JT Kenney is a straight shooter, no doubt. In today’s world of pro bass fishing that can be a rarity, as political correctness and sponsorship concerns often force competitors to remain un-opinionated and squeaky clean, avoiding hot topics. But not JT.
It’s no secret that Kenney lost his longtime FLW team sponsorship this season, yet started the year with a bang by winning the first Tour event of 2015. But what many fans don’t know is how incredibly important such a turn of events was for him.
Kenney is a professional fisherman by choice and trade. Being classified as such is very important to him, and comes with no disclaimer, unlike many of his peers. While several Tour anglers fish for a living, many have outside sources of income, whether from businesses or investments. Lots of these investments are linked back to previous tournament winnings – just like small businesses that invest in other markets – and provide more security in the volatile pro bass market.
Kenney, however, requires tournament income to provide a living at this stage of his career.
So imagine this: you’re fishing for a living, literally. You’ve lost your biggest sponsor just a few months before the start of the season. You’ve pieced together enough cash for a few entry fees, and now you’re leading an event that can make your entire year profitable with one day remaining, in your home state.
Then the wheels fall off.
Just what did Kenney think when he could only squeak out a small limit on that final day, with names like Canterbury and Strader right behind him? Had he let it all slip away?
“Approaching the drive-my-truck-into-a bridge-abutment stage,” is how Kenney first described his feelings late that final day. “I was sure I had lost it."
At weigh-in, he was still in the bewilderment mode. I’ve witnessed this in fishing before – it’s what many label as the denial stage. Something so potentially moving or catastrophic occurs and, when it’s all unfolding, those involved never really reflect on it. They let it happen before making any judgment or allowing any personal feeling, even though it’s happening to them.
Kenney mentioned that, throughout the fishing day, he felt he had given it his all. He played safe for a little while in the morning, then went fishing for big fish the way the day had dictated. The cold front had passed; the wind had died. Florida’s beautiful sun was shining. Kenney played the cards he was dealt and went back to his primary pattern on Lake Kissimmee. But the fish didn’t get the memo.
According to Kenney, the reproductive cycle of those fish was ending. However, he stuck to his plan with “supreme confidence," knowing it could pay off at any second, as it had countless times before for him in Florida. When Kenney pulled up the trolling motor the final time, though, reality set in. His primary pattern left him with just small buck bass, and no big females.
“How do you blow a 12-pound lead?” he would ask himself countless times during the long boat ride back to the launch.
Once at weigh-in, Kenney was lightly consoled by friend and travel partner Chad Grigsby: “You’ll still get a good check and be able to fish a few more.”
But, to Kenney, winning was everything, as it should be. Despite pressure from a number of sources, including myself, professional bass tournaments still place tremendous importance on wins rather than high finishes.
Considering Ranger Cup bonuses and those within Kenney’s sponsor contracts, the difference between finishing 1st and 2nd was over a hundred-thousand dollar swing.
Since losing his title deal, Kenney has recouped a bit of income from his other sponsors, including Halo, Gambler, Nichols Lures and Typhoon. But such deals likely pale in comparison to the incentives offered by his former relationships within the FLW family, as those types of sponsorships often come with paid entry fees and the use of a boat and vehicle.
So it was do or die at Toho.
According to Kenney, “Half the town of Palm Bay (his hometown) was there” at the final-day weigh-in. Surely, he wanted to puke while waiting to go to the scales. Over and over, he would do the math in his head. Word on the street was that Wesley Strader had a big bag, anchored by two giants. But those big fish weren’t as gigantic as once thought, and Strader was a little lighter than most assumed. Canterbury had an even bigger stringer and was the man to beat.
Kenney figured he had a measly “8 pounds in the bucket." But he was wrong. His 9 pounds worth of Florida squeakers cashed in at 125 grand.
I asked JT if all of this was meant to be. While I vaguely remembered him mentioning something about his faith in passing one time, I knew he wasn’t the “in your face” type with such a thing. I wanted to get his take. How do you catch one of your smallest bags ever on your home waters and win that kind of money, immediately after having the wheels fall off of your career?
Was it a supreme being? Was it creative visualization and a Zen moment? Was it the manifestation of the human condition?
“I don’t know if I believe in all that,” he said. “I put my faith in God; he’s going to make the decisions. It's one of those deals. Everything just works out.”
I’d say so.
(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.)
