No one likes a poor sport

Taylor, left, lost two out of three to Cox to determine who represented the U.S.

The older I get, the more I absolutely love athletes that are cool towards each other. I like intensity as much as the next guy, but when the match is over or the play is done, I dig a guy who gives proper respect to his opponent. (Or "Hespect," as the Brazilians say.) But I can't stomach the whining of a sore loser.

J'Den Cox, who Tracy and I saw win an NCAA title in NYC last year, just won his 2nd world level medal. First, he had to beat one of the best Americans to never make a world or Olympic team, David "The Magic Man" Taylor, in the World Team Trials in best two out of three, which qualified him for the Worlds in Paris.  Then last Friday, on his way to winning the bronze, he lost in the semis to the eventual silver medalist, who Taylor had beaten in an earlier tournament.  Taylor also had beaten the champ, so it appears he was fuming at his computer in Pennsylvania asking, "What if?" over and over.

Anyone can understand the frustration, but dude . . .













It is one thing to critique performance, but heart? And nearly 700 people liked it??

Cox saw the tweet before his bronze medal match, and his response was simply, "That wasn't cool," and "I'll be praying for him."

Classy response from a classy young man. Such class is in short supply, but it is cool to see.

I once heard a rookie wide receiver interviewed years ago about facing NFL Hall of Famer Deion Sanders for the first time. Sanders came up to the line, smiled big and made eye contact with the rookie like they already knew each other. Then spent the next hour beating the brakes off of him. But there were times he was giving him advice, one time walking him back after one play telling him to stay low before he makes his cut so it gives the defensive back less time to react.

I saw Rickson Gracie interviewed before a big MMA fight, or Vale Tudo as it was called back in the day, and he wished his opponent good luck in his training leading up to the fight. No face off or silly McGregor-Mayweather traveling minstrel show.

When I was at the World Cup in L.A. a couple years ago, the wrestling teams I enjoyed most were Mongolia and Iran- they compete with joy. They looked like they were having fun, and appeared that wrestling was closer to dancing than combat. Those Iranian fans are crazy fun; and wildly cheered, rang bells, beat drums and blew horns for our Yanks when we dualed the Russians. At the other end of the spectrum, the Cubans seemed to have a chip on their shoulder.

There is honor in observing good sportsmanship.

This week at the World Championships, Olympic Champ Helen Maroulis ran the table, outscoring opponents 53-0. Jordan Burroughs just won gold #5. Kyle Snyder beat 3x World and Olympic Champ Sadulaev, who was was so unchallenged at his weight that he went up a class to challenge Snyder. The team score had both the Russians and Americans tied for first, and this match sealed the U.S.'s first team title in 22 years.

Too bad Taylor's comments seem to be right up there in the news. Come on DT, don't be The Tragic Man.

From the office . . . an invitation for sextortion

Every done anything so incredibly foolish as to ruin your reputation and put your relationships with friends, family and profession at risk? Yeah, me neither. But heaven bless them, folks sometimes do stupid things . . . and it is nice to be able to toss them a life preserver.

Recently, a well respected professional developed an online correspondence with an attractive person of the opposite sex, and images of a discreet nature were exchanged. Not real sure how this went down, but . . . dude.

Pretty soon after, the client was contacted via email by someone with a polite request for a large sum of money. In exchange, the sender kindly agreed to not post the previously exchanged boudoir shots on the client's Facebook page, or send them to the client's spouse, children, and every co-worker email address on the company website. Sounds like a heckuva good deal!

We helped the client to realize a few things:
1. They were hosed, and needed to come clean with people who may receive the images. The sextortionist's leverage was in the fear of those images being made public (thank you Psych 101).
2. If the turd was paid off, what prevents him from seeking additional booty? Saying "pretty please?"
3.  It was just might have been a mistake to send those pics to begin with.

