I’ve never been one for baseball, or sports for that matter. Ask me ten years ago what I thought about the stadium built here in Edinburg, I would’ve told you it was a waste of money. But it’s grown on me. The stadium, not so much the sport. Though, I gotta say, it’s sorta humanistic of me to – dare I say? – have a favorite sports team.
Okay, maybe favorite is too strong a word. I mean, I’m not about to collect Roadrunner memorabilia. Though, as I type this, a team baseball cap – which goes for $20 at the pro shop (it’s called a pro shop, right?) – rests upon a pile of books on my desk. But that’s nothing. Right?
It’s not so much the team I love, but the familial attitude within the front office. Unlike the Coyotes – back in 2007 when I worked for them – the administration is great in the sense that they remember that their employees – while not really considered employees according to the IRS – are human.
Today, for example, in the front office, the phrase “Oh yeah. Let’s play some baseball” – obviously said with gusto – filled the air. A. wanted it as our new catch phrase, as in:
Scene: Front Desk. The phone rings. Receptionist answers.
Receptionist: Edinburg Roadrunners. Oh yeah, let’s play some baseball.
It was R. – for some odd reason, I’m still hooked on attempting some anonymity for these wonderful people – who really “owned” the phrase, with his unenthusiastic voice.
Sadly, not all people at the ballpark are as great as those in the front office. And, yes, I’m talking about the players. At the beginning of the season, the players loved me. Some of them still do, in fact. Probably not as much as before as I don’t feed them every night – which was explained at the beginning of the season, but a sudden case of amnesia as plagued the clubhouse. For the most part, these people are understanding and know their boundaries. Except one.
Every year, there is some schmuck who thinks – just because he’s playing as a professional athlete – he’s the top shit. He carries that attitude that as clubhouse manager, I must drop all things to meet his beck and call. His first night, he made a demand for me to get him a cup of ice, which I did. (FYI, anytime you piss off the clubbie, you’re bound to meet some consequences. In TT’s case, the consequence was a cup of less than favorable ice – the bottom of the ice machine, which is more commonly known as the great bug graveyard.) Today, he decided that he’s important enough for the front door of the clubhouse to remain unlocked. No dice. And if Mr. Attitude thinks he can continue this act without repercussions, he’s wrong.
Last season, this character was played by another person. It ended with a pathetic excuse for an idle threat – “If that’s the case, then I’m not going to let you wash my clothes anymore.” – this threat, by the way, has become my favorite anecdote to describe how greatly some of these fellows hold themselves. I’m not one for conflict – who am I kidding, yes I am – but I swore that I would never allow anyone to insult, mistreat or belittle me in front of the team again.
But let’s not dwell on the bad side of this job. Let’s focus on what makes it enjoyable. And that’s everything outside the clubhouse. Until next time.
- Forget taking me out to the ball game, just take me out (cityofchapin.wordpress.com)
- The Ghosts of Stadiums Past (baseballsociologist.wordpress.com)
- There Is a Field (musingbymoonlight.com)
- Ballparks In Haiku: We’re Number Three (chicagonow.com)