“You say you should have been a ballerina, babe…”
Dateline: A Desert of Dreams
You might be asking yerself this here question, “Ah no offense db, but what the hell are you doing at ICAST.”
Go ahead, ask, I’ll give you yer time: …
…
…
You done.
Okay, fair enough, but since ICAST is about over and by the time this is published, they could only kick me out of here for a day that ends by 3 PM anyway, I’ll tell you the truth.
All the other media treat this here thing like a PRODUCT SHOW.
And they would of course be right, except for the fact that they are dead wrong. It’s got nothing to do with product (that’s going to get me booted out of all the free media food feasts right there).
Fact is this is my second, and conceivably my last ICAST. Because I’m going to tell the folks who put this on that they are also wrong about what the thing they are putting on is about.
They even named it wrong.
At one end of this Convention Center that may in fact be bigger than Rhode Island, they have this fancy area draped of with actual drapes on things, soft lights, and pretty girls and guys hanging around with glossy 4 color brochures in their pretty hands.
I’ve never stepped inside of it. Only give it a glance from afar, ‘fraid it may be “catchy.”
Other than the pretty people with pretty teeth and hands in the area, everything else is just, you know, ah…Product.
Product, for those of you who can’t walk the aisles of this country of a convention center, PRODUCT is exactly this:
Dead Stuff. Lifeless bits of metal, floro-something, Gore-somethin’-somethin, and things that will stick you if you don’t pay attention.
There are no “I’s” of the ICAST in there.
The “I’s” are out here, with me walking around.
“…there are songs I should have sung…”
None of my several thousand bosses know exactly what the hell it is I do or write about, which is good for me, but not so much for having a secure future.
This is a convention allegedly about PRODUCT.
I am a writer who never writes about PRODUCT.
To me, that’s perfect, de-synergy.
If you point to something and tell me that’s what I should be writing about, I’m going to close my eyes.
If you say, look at this, I won’t.
The moment you tell me to, “listen, ” I don’t.
Here’s why.
I have my own eyes.
I have my own ears.
I have my own brain.
Stay out of it.
You of ICAST, stop pointing, stop talking … and start listening, start looking around, and you’ll know why I come here and love it.
If you walk in this place with virgin eyes you know it is not “i”Cast.
Virgin eyes, shows you, it’s MeCast!
And that’s what I love about. My google calendar, the label I put for these three days is just this:
“DreamCast.”
I come here to be recharged by the dreams in the air.
I come here because I am in awe of dreamers.
I come here, not for the Products throughout.
I come here, for the Passion, within.
I’m just a working class stiff. Married a 23 year old beautiful young lady when I was a 22 year old weird looking dude. We had absolutely NO SHOT of a successful marriage.
Some 37 years later we keep telling ourselves that. Our No Shot is about to enter it’s 4th decade.
At the 40 year mark, when we walk, we will still do as we do today, hold hands.
At the 40 year mark, when we talk, we will still do as we do today, talk of our dreams.
But we, Barb and I are in another marriage…one with the soil we walk on, one with the air we breathe, one with the country we live.
America.
We, and you, are bounded by this marriage. To America.
I know many people believe this marriage, to be busted up. I’ve heard the American Dream is dead.
That’s why I don’t listen anymore.
I know how wrong that statement is.
Because I’ve walked through “DreamCast.”
“…but I guess our dreams have come and gone…”
The American Dream is dead … don’t tell Megastrikes Bobby Urhig that.
Last night I stood and listened to the most passionate discussion of some sort of product that I have no idea what it was, or what it would do, google Megastrikes if you must know, but to be in the presence of passion, where there is supposed to be none, to be in the presence of dreams, where there are supposed to be none, is like finding water out here in this desert.
This man told me he learned how to scuba dive so he could be underwater and watch how a bass eats. The dude did it so he could build his thing-a-ma-jig, better.
Dreams man, dreams.
I met a new Elite guy, told me he just qualified through the opens, told me he is working his butt off now “landscapin'” saving every dime so he can fish the tour. When I asked why, he simply said, “Been dreamin’ about it all my life.”
Dreams won’t buy gas.
Dreams won’t catch fish.
Dreams won’t lock up sponsors.
The only thing dreams will do, is give us a future.
Met a dread-locked young man in a tournament jersey. Dude’s name is Anthony Hunt, sponsored by Anthonyhuntfishing.com. Anthony has a huge head of hair and a smile to match, we talked a bit about his dreams, and as I was leaving he asked if he could give me his business card.
Sure I said, and he handed me a business card that had his name printed on it.
By hand.
Blank card, with his name written on it by, I assume, Anthony Hunt.
I will always follow young Anthony Hunt.
I will always learn from Anthony Hunt.
I will always wish to have the Anthony Hunt heart, to have the Anthony Hunt dreams.
Anthony Hunt, I don’t know how well you fish, don’t really care, but if someone tells me once again that the American Dream is dead, I will hand them your handwritten business card, as proof that if Anthony has heart, if Anthony has dreams, so should we all.
Got stopped buy some guy from Jack Hooks, who told me that if I’m still tying knots, I don’t know Jack.
I DON’T know Jack.
I do know hearts.
I do know dreams.
I know that Jack.
I walk in the back door of the Convention Center and WFN (World Fishing Network) Host/Producer Mark Melnyk comes up to me, “Hey db I want you to meet someone…” and he brings me over to meet Gary Makar of Sundog Eyewear.
Gary starts talking immediately about how cool his sunglasses are because they have some sort of Melon-something in them, or on them, when people starting get technically on me, my brain starts getting away from me.
But I stand there and listen, absorbing the passion, being fueled by this man’s dreams.
Don’t know if Canada has something called the Canadian Dream, but I know this Canadian has got it.
I am NOT endorsing his product … I AM endorsing his passion.
“… you’ve got to dream when you are young…”
You only know young, when you are old.
You only know tired, when you are old.
You only know old, when you are old.
I come to ICAST, for all the “I’s” that are here.
The “I’s” of ICAST, bring me youth.
The “I’s” of ICAST energize me.
But I still feel old. It is after all not “fountain-of-youth-Cast.”
I came here to see for myself if the American Dream was in fact dead.
I met a Canadian who told me no.
I met some guy from Germany who told me no.
I met several guys from Japan who told me no.
I came here because this is ground zero for passion in this sport. No passion here, no sport out there.
Soon I will board a plane and ride the sky back home and tell Barb when she asks, what is ICAST , what’s it about.
I will tell her it’s about passion.
I will tell her it’s about dreams.
I will tell her it’s about loving what you do.
And I will tell her this as we walk down our street,
…holding hands.
“I don’t know when
but we will dream again
And we’ll be happy then
Till our time just drifts away”
Dreams Go By
Harry Chapin