We decided to make the client a bad target and hit this scumbag in the mouth. We knew that 45% of these guys actually carry out their threats, but we wanted better odds. We installed tracking software in the client's email, which tracked the bad guy to Ghana, gave me his IP address, identified the times he read the email, and it showed that he forwarded it to someone in eastern Europe. We were able to identify the middle man for the transaction, a seedy malevolent ex-convict sex offender dirtbag here in the U.S. who served as the money mule.

Unfortunately, only 16% of victims report it to the police, which plays to the bad guy's chances of success. But we reported it to local law enforcement, to the FBI, and to LA's Cybercrime Task Force, then wrote the hoodlum an email that let him know that, and that he wouldn't receive one red cent from us. And that the client was not low hanging fruit as family, friends and employer have been advised of the photos.

We were also colorful with all kinds of threats involving alphabet agencies and that we knew where he was and net closing in and handcuffs and a cellmate named "Bubba." And that there would be no more communications, as the sleaze from this time forward was going to be blocked. (Like telling your kid to just ignore the other kids when they tease him.)

The tracking software showed the idiot repeatedly opened our email, no doubt incredulous. He made a couple anemic threats, then went on to seeking greener pastures elsewhere . . . and he will no doubt will find them. There is no shortage of people doing stupid things.  But he left our client alone.

Truth be told, cases like this are a dime a dozen, and a week doesn't go by when the FBI or even the Cybercrime Task Force receives a complaint about these types of extortions. There are a lot of things our clients can do to not be victimized, but chief among them is exercising some gosh darn common sense and not put a bullseye on their forehead.

But not exercising common sense sure makes my job interesting!

And We Danced!

Newlyweds: Slow dancing, swaying to the music, just me and my-my-my-my girl

Tracy and I were recently at the 40th wedding anniversary of Tim & Cheryl Gallagher, and we took note of David De Castro and his wife Linda out on the dance floor tripping the light fantastic. As we sat and watched the dips and twirls and other cool moves, Tracy looked over at me and said, "We need to take dance lessons."

My first thought was that I don't need no stinkin' dance lessons- she saw plenty of my dance moves when we were a-courtin'. Our first dates were were actually at a dance club in Provo not all that long ago, when George Herbert Walker Bush was president, and Frankie said RELAX! (I still want to know, Frankie, don't do what?)

Dancing was fun back in the day, hitting late nights at LA clubs like 321, The Palace and Florentine Gardens, and afterwards your clothes had that sickly-sweet stench of clove cigarettes because smoking was common indoors back then. (Something I don't miss about the 80s.) The key was to find a spot on the floor under a vent, for not only fresh air, but those places were saunas.

While up at BYU, Ivy Tower was the happening place. It had several dance floors with different types of music, wall to wall people bumping into you, and music thumping so loud it was impossible to carry on a conversation. Where Tracy and I went on our first date . . . an obvious place to take a girl to get to know her.

We dance where WE hear the music, and where we could embarrass Lindsey while taking this pic.

After getting married, I can probably count on one hand how many times we have been dancing (despite my best efforts!) But that has changed, now that we are enrolled in a ballroom dance course. We might even get dance shoes. I am sizing up one of those awesome matador jackets, and still trying to decide- sparkles or LEDs?

Our first dance lesson was on Friday, and I was not prepared for that type of exertion. We spent time on the Eastern Swing, with one-two-three, right-left-right, bounce, step, repeat. Which then added a behind the back maneuver, then one with her going under my arm, then me under hers. And that was the first 15 minutes! Suffice it to say, I needed a shower when we were done, and I slept for 10 hours that night.

But you know what?  I think cutting a rug will be a regular date night gig. I may need a sweat band though.

So, Mr. and Mrs. De Castro, that is the power of example!

I told our dance instructor that Tracy and I prefer to dance just with each other, but there are rare occasions where we might find ourselves dancing with others . . .

And we danced- Like a wave on the ocean, romanced . . .

Eventually, all things merge into one . . .

