Smith - Never settle: family, football, and the American soul

There are two types of situations when lives change. One you recognize immediately and you know for certain, my life will never be the same. Second, and frankly more interesting, are those chance encounters that you dont immediately put into the life-changing category.

Those are my favorite to look back on.

I tell you that, to tell you this: My life changed one night on my bus outside of a club in North Carolina, in a mundane gravel parking lot, in which about two hundred crazy people had parked their vehicles and planned to drink and party and puke the night away.

My job? Provide the drink and the party.

But before I did that, in those days, I would have my meet-and-greet in the front lounge of my bus. Why? Good question. The short answer is: The clubs were so damn small you couldnt do it backstage.

There was no backstage. There was onstage, and in the crowd, thats it.

But I digress. Back to the meet-and-greet protocol: two or three at a time, single file, quick hello, whats your name, thats nice, smile for the camera. So imagine my surprise and intrigue when a skinny redhead-and I mean a coiffed redheaded fellow-stuck out his hand and, with an intense emotional story in his eyes, said, Your record Sinners Like Me saved my life. Im Marty Smith.

Bam! Little did I know that life had just changed forever.

No, that night we chatted about how music heals hurt and, in this case, how mine had healed his. I was touched but was oblivious to the future crop God had planted with the seeds of those words.

I dont remember the show; Marty does. I dont remember the place; Marty does. I dont even remember which city the place was in, butyou guessed itMarty does.

What stuck with me was his intensity and passion and sincerity. He carried his story in a way I hadnt seen a story carried before.

This was thrust to the forefront of my mind a short time later when I was invited to join Marty on Percy Priest Lake in Nashville for a fishing derby to benefit a good cause. The cause? I dont remember, but ask Marty.

I immediately said yes, and then proceeded to arrive ten minutes late just because, well, Im always late, and these things never start on time. Except these things, being fish derbies, actually do start on time. Emphatically, do.

They had a shotgun start. Clock strikes 8 a.m.! Bam! Two hundred bass boats race out at warp speed to slay their scaled nemesis at the far reaches of the lakes fingers.

So imagine my surprise and, truthfully, my amusement to pull up to a completely empty marina on tournament day.

All gone. Ghost town. Except for one lone boat, floating like a bobber on a backwoods catfish pond.

This lone vessel had two occupants. One had a mop of red hair spraying every which way. The other occupant, our fishing pro. His name escapes me; ask Marty. So I walk down and sheepishly utter my apologies. Nameless fish pro looked less than amused.

Marty, on the other hand, looked incredibly amused.

So now we got a real problem, says fish guy: All the other boats have a ten-minute head start, and they will have all the best spots staked out. I look around. Marty looks around. No one. Anywhere.

Marty says, Lets fish around the marina here. Fish guy looks at Marty, takes about three deep breaths, looks to the sky, considers the epic waste of time this day (and probably his career choice) will be, takes an additional breath, looks back at Martybecause there is no way in hell he is gonna look at meand says, Why not? We are probably too late, anyway.

Short story long. We won. In a landslide.

My favorite moment of the whole thing was after we got the trophy, a country music peer of mine, who took everything too seriously, walked up in a huff and said, We scoured dis whole gol-damn lake and caught nary a thing. Where da hell yous guys catch dem?

I just turned around and pointed at the boat launch and said, Right there. He was incredulous and, frankly, never the same professionally.

That day was the beginning of a thousand stories I could tell you. Stories of success, and recognition, and accolades, and world championships, and awards, and champagne, and beaches, and GOATS, and checkered flags, and pirate flags, and dammit moments so full of life you feel like youre flying.

Sometimes truthfullyflying on the gentle flowing 96 proof wings of Jack Daniels. We damn sure were.

There were other times when we didnt fly. When we leaned on each other on the ground. Held each other up, overcome with loss, hurt, death.

I think back many nights to that show Marty knows, in that parking lot Marty knows, on that night Marty knows, in that city Marty knows, and I know only one thing, the most important thing.

He thinks my music saved him, but I know his friendship saved me.