DATELINE: APRIL 6, 2023 – ATLANTA, GEORGIA
I have known Steve Ramsey for 34 years. That’s a lot of road trip miles, a lot of pro and college sports games, a lot of Skyline Chili, and a lot of late-night Frasier reruns. But in all that time, one thing we had never done was bunked together. His idea of an expensive room is $89, including tax, and I like to stay in hotels where they don’t steal my towels. We had always just ended up with our own accommodations – it was usually just an overnighter wherever the game was, with me staying in a Hyatt near the stadium and Steve staying in the little-known chain Motel D’Ecrepit in some suburb.
This trip was going to have some different paradigms. We were going to be on the road 14 days, roaming through the southeast, with nine professional sports events to attend – four baseball games, including two home openers, two NHL games, and three NBA contests. We had always talked about doing a major effort like this, and my employment circumstances being what they weren’t, the timing was perfect.
Being that this would mostly be in Florida during spring break, hotels were going to be stupidly expensive, even for the kind of suspect places that Steve digs up on the AARP website. And so, after I promised to behave myself and not destroy the bathroom, we agreed to be roommates for two weeks. As it turns out, it wasn’t a complete disaster, at least for me, but there were certainly some surprises. It’s fair to compare Steve to Felix Unger, but it’s not quite accurate to liken me to Oscar Madison – I am much, much worse.
One of the great shows in TV history.
But you’re not here to read about Ramsey’s digestive issues – you’re here for the fish, or you’ve gotten the wrong blog. (If you want to read about Ramsey’s digestive issues, go to TrunkCreatures.com.)
The general plan was for me to fish free time and off days, while Steve could take the car and do his own tourist stuff. It worked out surprisingly well. But as with any lengthy, complex road trip, there were a couple of schedule ideas that crossed the line from ambitious to just plain stupid, and we opened with one of those.
On April 25, we met up in downtown Atlanta, ate at Chick-fil-A, and toured the College Football Hall of Fame. (Which somehow hasn’t called me yet.)
The lobby of the College Football Hall of Fame. Every helmet from every program ever.
Including my alma mater, University of California at Davis.
Honoring one of the greatest coaches in history, Bo Schembechler. I couldn’t find Woody Hayes, but I didn’t look that hard.
Atlanta is full of these signs. Terrifying.
Photo with random women from Indiana. They adored Steve.
That evening, we sat down at our first game of the trip, watching our Pacers get defeated by the Atlanta Hawks.
At least Trae Young got tossed out of the game.
The game ended fairly early, around 8, so we could start down I-75, with the idea of stopping somewhere after a few hours. Doing the math, we were due in Lakeland, Florida, some seven hours away, by 1pm the next day to watch a Detroit Tigers spring training game, then back in Orlando by 6pm to watch the Magic play an NBA contest. We decided to gut it out to Orlando and check into the hotel there, even if that meant arriving at 3am.
Not the map screen you want to see before dinner.
Late night at Cracker Barrel. Each plate has at least 4000 calories on it.
We were wiped out when we arrived, but this still left us a decent night of sleep – except for my unfortunate discovery that Ramsey snores like two warthogs arguing over which had the worst sinus infection.
Sure, Steve will claim that I snore too, and I may, but his was Olympic level stuff, which could only be mitigated with a combination of earplugs, Ambien, and yelling. I must say that I never expected to find myself in a hotel room with another man, yelling “Roll over or you get the shoe!” Luckily, it never quite reached the stage where I had to throw shoes. This is actually a thing. During a 2001 Amazon trip, Ian-Arthur Sulocki and I were forced to throw shoes at a roommate who snored too loudly. Scott Perry will also claim he was subjected to this treatment in Alaska in 2008.
Morning came quickly, but it should be noted that that day, March 26, 2023, was Ramsey’s 70th birthday. It would be a memorable one for him.
The traffic between Orlando and Lakeland is always a challenge, but we still got to Joker Marchand Stadium in plenty of time to see my beloved Detroit Tigers play a spring training game.
Two big names from the Tigers of my formative years.
Outside the stadium. Note that Steve, always prepared, has a Tigers jersey. I can’t speak for his choice of headgear – I’d have to guess that IU and “The Golden Girls” had some kind of co-branding deal.
I am ashamed to admit this was my first time in these hallowed stands, but we got to watch Detroit’s reserves beat Tampa Bay’s reserves in an 11-10 thriller.
We were that close to the action. I made a number of helpful suggestions to the umpire.
The final spring training at-bat of Miguel Cabrera’s career.
While I’ve still never caught a batted ball in the stands of a professional baseball game, I was given one by a kindly usher who sensed my lifelong Tiger fandom.
The kindly usher.
It was then back into the car to slog to Orlando, park, and get over to the Magic game. Steve somehow had a Shaquille O’Neill jersey more or less in my size, and we cheered the Magic on as they defeated Brooklyn, the NBA’s most dysfunctional team.
Steve seems to have gear for every pro and college team. He may even have had Purdue stuff at one time, but I’m sure he’s burned that by now. Steve had certainly celebrated his milestone birthday in style, if you don’t count the sun hat. Even our late dinner back at the Hilton was memorable – the waitress took quite a shine to Steve and plied him with free birthday appetizers and desserts.