With my best fishing buddy at a super-private, friends-only, ultra-secret pond stocked with Alpers Trout.

Henry David Thoreau famously said, "Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not the fish they are after."

Isn't that the truth. Thoreau may have been talking about more than just fishing, but those of us who have made a serious effort in the wonderful past time of angling understand this one thing: It ain't about the fish.

You want meat? Go to Costco.

On the other hand, standing knee-deep in a cold trout stream at the edge of a riffle, with no one else around, and the only thing you hear is water . . . man, that is one of my happy places.

Weaverville
I fell in love with fishing back in the early 1990s while living up in the gold rush town of Weaverville, CA, which is the last stop on the way to heaven. The below pic was the very first fish I hooked, a nice brown trout, caught on a Flatfish in the riffle behind the Wellock's place on the Trinity River in nearby Lewiston. You might say we were both hooked on that day.

My daughter was impressed, and that is all that matters.

The pic below was taken in the backyard of our old 1860s-era home one November during the late fall run of kings on the Trinity River. We caught those fish downstream about an hour from town, 100 yards below Hell Hole, where the tail out forms another run. I was drifting my own Borax-cured roe with 30lb test braided mainline and a 10lb Maxima leader, with size 1/0 Gamakatsu hooks, on a 7-ft Fenwick spinning rod with a Quantum Blue Runner reel. It is funny how I can't remember my kids' birthdays, but I can tell you minute details about fishing adventures. (Just kidding- Nov 9, Dec 8, Mar 12). I worked with the youth in my church, and the two of the boys (Paul & Chris) were fishing buddies. The one on the far left is a cousin whose name I can't recall. Sorry Fackrell Cousin. Anyway, it was an epic day.

Fishing was a lot of fun during the Weaverville era, and when the fish were in, you can't believe the excitement. On more than one occasion I was on the river by 5:30AM, caught a salmon, tossed it in the fridge, then took a shower and went to work. Some areas are combat fishing, where folks stood elbow to elbow, coordinating their casting and catching almost melodically to prevent tangles. The running joke was "safety glasses required, soft-cups optional."

Weaverville is reminiscent of Lake Wobegon, "Where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and all the children are above average."

I miss living in Weaverville.

Yentna River with guide Dewar, friend Peter Lassen, me and my dad. Three sessions of fishing per day!

North to Alaska
The picture above was great trip to Alaska, where we flew into Anchorage, then jumped on a float plane, a Cessna 208 Caravan, at Hood Lake.  We flew about an hour northwest of Anchorage to a lodge where we fished the Yentna, Lake Creek, and a bunch of sloughs and tributaries. (With no cell phone service!) We caught silver (coho), red (sockeye), pink (humpy) and chum (dog) salmon, the only Pacific salmon not fishable were kings (chinook). We also caught some northern pike, which slam into your lures like a freight train. Everyone should experience a trip like this, at least once in their lives.

Alaska is the mecca for fishing, especially for those of us who like salmon and halibut, but I initially never wanted to spend the money. Then I was engaged on a project on the Kenai Peninsula, so I knew I had to get some time in on the water while up there. I went fishing out of Ninilchik the first day and landed some halibuts the size of my front door. The next day, I took a de Havilland Beaver float plane from Soldotna to Wolverine Creek to get in on the big run of reds. As we landed, I caught a look at a black bear and started shooting pictures like crazy, and the guide told me to save my film. (Remember film?) Within an hour, we had half a dozen grizzlies fishing right near us. A month later I was back there with my dad and brother. It turned out that I actually do want to spend the money to fish in Alaska.

My first Alaskan sockeye, with Smokey over my shoulder.

Fishing around those bears was pretty surreal, they would dive in right by out boats. The rule was to not land a fish when a bear was near by, so they don't look at fisherman as a source of food. I wouldn't be all that tasty anyways, too much marbling.

There are plenty of fish to go around.

