Spectator fishing? What's up with that?

Don't get me wrong. I had the usual burst of hometown pride when I heard that Pittsburgh had landed the Bassmaster Classic. That I had never heard of the Bassmaster Classic did not diminish my enthusiasm.

We beat out Hartford, Conn. -- in your face, you insurance adjusters! -- to land this fishing tournament that could attract 100,000 fish fans next summer. For once, the hometown boosters aren't exaggerating. As events designed to shake Pittsburgh's unshakable smoky image go, a nationally televised tournament that has thousands fishing one of the prettiest stretches of urban waterfront in North America will be hard to beat.

We could be seen by millions on ESPN and ESPN2, so it seems clear that our job as citizens is twofold. First, we must be gracious hosts, but that comes to us naturally, doesn't it, hon? Second, we must do whatever we can to ensure that people with TV clickers in their hand the weekend of July 29-31, 2005, are captivated enough to stop and watch the fishing.

So what we need are good hecklers.

"You call that a cast? I saw a stronger cast at my daughter's school play!"

Every sport worth watching has hecklers. Sports with heckling fill stadiums and arenas. Sports without it fill bowling alleys and fairways. (Golf and bowling would be much bigger today if they allowed screaming.) If fishing wants ratings higher than poker or hockey, it needs an edge. And a sport that knows its largemouths from its smallmouths seems peculiarly suited to the art form of every true sports fan.

"You couldn't catch a fish if you were the bag boy at Wholey's!"

My knowledge of fishing is neither wide nor deep, so, good citizen that I am, I bought a couple of copies of Field & Stream last week to prepare for the Classic. It was probably the first time I ever opened one outside of a barber shop.

I immediately skipped past the most unnecessary article I've ever seen, "How to avoid the most dangerous snakes in the United States.'' (Doing OK there on my own, thanks.) Then I went to the back of the mag to check the ads: Viagra, country music, cigars, cigarettes, no-smoking aids and this hunting lodge: "Wild Boar in North Carolina; No Kill -- No Pay.'' (I think I found us a great vacation deal, honey, unless it's run by the Sopranos.)

Anyway, I think I did enough cramming to heckle effectively.

"Spinnerbait? You're using spinnerbait? The last person to have a hit with the spinners was Dionne Warwick.''

"What do you expect to catch there? If you were any more shallow, you'd be a regular at Donzi's."

OK, so maybe the act still needs work. I also can anticipate a higher degree of difficulty here than when you heckle, say, an umpire. There you generally don't need a boat.

The easy alternative would be to go to Mellon Arena for the weighing of the fish, an event that typically draws a standing-room audience for its drama, music, pyrotechnics and commentary by --I kid you not -- tournament host Fish Fishburne.

"Can I get a little mustard with that sardine?"

"Call off the search. Someone found Nemo.''

"Smatta? Your depthfinder break? You don't know the thermocline from the Incline? (You'll have to trust me that, in bass circles, this is killer material.)

Yeah, this act needs a lot of work. But we have more than a year to get our quips together. Who's with me?

"Forget the fish. Give this guy the hook.''