After that crazed 24 hours, we had a few days Tampa. On the way over, the fishing officially commenced – a failed attempt at an American Flagfish in some ditch outside Orlando.
Steve, a relative newcomer to smart phones, was somehow able to determine that there was a Skyline Chili nearby our Tampa hotel, so that’s where two of the next three dinners happened. (As if we needed help being difficult roommates. Skyline causes noises.)
It’s a food group. And an adhesive.
On March 28, Steve went off to tour the local area and I connected with local legend Ryan Crutchfield. We again targeted the elusive gulf flounder and we again got laughed at. This time, we were at the tail end of some very bad red tides, which the state of Florida acted all upset about, but they are the ones that released 2 billion gallons of phosphates into the bay, so it’s not like no one saw that coming. We put in a full day at a couple of the local piers, and there were two catches of note. I added a new species – the bighead searobin, and Ryan managed to score his first world record, on a beastly scrawled cowfish. I got to weigh and witness the fish – IGFA reps live for this kind of thing.
The bighead searobin, species 2173.
Ryan’s world record scrawled cowfish.
But, despite decent variety in the fishing, the Gulf Flounder was not to be had. Ryan was a jerk and caught a four-spot flounder right in front of me, fair play for my catching the Atlantic Stingray last time.
He felt really really bad, so that helped a little.
It was clear that the chronic red tides had really hurt the fishing. We tried several different piers, and for the first time in my life, I saw dolphins waiting around to steal hooked fish. This does not speak well of the ecosystem, and this really is on the State of Florida and some greedy business owners – see this article for details. But I had a species in the bag and another day coming up, plus dinner at Skyline Chili.
Sunset over Tampa Bay.
That following day, I fished the pier solo in the afternoon while Steve toured spring training facilities – Ryan was off fixing a printer somewhere*. I caught a lot of the usual suspects, but alas, no flounder of any kind.
A striped burrfish. These are cool – I got my first one in Mississippi in 2014, during the “Bird Flu” blog episode.
The egrets have figured out where to find lunch.
Steve swung by to pick me up for more Skyline, and as he was walking and enjoying the Pass-a-grille scenery, I hooked a big cowfish and managed to get it up on the pier.
It was a pound – barely – and therefore a world record. Ramsey got to be an official witness.
Ryan’s had been almost a pound and a quarter, but they would go in as a tie, but I want to be clear his was much bigger. (Boga Grips measure in quarter pound increments, so this can happen.)
The next day, we slept in, or at least Steve did while I laid there wondering how many dyspeptic animals he could imitate during one nap. Late morning, we met old Ohio friend Dave Hogan for lunch – Dave and I were throwing baseballs around in his back yard in Columbus, Ohio in the late 1980s – even before I met Ramsey. Once fed, we headed off to see the Tampa Bay Rays play their home opener against my beloved Detroit Tigers. Folks – get to this stadium early. Parking and stadium entry are poorly organized.
Steve, Dave, and Steve inside Tropicana Stadium.
The Tigers lost – but it was a blast to add another MLB park to my list. (I’m almost two-thirds of the way there.)
Dave was kind enough to drive us to the other side of the bay, where we would watch the NHL Tampa Bay Lightning game that evening. We had invited Ryan, who is a big hockey fan. This was an excellent, easy-to-access facility, and the food was outstanding.
The Lightning, to Steve’s delight, crushed the Buffalo Sabres. Notice that while I am still in my Tigers road gear, Steve had changed into Lightning garb.
The next morning, I was forced to wake Steve because, like many people, I don’t enjoy the sound of a rabid raccoon trapped in a trash bag. (There were complaints from people in the hotel next door.) We packed up, had breakfast, and headed for Miami. On the way in, I made a brief stop at the mountain mullet spot and got laughed at.
Of course, now I could catch all the Jack Dempseys I wanted to. My first one had been a terrible struggle.
It was Friday the 31st, the last day of a quarter. While I was working, quarter closes meant constant phone calls from desperate salespeople trying to mutate contracts into unenforceable gibberish, and me finding 143 ways to say “no.” But the phone was quiet. It finally started to set in that I was actually not working. And I liked it.
It was a fast three days in Miami. On Saturday, we attended a Miami Heat game, with old friend and co-worker Chris Monge in tow. Chris had also left the company, and we giggled with sadness every time the subject came up.
Both Chris and Steve seem to be looking at something other than the camera.
On Sunday, Steve and I both had ambitious plans. He intended to drive all the way to Key West, and I went fishing with Dom. Steve got home a lot later than I did, as he did not anticipate the 35mph nighttime speed limit in the Keys. (I promised not to mention that he got pulled over, but it’s too funny not to share. Of course he got off with a warning because he’s never had so much as a parking ticket in the 90-odd years he’s been driving, unless you count the unregistered horse incident.)
Fishing with Dom was an unexpected bonus – he had set up a trip with George Brinkman, and they kindly invited me along.
I can’t think three anglers with 1000 species have been on a boat together very often.
