fill in that name.
“To win the Bassmaster Classic would be indescribable, I am in awe of that possibility”
Des Barnes
Founder Team Ontario
“…I want it all.”
I Want It All
Queen
db