Family Fun

My dad and I soon after had a project in British Columbia, and had some work to do over in Nanaimo, on Vancouver Island. We hired a guide to take us on a walk & wade trip on the Cowichan River and I was set up fishing with a 2-handed fly rod called a spey rod. I thought it would be cool to try to catch a king on a fly, and I did!

What I didn't anticipate was the knuckle-busting reel had no drag, so I had to slow that little torpedo down by palming the reel. Now, palming the reel may be nice and all for a trout, but for a salmon? I ended up with a blister the size of a half-dollar on the palm of my hand. But definitely worth it. Anyone else YOU know catch a king on a fly?

Cowichan River, BC - Caught that 30lb king on a fly!

Nice king my dad caught on the Cowichan.

My dad and I have enjoyed other fun trips to Alaska and other places. One memorable one was steelhead fishing on the Rogue River in Oregon, where my grandpa spent many days fishing. Steelhead, which is an anadromous (ocean going) rainbow trout, pull hard, can be acrobatic, and are unpredictable fighters. There is probably nothing more fun than fighting a steelhead. Late in the day, while we were drifting in a Mackenzie style Willie Boat through a riffle, I saw a fly line in the water. Our guide rowed over to it, and we picked up the line, and it took off on us. Turns out some other fisherman had gotten spooled earlier, and the fish was still on the line!

For probably the first half of Tracy and my marriage, maybe a little less, we spent every Thanksgiving at her folks' place in Vernal, UT. I fished with my brothers-in-law in sub-freezing weather many times, where the line kept freezing to the guides on the rod, and ice formed on my waders.  But when you catch fish like that bad boy below, who cares how cold it is?

28-inch German Brown that hangs on my wall, Green River, six miles below the dam at "Little Hole"

Fishing is fun, but I don't do it for the fish. (Unless I pay a guide. I don't pay to fish, I pay to catch!) I love being with friends and family, and more particularly, I have had some great fun fishing with my boy Jake. We have gone pretty much every fall since he was 7 up to the Mammoth Lakes area.

Jake's first fish at age 7, Twin Lakes, CA.

The first time we went up, we were with a bunch of friends, and we hit up a handful of small lakes between Mammoth and Bridgeport. We were fishing with night crawlers primarily, and I ran out, so I ran to the bait shop to get some more, as well for a bunch of the other guys. The guy behind the counter told me that I don't want night crawlers, what I really wanted were these artificial worms that were infused with garlic oil. I told him that if I returned to my buddies with rubber worms instead of night crawlers, I would catch heck. He said, "Ok, buy night crawlers for them, but YOU get these."

I went with his advice, and pretty soon (after breakfast at Schat's) we were all lining the banks at Lake George. Everyone was getting their lines in the water, but there was no action yet. Since Jake was 7, I spent a lot of time rigging up his rod, so I eventually got the artificial worm on Jake's rod, and he casted it out.  As I started to get my rod rigged up, bingo. Jake had one on. I helped him land it it, re-rig and cast out, and again, before I could get going, bam. Another trout. This happened twice more immediately, and no one else had yet to even get a nibble.

Best thing ever to hear, from my innocent little 7 year old boy, was him exclaim how weird it was that we were the only ones catching any fish! Loudly.

Pretty soon the jig was up, and my friends were "borrowing" my artificial worms. Hey, that is what it is about . . . everyone having fun. If you got the secret sauce, you share it.

Jake at age 12, legit catcher of fish, Lake Mary

We have had some great times up there. Seeing your kid land a 3 pound rainbow is pretty darn cool. The first shot at the beginning was taken at a pond shown in the Tom Cruise flick "Oblivion."

On one of our trips, we got out of the car at Virginia Lakes, and I was about to say something about yanking and banking a boatload of fish, but Jake put it into perspective . . . "Come on dad, let's go make some memories!"

Nothing better. The time visiting in the car, the time fishing in the water, and the overall renewal make fishing the ultimate catharsis.


"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters."

-Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It