BassWestUSA - January/February, 2010, Page 71

the short circuit

Blowing the Stink


mother used to tell me when I was a kid to get outside and blow some of the stink off. I don’t think I smelled bad or my mother didn’t like me but she loved the outdoors and couldn’t figure out why an ornery young boy would ever want to be in the house. Truthfully speaking, I didn’t spend much time in the house. There were no computer except the very large kind that companies used and there were no gaming toys. We played baseball, basketball and football and went fishing. We had a local creek called Six Mile Creek, a creek that you could spit across that we caught bullheads, bluegills and about 6 families of the carp family out of. We would occasionally catch a warmouth or a smallie but we really didn’t care. Growing up in a small town in Central Illinois had perks. We had friends that we would die for, fami- lies all knew each other and pulled for each other and we had our imaginations. If we couldn’t field enough kids for a ballgame we made up things to do and getting in trouble were for things like run- ning in a grumpy neighbors garden or having a tomato fight. Mayberry maybe but it was some of the best times of our lives. Things were simple. Listening to a Cardinal game, playing little league and fishing Harold’s Pond, which was also about the size of a baseball infield and named after the guy that owned it, were what summers were all about. Fishing Harold’s Pond was about competi- tion even then. We fished for first fish, most fish and biggest fish and the winner always got a bottle of pop and a candy bar at Hump’s Gas Station after we were done. Yes, that’s right Hump’s Gas Station. It was a small dingy little building where men played cards and boys like us looked at the pin-up calendar that was a vintage 1962 model. It had a plastic sheet that had, I think it was Betty Grable, with clothes on and when you lifted it up she was in a swimsuit that covered more real estate than the State of Montana. Not much to look at but we thought it was pretty special. Fishing was simple back then. A Zebco 33 with a Montgomery Ward fishing rod was our rod and reel. We got hooks and a bobber and we were in for business. Sometimes we found worms, sometimes we caught crickets and bugs and other times we threw a bait that looked more like a block of wood than something a fish might eat. It didn’t matter. We were outside, throwing dirt clods at each other, telling stories and always arguing. We argued about who could cast the furthest, we argued who’s dad was tougher and we argued that the Yankees were better than the Cardinals. I think we argued just to argue but it was fun. We have entered a new year and hopes are they will be much better than the last one. We hope sales will increase and we hope both pro tournament trails will survive. We are a bit deeper into the sport but what really matters is we still fish for the same reasons. We love it and that will never change. 2010 is a year that we need to take my mother’s advice and go outside and blow the stink off. It will do everyone some good. BW

January/February 2010


Terry BroWn