Due to enormously—nay, absurdly—high interest, I am following up my comment on noodling for catfish (see my earlier post, "Party Like it’s 1999") with this link that will put to rest any feminist notions that noodlin’ is a pastime enjoyed only by good ole’ boys given to wearing “Too Drunk to Fish” T-shirts (XXXL and up, of course).
I just read the piece in Outdoor Life on the train this morning, and found an e-mail from Wert, with this link, waiting in my inbox when I got to the office.
Speaking of rednecks, I also had a note from Dade City, Fla.’s own Jim Courier in my Inbox today (now he’s gonna kill me). He writes:
That is pretty good news, innit? All kidding aside, Jim has traveled far, far from his roots—you need to know how different most of Florida really is from Miami, Key West, or Naples, to know just what a long trip that can be.
At the same time, Jim has a lot of the qualities he absorbed as a kid growing up in the deep, and deeply conservative, south, despite his transformation into a very liberal-minded guy. Best of all, Jim's a lifer in tennis. He loves the game. He also has strong feelings about what's wrong with it—as well as with the mainstream media's chronic, boring tennis-bashers.
I predict that the senior tour Jim's launching next year, the Champions Cup Smeeries, is going to be a big success. And I have a feeling that the documentary Jim made last year (they’re in the editing stage right now, all the footage has been shot) will be the most highly regarded piece of tennis film yet made.
It's OK, Jim—you've won Grand Slams, no pressure or anything . . .
Alright, the baseline hasn’t been set all that high for tennis flicks (Players, anyone?), which is exactly why tennis sorely needs this flick.
If you’re one of those folks who think tennis needs a commissioner, and that having one could solve the sport’s problems, you would have to put Jim very high on the list of potential candidates, although he hasn’t yet had enough experience stabbing and being stabbed (backs only, please) in the boardroom.
Personally, I think it’s a dumb job that would kill the best of men because of the nasty political and bureaucratic realities that beset the sport. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
But of course, I have no enemies.
Light blogging until Wednesday, but I’ll get at least one Best Story of 2005 post up tomorrow . . .