The Load-Out

I had breakfast on Tuesday. I mean a damn good breakfast. A breakfast that went way beyond the Norwegian (Can I get a BIG soft J – ‘JA’!?!?!?!?!?) Benedict and the spinach omelette placed before my dining colleague and me. Those were two full hours that my colleague may not have had to spare, but since it went so fast we didn’t even really notice it. At least I didn’t.

My dining colleague is in a select professional club. The club has about 200 members – give or take – as part of 30 chapters nationwide. Members are lifers. It’s a Supreme Court Justiceship without the hearing. While formal training is not a pre-requisite, passion is. And patience. Man do you need a lot of patience before they let you in. Even once they let you in and you see what’s behind the curtain you feel a little bit like Dorothy and the boys. If you only knew.

Our conversation veered from some reminiscing to stories of what it’s like to be part of one of the Major League’s 30 broadcasting teams. What we mostly talked about though is what’s it’s like on the road. The road that brought him and his team to my town and the seemingly endless road he is still on to achieve harmony between work and family.

He seems to have a lock on the latter – a wife and a daughter who will always be there whether or not the big club wins or loses. For that, I will not worry about him. I’ll just listen to him on my iPod Touch MLB app and keep cheering him along the way.

His journeys provide the perfect context on the day before the roadie starts. His journeys are not unique to those who have been accepted and rejected by the club. As a reject (Sarah Palin-style) of the club, I can still claim some empathy. I know what it’s like to want to quarter your heart and use each of the four chambers to pump blood in separate, but equal directions.

I corroborated Tuesday that home and harmony is where the heart is, but I didn’t always know that. I wrote recently about a second friend who is part of the club this way:

“I know that sports have defined; or better yet shaped me, but as I learned over a decade ago it does not define the Journey. [My friend] works for [a major league club] now. I hope to see him and his family in October if his team does not make the playoffs. I will ask him if the towns all look the same. I will ask him if he thinks about the ones he loves as the miles roll away. I will ask if the only time that seems to short is time that he gets to play.”

Those questions were part of the inspirations for the Roadie. On the Roadie, there will be so many so many shows in a row. All the towns will look the same.*

But I know the stories won’t.

* Based on lyrics from ‘The Load-Out’; Jackson Browne, Bryan Garofalo