It was probably the 1989 Classic that changed my life.

I’m sure that sounds strange, as I didn’t compete or even attend the weigh-in. But I can still remember the coverage vividly. Hank Parker: Gunn’s Run, Richmond, Va. Slow-rolling a big spinnerbait with shiny gold hubcaps for blades. Bedlam at the final weigh in; Parker’s hand raised high in potential victory as he weighs his day-3 bag. His Outdoor Magazine cap was slightly crooked on his head, but the look in his eye was undoubtedly that of a champion – fate that couldn’t be changed.

They say Parker’s competitive drive was like that of a stock-car racer with a death wish. That day, we saw it.

The following year brought us potentially the greatest Classic of all time. Rick Clunn won on the same James River with the most superhuman comeback in bass fishing history. Again, coverage of the weigh-in gives us insight into a champion operating at another level. Clunn’s stare was trance-like, unlike anything I had seen in bass fishing. He literally appeared “separate” from the rest of the world.

Up until ’89, I referred to bass fishing as a sport, but never really held it in the same regard as football, baseball or golf. Those two world championships changed my view forever.

Prior to my favorites, there were other unforgettable Classic outcomes. Clunn’s original back-to-back, Stanley Mitchell wins as a child, Jack Chancellor’s “Do-Nothing” that went against the norm, Guido’s Bug.

And since then, many memories have followed suit, some even competing for the top spot: David Fritts refines cranking, and Bryan Kerchal lays claim to a kingdom. Davy Hite fries up some Bacon Rind. KVD begins a dynasty, continues it, then ties the best ever. Iaconelli screams and backs it up, and Takahiro goes old-school for a last-second win. Randy Howell proves nice guys can finish first.

But ’89 and ’90; they still do it for me.

I’ve been on a few different sides of the Classic, from a grunt working the booths at the expo to a back-stage, all-access-pass sponsor employee.

The latter provided me with another memory burned into my mind.

It was the late ’90s, and I was working in the tunnel beneath the coliseum; a duty I performed several times while helping out sponsors. As the boats came in from the day’s fishing, they were quickly blasted with a power-washer, wiped clean and tidied up before going into the arena. At their final stop, sponsor goods were placed on the back deck for a little more advertising; things like a Plano tackle box or a Flowmaster sign. That’s where I came in.

Working in this scenario gave me some very special insight into the minds of pro bass anglers. At the time, I was aspiring to become a pro myself, so any attributing quality was carefully noted.

I was mystified by Clunn when he came through, nearly speechless as always, an emotionless, solemn stare on his face. And I always kept an eye on George Cochran. I love how he won, throughout his career, beating the bank, not worried about all the new, fan-dangled technology.

But the angler who stands out most in my mind was Denny Brauer.

At the time, Brauer was referred to as “the best angler to never win a Classic." He was on one of bass fishing’s prized hot streaks, previously winning Angler of the Year, several regular-season events and qualifying for the Classic 15 times or so.

This event, held in North Carolina, was likely to be dominated by a deep-structure pattern (certainly not Brauer’s forte), but a boat-dock pattern was also a possibility. Regardless, in 1998, Brauer was always one to watch.

Following the first day of competition, when Brauer’s boat entered my work zone in the tunnel, I immediately took note of the rods on the front deck. True to his legendary reputation, each was a flipping stick. And, while Brauer wasn’t overly joyous about his mediocre catch, something was different about him compared to many of the others who stopped by my station.

I know this sounds crazy, or a little “out there”, but I could feel Brauer’s confidence. In scientific terms, I believe this can be defined as the physical emergence of a subconscious behavior, occasionally viewed by those witness to superior displays of athletic performance. But it was present, in the boat with Brauer; no different than those flipping sticks. I saw it.

Brauer went on to catch the largest bass of competition on day-2 (a 7-06 monster that was his first fish of the day), and win the event the following day.

Prior to and since, I’ve often thought of those special minutes in the tunnel. I doubt Brauer ever realized what an impact he made that day. But I’ve come to discern three traits that all champion professional bass fishermen possess: one is extreme, unwavering confidence in their ability and their decision-making, as illustrated in our previous example. Someday, I’ll share with you the other two.

Only the Classic can create such memories. In a few short weeks, the 45th edition of the event will be held at Lake Hartwell. A little mystique will be absent, as my two heroes of the sport, Clunn and VanDam, both missed their shot. There will not be a five-time winner, at least not yet.

But a memory will be made, possibly a legend created. Next week I’ll give you my top picks and tell you who I think is going to win.

(Joe Balog is the often outspoken owner of Millennium Promotions, Inc., an agency operating in the fishing and hunting industries. A former Bassmaster Open and EverStart Championship winner, he's best known for his big-water innovations and hardcore fishing style. He's a popular seminar speaker, product designer and author, and is considered one of the most influential smallmouth fishermen of modern times.)