ESPN Elite Series

Seems I've got to have a change of scene
Cause every night I have the strangest dreams
Imprisoned by the way it could have been ...

MUDDY FIELD UNDER AN EMPTY TENT, ONEIDA LAKE, N.Y. — Darkness reveals truth. Life decisions written on the ceiling above, like 2 a.m. conference calls within your head.

And the numbers on the bedside clock keep turning. As do you.

Is this a dream? A nightmare?

What to do ... what to do?

Bouts of sleep blur the line between REM and reality.

All that talking going on inside — what about this, what about that, should I, would I, do I? Can I?

Finally, back in a corner of your brain where the pillow rests, a lone voice emerges, calm and steady. And everything else goes silent as you listen to what it has to say.

With it comes sleep, but when the morning comes, along with the dawn comes the answer. Your inner core has spoken — and you know what you have to do.

That old friend inside you that guides has held out their hand to lead the way.

And you follow, because the answer is in your soul.

You know, deep inside, it's time to go.

The Final Cut

161 Days. No top 50s. 23 Weeks.

No checks from Bass. Almost six months of, well ... zip.

Paul Hirosky: "I worked from the end of February to the middle of August for nothing. That's a lot of hours, days, weeks, without any money."

What Paul didn't say was that it cost him $55,000 in entry fees alone to compete at the Bassmaster Elite level. Add to that truck and boat gas, motels, meals, and all the other costs you get dinged with when you live life on the road for at least 11 weeks a year.

Got a figure in mind yet? Good.

So how long could you have lasted? How long WOULD you have lasted?

Paul Hirosky lasted until a stormy, mud-filled weekend in Syracuse, N.Y. The final 50-cut of the Bassmaster 2008 series. He didn't make it, 0-11 for the year.

His pants were splattered with mud almost to his knees. Sandals were the only dry shoes he had left, so rainwater and central New York soil seeped between his toes.

We had walked away from the crowd, seeking refuge in an empty tent across small ponds of water from a large yellow blow-up lemon-shaped balloon, and an Ice Crème stand in the shape of a cone.

It was smallmouth as done by Fellini.

On the Bassmaster stage behind us, Kevin VanDam hoisted the Angler of the Year trophy in jubilation, "I'm glad he won it, db — he's a nice guy."

Paul never won so much as Angler of the Day. In the Angler of the Year points race, out of 109 guys, he was No. 106.

Today at the Champion's Choice on Oneida Lake, he finished 92nd — about the place he has finished all year — leaving him out of the money, out of qualification for next year, out of hope. Even out of desire.

"For some reason, I'm not supposed to be doing this right now. I don't know what the reason is ... it's just not meant to be. Divine intervention is telling me it's not in the master plan for me right now."

And with that, this proud athlete blinked blue eyes the color of coral, looked down at the mud and damned a small stream of rain water with his sandals.

I gave him time, if nothing else. He's earned that.

I knew what was coming.

I didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to say it. I was silent, letting the man before me choose his own words, his own way of saying it. And for once this year, Paul Hirosky was center stage.

"db ..." (Pause.)

"db, I'm done." (Pause.)

"db ... I'm done ... I'm not coming back next year." (Pause.)

"db, it's over."

The raindrops hitting the tent were the only sound.

I could count each drop, watch each second go by on my digital recorder. Over Paul's shoulder, people bought soft serve cones and lemonade in a slow-motion blur.

(In a Fellini film, this is where it would turn to black and white.)

While today the dream of fishing for a living may be beginning for some, it's ending for one. Right here, right now.

"All year, no matter what I would do, I would try so many different things, so many different approaches. I just couldn't convert on tournament day. I had great practice days filled with hope ... nothing ever seemed to work."

As if sensing the crowd around us for the first time, "There's so much more to this game that the fans don't know. A lot happens behind the scenes and the little things we all go through that make it a lot harder than you think.

"You just don't pull up to a lake and go fishing for a couple of days. There is a lot more to it — a lot of obstacles you have to overcome."

"db, I know I'm better than this ... I know I'm better."

With those final words, I reached out my right hand to shake the hand of a man who had fished so hard, through so much adversity. And when we shook, we ended it with the shoulder-to-shoulder man hug, with pats on the back.

And I knew on the final pat, that in this no-holds-barred rat race we call professional sports, the man in front of me just took the exit ramp out of the race: Paul Hirosky was going home. To stay.

Godspeed Paul — may your home lakes be your friend.

Left here on my own or so it seems
I've got to leave before I start to scream
Someone locked the door and turned the key

— "Feelin' Alright," by Joe Cocker

— db

Don Barone is a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association. Other stories of his can be found on Amazon.com. For comments or story ideas you can reach db at www.donbaroneoutdoors.com

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