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It was time for the Swamp Gas Corners Bass Club's annual Tournament of Champions! Here the point champions for the year would be crowned, and me 'n' Harry was neck and neck for the top honors with our archrivals, Wilbur and Crusty. The first-place team would take home a thousand bucks cash and a big, tacky trophy.

The Wednesday evening before the big event found us at Zonker's Tavern. Harry was sippin' a brewski, trying to calm a bad case of the pre-tournament jitters. "I tried to get some shut-eye last night," he whined, "but every time I closed my eyes, I saw Wilbur 'n' Crusty in the winner's circle! Then I'd get so riled up, I couldn't sleep!"

Speak of the devil — in walked Wilbur 'n' Crusty. "Well, look who's here!" Wilbur said smarmily. "Is you boys plannin' your strategy for the Tournament of Champions?"

"Our strategy is to pound your sorry butts into the sand!" Harry snorted. "By the way, there can be only one championship team, and this year it's gonna be me 'n' Charlie!"

Crusty yawned and checked his watch: "I'd love to sit around all evening listening to your fascinating observations, but if you'll excuse me, I gotta go home and clear a place on my mantle for the trophy!"

While drivin' home we turned on the radio and the announcer said, "Better get out the blankets 'cause frigid weather is headed our way! The temperature will dip into the low 30s Friday night, then expect bluebird skies with a high of only 45 and strong north winds on Saturday!"

"Did you hear that?!" Harry gasped. "This could be our lucky break! When that cold front blows through, them basses is gonna develop a severe case of lockjaw, and they'll refuse to hit them big spinnerbaits and worms that Wilbur 'n' Crusty always uses! But we can still get bites with that new cuttin' edge finesse tactic … shaky head wormin'!"

"Are you crazy?" I laughed. "We ain't finesse fishermen! Your idea of light line is 20-pound test!"

"I see all them pros on TV usin' shaky head worms — they may be itty-bitty baits, but they'll catch big basses when the goin' gets tough!" Harry insisted. "None of them rednecks in the club are smart enough to think of usin' 'em but us! Here's our chance to whup Wilbur 'n' Crusty good!"

Supposedly shaky head wormin' was the ultimate desperation tactic of the pros, something they turned to when the bite got tough. Here's how it works: You rig up a tiny worm on a jighead and bobble it on the bottom in front of a sluggish sowbelly by shaking your rod tip repeatedly. Eventually the bass gets annoyed and grabs it.

Unfortunately we had none of the right lures or tackle for shaky head wormin', so we rushed back to my house and started poring through stacks of fishing magazines looking for information on what to use. "Check this out, Charlie!" Harry said excitedly. "This here article says the hottest finesse bait on the pro circuit is the Igotta Shaky Head Worm! It's a 5/64-ounce jighead paired with a 4.037-inch paddletail finesse worm that comes in 32 bass-catchin' colors! The bad news is, they're sold only in Japan! But it lists the company's phone number — wonder what time it is now in Osaka?"

I dialed the 34-digit phone number. A Japanese-speakin' man answered: "Moshimoshi, Igotta!"

"Um, can you speak-a the English?" I wondered hopefully.

"Yes, yes, can speak Engrish!" he replied.

"We're callin' from Swamp Gas Corners, USA, and need to get some Igotta Shaky Head jigs 'n' finesse worms, pronto!"

"Ah yes, rittle worm catch runker bass!" he quipped. "What corols you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, corols! Watermeron … rime gleen … stlawbelly …"

"Oh, colors! We need whatever you think will work in dirty water — three dozen heads and two dozen of each color worm oughta do it! We'll need two of your 7-foot custom shaky head spinnin' rods, too! Can you get it all delivered here by tomorrow afternoon?"

"No plobrem, with expless air shipping, that come to onry $987.99 U.S. funds! Gimme cledit card number, prease!"

"When our old ladies find out we blew a grand on Japanese lures 'n' tackle, they're gonna murder us!" I groaned after hangin' up. "We dang sure better win that prize money to cover it!"

As predicted, the air temperature Saturday morning was a frosty 31 degrees as we lined up for the tournament blastoff. Crusty and Wilbur pulled up alongside us in Crusty's hot rod Hydro-Blaster. "I wonder how this cold front's gonna affect your game plan?" Harry taunted Wilbur. "The bite could get real slow with this north wind!"

KA-BLOOEY! The official starting gun was fired and suddenly Belly Button Bayou was awash with bass boats racing every which way. Harry 'n' me just putt-putted across the lake to a stump flat where we'd caught countless lunkers in the past. Upon arrival, we pulled out our new Igotta shaky head spinnin' outfits and got ready for action. "What kinda line did you spool up with?" Harry asked.

"Six-pound mono," I replied, riggin' a watermelon finesse worm on the tiny jighead.

"I decided to go with 6-pound fluorocarbon," Harry allowed. "All them pros recommends it!"

"Be careful with that fluorocarbon stuff!" I cautioned. "I hear it don't work too good on spinnin' reels!"

Harry flipped the bale on his reel to make a cast and SPROING! All his line popped off the spool like an out-of-control Slinky! While he was tryin' to untangle the bird's nest, I cast my finesse worm to a sunken log. After it sank to the bottom, I gently shook my rod tip, makin' the little wiggler quiver 'n' pulsate. Suddenly my line straightened and I set the hook! ZZZZZTTT! The drag screamed as a big ol' bass took off for deep water! After a major tussle, I managed to work it close enough to lip it. She weighed 6 pounds, 4 ounces on my DeLiar scales! "Woo-wee, that shaky head worm really works!" I said excitedly as I slipped the hawg into the livewell.

"Well, I finally got my #%&* tangle straightened out, but I had to cut two-thirds of the line off the spool to do it!" Harry fumed. He chunked his finesse worm at a stump, let it sink, then shook his rod tip like I had done. Immediately he felt a tap and set the hook! "I got one!" he cried in amazement. Our second bass of the day weighed 5 pounds even!

Well sir, our game plan worked like magic. In spite of the cold front, them big basses bit that shaky head worm all day long! Finally we headed back to the boat ramp with five hawgs floppin' in our livewell. "Heh-heh, wait till Wilbur 'n' Crusty get a load of these pigs!" Harry chortled.

We created quite a sensation at the weigh-in. Hardly anybody else had managed to catch any fish, including our archrivals. A gasp went up from the crowd when we plopped them five lunkers on the scales! "Thirty-one pounds, 2 ounces!" Dead-Eye Dingle, the weighmaster, announced. "That makes Harry 'n' Charlie the winners of the 2008 Tournament of Champions! Congratulations, boys! Here's your trophy!"

"This is some trophy, all right!" Harry babbled. "Why, it's so big, I can hardly lift it! Maybe we could get Wilbur 'n' Crusty to help us load it into our truck! Har-de-har har!"

"Hey Dead-Eye, ain't you forgettin' somethin'?" I wondered. "How about our thousand dollars?"

"Um — er — the Tournament Committee is real sorry, but there ain't gonna be no cash award this year … only the trophy!" Dead-Eye mumbled apologetically. "I just got word from our treasurer that there's not enough money in the bass club's account to cover both the Tournament of Champions prize money and the upcoming Christmas party! And I think the majority of the members would agree that we'd hate not to have a Christmas party!"

"What!?" Harry sputtered in disbelief. "Who's the bass club treasurer?"

"That would be Wilbur," I informed him. "But don't even think of clobbering him upside the head with our trophy — we need to keep it dent-free so we can sell it to cover the cost of that shaky gear! Reckon we can get a thousand bucks for it on eBay?"

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