Dance With Me 

For me it was never about the fish…

…and for some folks in the business that was a problem, and still is, old guard, old ways. When fish start to read, I’ll damn sure write for them, until then, get over it those who can’t.

For me it wasn’t about the body of water either, for me it was all those who rode the waves in fancy boats pulled by fancy trucks.

For me, people matter.

For me, the individual stories of those people, matter.

I have said it before and I will say it again, and most people who don’t know me will think I’m out of my mind, but I have covered professionally every major sport, professional or otherwise, on this planet, so here goes, I think that the folks who professionally fish at the highest level of the sport are some of the greatest athletes I’ve ever been around.  Period.

Get that out of the way.

And yeah, I have lots of friends in those fancy boats and fancy trucks, some still out there, others on to other stuff in life.

Yes, I miss them, greatly, but those folks alone weren’t the reason I stayed as long as I did.

Not for the lakes did I stay (although that didn’t suck).

Not for the fancy boats.

Not for the fancy trucks.

Not for the forward, backward, sideways, poles that go up or down fancy stuff.

Nope.

I stayed because I got to cover in-depth the most important part of the sport, the inside stories told in campers, class-A’s, hotel parking lots and lobbies, and Waffle House too of course.

I got to know, and become friends with, and love the FAMILIES of those in the fancy boats and fancy trucks.

Play this game without family support and you won’t be out there long, trust me, been there, saw that.

I couldn’t have been on the road 5 months of the year without the support of my family, and neither can the professional bass angler.

Do I miss the BASS-gig…somewhat.

Do I miss those who play the game, greatly and it doesn’t matter what league is written on their boat, shirt or paycheck.

Friendship, Matters.

And so, I begin with the two photos that always brings a tear to my eyes, I danced with “SoSo Kennedy” in a campground when she was a tiny baby…

…and then danced with her at my daughter’s wedding a decade apart.

If you are a reporter or write blogs or stories reflect on those last two sentences I just wrote.  How often do you get a decade long story to write, how often can you watch the story in front of you bloom, mature, take twists and turns. If we don’t see it longterm how right are we about the story.

If we only see the beginnning and not the end, how much do we really know of the tale before us.

Right or wrong, how often does the subject, does the story become family.

For me, never before.

Probably the same for you as well.

That is journalistically correct, stand back young reporter, just the facts, who, what, where and whatever else…then move on.

And I fully support that, I did that.

But how many stories do we miss for that 20-second soundbite.

Who, What, Where, Why…yeah, I get that, have done that a thousand times.

But dance once with a subject.

But dance once with the baby of the subject.

But dance once with the child who was that baby.

But dance once with that child and whisper to her that you hope to one day dance at her wedding as you dance at your daughter’s wedding with her.

To all of those, owners, bosses, sponsors, my family, the anglers and their families who allowed me the time to dance, a profound thank you, it changed me as a reporter and human.

First up but not in any order: The Kennedy’s…ALL OF THEM.

And so, I ask all of them, this:

“DANCE WITH ME…”

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