“But me, I’m still on the road…”
Dateline: 2007-2020
“If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?”
— T.S. Eliot
Too many strangers were standing in a long barely fire code approved skinny hallway.
The hotel carpet under my feet was brown, the walls were a shade of the floor, the conference room’s double doors, yet another relative of a shade of color known as “not to offend.”
Multi-colored jerseys swam in and out of my view, it was like NASCAR without all the scratched bright metal and corn dogs.
And standing in front of me, 2 inches outside my personal space was a man framed in experience and white hair, I was listening to what he was saying to me but in the every third or fourth word listen.
“You …
“ESPN …
“We’ll see …
“How much of a hot shot …
“The numbers will tell.”
I suddenly was jerked back into an every word listen. “We’ll see how this works out, I know you are some sort of hot shot at ESPN, but we’ll see how your numbers work out here, it will all come down to your numbers.”
It was day one with my new gig at some thing called B.A.S.S. and Bassmaster.com. It was a fishing gig, it was an outdoor gig, I was a few hours into it, my first impression was … pretty colorful sport … players’ names on jersey backs, the names of those who pay the players everywhere else, everyone seemed, was nice to me or ignored me except this dude in front of me.
“Excuse me, what’s your name again,” asked even though he had some sort of name badge hanging around his neck.
“Dave Precht.”
Oh, hmm, I was told at ESPN that I would be working with, “…a Dave Precht,” and here he was standing in front of me.
“You can pick up your Media Packet over there,” said as he pointed inside a crowded room then shook my hand and smiled and walked into the back-slapping crowd of everyone knows everyone except me.
A couple hours later I’m in my “Bassmaster Classic” hotel room telling my wife of my experience with, “… the Dave guy.”
I could hear the anxiety in her voice. We both entered this gig with caution, “Sounds like he sort of drew a line in the sand, you know. What are you going to do now?”
As Barb was talking I was going through my Media Packet, came to my Press Badge that would give me all access except printed on it was only this: BUS.
I tossed the badge onto the bed, and answered my wife with this exact quote, “I’m going to step over the *%#@!* line drawn, that’s what I’m going to do.”
It was the best thing career wise that ever happened to me.
And in my heart I now know Dave Precht did me a huge favor then to which I’ve never really told him thank you.
Until now.
“…heading for another joint…”
The first few years with B.A.S.S. and Precht, to be honest, not exactly, you know, friendly, cordial. Yes, sort of like hotel colors, bland.
Neither one of us was ready for each other, Dave was a classy Southern gentleman, I was not, I was a long-term Investigative Reporter, a job that is never advertised as: “Needed, one meek person to do …” Several of my bosses will attest to that.
But I was on new ground here, the last resume I put together was dated 1988, I’ve gone through a succession of jobs where the job came to me, not the other way around, I was wanted where I was at, the feeling I got here in the beginning was not that, not even close.
Don’t get me wrong, nothing overt or mean, just you know, but the anglers and their families turned into my biggest allies and basically circled the wagons, actually motorhomes and boats around me, protected me some but also tutored me and gave me the chance to use some quick closing speed to get this gig.
“You know, db, when you bought that RV, when you went on the road for weeks, months at a time with the anglers and away from your family, to be honest that’s when I gained so much respect for you, no one had ever done that before, will probably never do it again, that’s when you got me, you earned it.”
Dave and I are sitting at a park bench in Waddington, N.Y., talking now as friends, good friends. It was a couple years back, I had announced my retirement but then things happened in the world of B.A.S.S. and I just told him that I would come back, put off retirement “to help B.A.S.S.”
After I said that Dave’s eyes shifted from my face to staring at the blue water of the St. Lawrence, me I just sat there looking at him, in time his eyes drifted back to mine, and he smiled.
In that one moment, all the rocky past was gone, in that one moment we became colleagues, in that one moment we knew we were in this together.
A moment not given, but earned.
As it should be.
“…we always did feel the same…”
“To be honest db, I had misgivings about coming here to the Classic or the Expo.”
I am sitting in an almost empty arena at the 2020 Classic, in the row I’m in there are only two people sitting … Dave and I.
The other reason I wanted to do this story, Dave, is this, I thought maybe you would feel weird walking into this place not as a VP of something here, but as “retired,” and wondering if you belonged here anymore.
“I have to tell you db I have a strange feeling being here, you know I don’t want to get in the way, I drive by the office and I sometimes want to stop in and say hello but again, well you know, it’s just awkward.”
Misgivings.
Get in the way.
Awkward.
Dave is 70, I’m about to be 68, I understand everything he is saying and that is the reason I’m sitting next to him in an empty arena, I get it, which is why I put my pen in my pocket and closed my notebook …
“Dude, you know man, this isn’t a sport without you.”
… I sit next to him now as a friend …
“Look around, this arena, the Expo, the fans that will fill both venues, the fans that read the magazine in so many countries, the sport, the sport of bass tournament fishing, you, and a handful of other folks, this is because of you.”
… and a fan.
“Never have for a moment any misgivings for being here, none of us would be here without all of what you have accomplished.”
“…we just saw it from…”
One day Dave got to take his young grandchild through the Bassmaster Classic Expo, he told me later he got lots of handshakes and hugs, pretty much the same happened when he took the time to stop by the Media Center to see old friends, he walked in not timid, but trying to be a bit see through but when folks looked up and saw him, they smiled, some told me, “Now it’s the Classic.”
Dave and his wife, Linda now sit up there in the stands, for many of those who fill in the seats around him, they are just another two faces in the crowd.
A crowd they have spent their life dedicated to, and I mean both of them since this is not a business you can stay in if not for a rock-solid partner back home.
To be honest, you don’t want to hire me, I could care less if a boss likes me or not, that’s not my job to win some sort of popularity contest, or performance review, I do care though that you respect what I do and get out of the way of it.
Dave Precht may in fact have played by some of those rules when he told me to “show me what you’ve got,” a prove you belong here line in the sand, an off-brown hotel room hallway challenge.
And inside me when he said it, I smiled, because after years of success I had gotten soft, gotten all full of me, started believing my own press.
Dave Precht gave me an upside my head, the single greatest action in my entire career and everything that has come my way since our first meeting is a result of Dave pushing me to prove myself.
Thank you sir for that.
Thank you,
db
“…a different point of view.”
Tangled Up In Blue
Bob Dylan
“The gem cannot be polished without friction, nor man perfected without trials.”
— Seneca