“db, you’ve got to pay your dues, you just do.”
— David Mullins
Dateline: South Carolina and Connecticut
“Sports do not build character. They reveal it.”
— Heywood Brown
Personally, I prefer to write sport stories about folks who have been knocked on their ass…but who got back up…and kicked ass in their respective game.
I’ve learned long ago that the value of sports is not measured on the scoreboard, not measured in the amount of times your at bat clears the fences, nor the amount of rings on your fingers, or how much money your guaranteed contract brings ya.
For me, the value of sports is what it teaches those who sit in the stands.
There, it plays out in the bowl below the fans a form of life with known rules and known time.
Unlike their lives.
Life, for those of us who watch the games, is akin to being born with a silver spoon in our mouths, only later to discover it was simply plastic painted gray.
In this here game some of who play it, sleep in the penthouse.
In this here game some of who play it, sleep in the bed of their pickup truck.
Some come with silver, some come with plastic, all play on water in fiberglass boats.
It is not about the fish, it is never about the fish.
It is simply about the fisherman.
And what he is made of.
“Decide what to be and go be it…”
There isn’t any “gave up” bench in sports.
You win, you stay, you lose, you go.
I was prepared to write a nice story about this David Mullins guy, someone who has been fishing the Elites for 6 years now, some nice guy who to be honest I don’t know very well.
Truth.
So I call him up, he’s driving to the Santee Cooper gig, I read some stuff about him, less than 500 words because I don’t prepare more than that, preparation leads to lack of surprises and forces you down a path that doesn’t account for the twist and turns that is life.
He’s driving, I’m, listening and wondering how do I get 1,500 words out of this conversation, nice guy, but I’m sitting in my home office looking out at the wonder of fall in New England thinking I may have to pick someone else to do the story about.
But then, then… “db remember that tournament we had years ago at Clear Lake in California…”
I do and said I did.
“…when I left that tourney I had a thousand dollars to my name. Period.”
Wait, what.
A thousand dollars to his name plus whatever change was in the ashtray.
“I slept in the back of my truck in parking lots on the way back East from that event.”
And with that I write down one word.
Only one word.
This one.
Champion.
“…there was a dream…”
“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.”
— Helen Keller
God bless the walk-ons in life, the guy who blocks for every kickoff until he picks up a fumble and runs 80 yards for the score.
God bless the women who are wives, mommies, and Olympic Gold Medal Winners.
In that moment of hearing of being a broke-ass Elite guy, of hearing about sleeping in the back of his truck, and that moment I became a fan of this dude named David Mullins.
“It wasn’t pleasant then db, but to be honest I think it made me stronger.”
Stronger only if you don’t forget it young man.
Stronger only if every cast you make floats on the remembrance of sleeping under the Walmart parking lot lights.
“I would park my truck next to Aaron Martens’ camper in a campground, sometimes I could sleep in the camper when his family wasn’t there, most times I slept in my truck, did it for years, at least I had a place to shower in the campground showers.”
I’m just smiling watching the leaves fall and this young man tell me his story.
I’ve heard it before, never tire of it, to be honest it is the only reason I write about any game, any sport.
It’s why I watch the punter after he punts the football.
Show me what you’ve got.
Chops, or not.
“…and one day…”
“When you’ve got something to prove, there’s nothing greater than a challenge.”
— Terry Bradshaw
I’m about to end the interview, I hear him tell me about a farm he just bought and how he is planting some type of farm thing plant, how he also while on the road facetimes his dog, I’m shaking my head like “uh huh, uh huh,” but then.
“I listen to the radio some, but most times I just drive with it turned off.”
I’m snapped back to being a writer again, “What.”
“Yep, turn it off, go for miles, hours sometimes, no radio on.”
I tell him I have a very fancy stereo set up in my Tundra (speakers somehow got blown out and don’t work right now though) and that I love music, always have music on but sometimes…
“I do it, turn it off because believe it or not, driving in silence I get to think, get to focus, you know what I mean, sound weird, but I lose track of time when I do it.”
“I do, I once drove through an entire state in silence.” I somehow don’t mention that while I do that I also write down notes for stories while usually eating donuts.
“You need that silence time db, you need that time when you are alone to think, it’s just me, the truck and the road, I’m paying attention to driving of course, but you know, you know…”
It’s about a zone, not a traffic zone, but that deep zone inside of you, that zone of complete and utter honesty, the zone you don’t need a mirror to acknowledge.
The zone of truth.
The silence that speaks to you of whether what you are doing is what you should be doing.
The silence that has already got your measure of a man, woman, or professional what-ever.
And so this is what I ask this David Mullins young man…nothing.
Next sentence is on him, not me.
There is silence, I hear the road, I hear his hands move on the steering wheel, I hear the measure of a measured man.
“…it helps me db, it, you know, gives me strength to go on, to follow this dream of mine.”
And this is how I write down that quote.
Right answer.
“…I could see it like a bird in a cage…”
To be honest, this isn’t an easy gig this year, me sitting home off the road and not in the thick of the thing.
I told my wife this morning that I’m not sure how much I’ve got left, it’s tough to get fired up while basically sitting on the bench.
I interviewed David on Sunday, sat at my desk on Monday trying to figure out what to write, same on Tuesday, almost dreaded it this morning, Wednesday, while looking at my reflection in my home office window.
But then for some reason something directed me to go to the Bassmaster website, find David Mullins in the Elite section and click on his photo.
As I do so the song of which the lyrics I used in this story is playing loud in my headphones, playing over and over again in attempt to get a vibe going.
Then, when the page loads this is exactly what I see about young David.
Career winnings…almost half-a-million bucks.
Angler of the Year Standing…eighth.
And suddenly I’m on fire, the story opens up right in front of me.
In 40 minutes start to finish I hit the send button to the mothership…and the story is in.
You know why.
Turns out this is simply the story of a plastic spoon that turned to silver.
And a young man who never gave up, who slept in the bed of his truck in parking lots all across America to compete in a sport he loves.
That my friends is a sport story worth writing.
May all your drives be in silence.
May all the mountains you climb be worth it.
And may all your plastic, turn to silver.
There you go,
db
“…I broke in and demanded that somebody free it.”
Head full of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise
The Avett Brothers
“Persistence can change failure into extraordinary achievement.”
— Marv Levy