George had some definite targets he wanted to hit with Dom; I was just along for the ride and hopeful that I would stumble into one or two new ones.
It was a gorgeous day off Boca Raton – a welcome change from last year’s swelly mess. We motored from spot to spot, checking off some species George was after, and somewhere in there, I added a dusky flounder, one of the few easy-to-identify flatfish.
The fish in question – number two of the trip.
The males have turquoise markings on their heads.
I also managed to get a good old-fashioned snakefish, which, as it turns out, is a different species that the ones I had caught in Asia.
The snakefish – generally a pest, but a species I hadn’t identified correctly.
That meant that the blue and gold lizardfish I caught in Sao Tome in 2006 should have been counted as a new species. This happens from time to time, where we have to add or subtract a fish from the past – these are colloquially referred to as “armchair fish.”
The action on the reefs was non-stop. This is a queen triggerfish, one of the more colorful species in the area, and yes, Marta has caught a bigger one.
On Monday, we got to have lunch with a celebrity – Dr. Marty Arostegui.
Marty Arostegui – Fishing Hall of Fame honoree, and most IGFA world records all-time by a wide margin. He has been involved in 114 of the fish species I have caught since 2011 – around 10%.
We then spent that evening watching the Miami Marlins at Loan Depot Park, or whatever they’re calling it this week.
The result of a good-natured stadium attendant and a small gratuity. Steve can clearly walk on his own, but for those of you who only look at the pictures, the damage is done.
It’s a great facility, parking is easy, service is outstanding, and we got great seats.
The next morning, I tried one of the local piers, then headed back to Dania Beach to have lunch with the IGFA guys. It had been too long since I had hung out with Jack and Adrian, and I finally got to meet Zach Bellapinga, the poor guy who has to decipher the handwriting on my record applications.
That’s me, Zach, Jack, Adrian, and who knows what Ramsey was looking at.
That evening, we attended a Florida Panthers game, which was conveniently close to another Skyline Chili – again, something Steve found on his cell phone. You can truly teach an old dog new tricks … I’m hoping his next trick is learning to turn off alerts so I don’t get woken up every time AARP announces a coupon at MCL cafeteria.
My stomach was used to it by now.
Our guests were Cris and Flavia, an impossibly good-looking Brazilian couple who you should know from several episodes, as early as 2012.
Cris is a passionate fisherman himself, and has caught much bigger snook than I ever have. I met Flavia at least 10 years ago, and she has gotten progressively younger.
Interestingly, both the Heat and the Panthers battled into the lowest playoff seeds but both went to their respective Finals.
We then headed back north – we needed to be in Atlanta by the next afternoon, so we had plenty of time.
Florida has some of the best billboards in the country.
Ramsey was very patient about letting me try some pier and creek spots as we drove. Alas, there was nothing new to report, although I caught some cool stuff.
Random palometa from Vero Beach. These things fight hard.
On the way out, I checked an apartment pond spot for bluefin killifish.
Needless to say, I failed. I hate that fish.
But it might have been nice if Ramsey had pointed this sign out to me.
I also made a furtive try for hogchoker at a boat ramp that was closed for the evening, which meant that Steve was left in the car for an hour, by himself, on the side of a country road. I thought about calling the cops and reporting a suspicious vehicle just to see what he would do, but alas, there was no cell signal.
And again, even though it was 9pm and we were still five or so hours from Atlanta, we decided to plow through and get there so we didn’t have to bother with two hotels. We ate a late dinner at Waffle House, which reminded us of why we don’t eat at Waffle House very often.
If they actually have to post this stuff, it tells me all of these things happen there. I’ve eaten at Waffle House twice after midnight, and both times, the food was reasonable but the crowd was like the Star Wars cantina.
We checked in to the Atlanta hotel at 3am, and yes, Steve somehow ended up with his own room. I even asked that they set him on a different floor, but they drew the line at putting him in a different county.
It was April 6 when we headed to our final event of the trip – the Atlanta home opener, a thrilling 9th-inning comeback win for the Braves.
Outside the Braves stadium, which I now think is Truist Field. I don’t like corporate sponsorships or Jane Fonda, but I do like Phil Niekro. This was the only game he did not wear the home team’s gear, and he owns some of their Boston jerseys from when he was a kid.
The field at night, right before the Padres blew a big lead.
Why, I ask, did the Tigers ever trade this guy?
In retrospect, there were only two and a half species added on the trip, plus a record, but, as weird as this sounds from me, the main point of the trip wasn’t fishing. It was spending two sports and chili-filled weeks with a great friend, a journey on which I gained an even greater respect for his drive to experience everything he possibly can in the athletics world. Two weeks of talking through the upcoming NHL and NBA playoffs, two weeks of trying to convince myself that the Tigers could somehow sneak into the postseason. This was two weeks of mobile man cave time, complete with wild animal noises.
The game went well into the evening, but I still got a bit of sleep before an early morning flight. Even though Steve was two floors down from me, I kept hearing a faint noise, like the botched ritual sacrifice of a water buffalo, coming through the floor. I knew who it was.
Steve
* Ryan is a senior executive. He doesn’t fix printers. But this joke never gets old, at least to me.