Hoop Dreams

Now that we’re back from our vacation and life begins to return to what passes for normal at my house, I decided to shake things up and apply for a new job.

It’s not that I’m unhappy in my old job. In fact I really like it – my boss is great, the other members of the marketing team are smart and fun to work with, and the company is growing. It’s not that I want to leave.

But since our vacation I’ve been thinking that I’ve missed my calling. I’ve had a nagging suspicion for the past couple of years, but this trip really brought things into focus. I’m pretty good at what I do for a living now, but I’ve realized there one thing that I was meant to be. It’s nothing like what I do now, and it’s pretty far out there, but it is what it is.

I was born to be the Equipment Manager for an NBA team.

So I called around to see if there were any openings for my new chosen field, and as luck would have it, I found a vacant position.

Now why, you ask, would I want to do that? And more specifically, what are the skills and talents I possess that lead me to think that would be an ideal match for me?

Rather than spell it all out, I’ll replay the highlights of the job interview.

I sat down across the desk of ‘Jack Smith,’ VP of Operations for the ‘Fakers’ (I’ve been asked to keep the name of the team confidential). He’s wearing a team polo shirt and khaki slacks. Business casual. Wanting to make a good impression, I’m wearing my best suit and tie.

“Mr., ah, Family Man, is it? Yes, well, thank you for your interest in the Fakers. We’ve had quite a few people inquire about this position, and most of them are woefully unprepared for the rigors of the job. So before we go any further, let me tell you a bit about the unique requirements of this job and you can decide if this is something you wish to pursue.”

“Sounds fine, “I say.

“The Equipment Manager is responsible for making sure the players have whatever they need, whenever they need it. Quite frankly,” he confides, “we have a couple of real head cases on our team and they can, how shall I say, be somewhat…difficult.”

He’s absolutely right about that. I’ve seen this team play this year. These guys are crazy.

“You’d also be responsible for making sure the team has everything needed for an extended road trip. You have to be able to improvise when things don’t go as planned.”

He goes on to describe the details of the job – the packing, unpacking, making travel arrangements, taking care of special, oddball last minute requests from the various players on the team. He paints the position in a very negative light, testing me, to see if I’m going to flinch at the challenges.

If he only knew.

I start off by presenting my background and summary of qualifications. I go over my previous positions, my college degrees - the basic stuff. He notes that my present job is a good one and asks why I want to leave. I tell him that I don’t necessarily want to leave, but this particular opportunity is just too good to pass up.

He stops me right there. “You have to understand,” he says, “this is not a glamorous NBA job. This is behind-the-scenes grunt work.”

But I’m just getting warmed up.

I describe why I’m qualified to deal with unreasonable requests from petulant, spoiled superstars. Within the past month I’ve done the following:

Poured milk into three different cups because my ‘player’ did not like how the first two looked. Understand these three cups were EXACTLY THE SAME.

Prepared lunch for two of my ‘players’ EXACTLY as they had requested, only to have to make something completely different because “We’ve changed our minds.”

Attempted to provide a ‘uniform’ for my star center, Chris ‘Grant Your Wish’, only to have him reject every combination of shirt and shorts because he wants the ‘OTHER’ blue one. Which does not exist as he describes it.

Dealt with a tantrum over sleeping arrangements from my power forward, Tommy ‘The Gun,’ because the pillows were not placed correctly on the bed. This didn’t happen ‘on the road,’ but rather at home, where the pillows were placed EXACTLY as they have been FOR THE PAST TWO WEEKS.

Had to back the ‘team bus’ out of the driveway two times just so each of my ‘players’ could take turns being the ‘first one’ off the bus. Talk about dealing with egos.

It looks like I have his attention.

“Road trips,” I say. “Let me tell you about road trips.”

I tell him that we just came back from an eight-games-in-eight days road trip on the East Coast. I describe the meticulous packing that took place, requiring exactly 10 bags for my two ‘players’ and two front office personnel. The checklist alone for the trip consumed at least a ream of paper. I describe getting to the airport with plenty of time, only to have the skycaps nearly ship our luggage to the wrong city and having to race back to correct their mistake, brandishing a fistful of dollars to make the thing happen.

I tell him I’d bet him lunch we brought more A/V equipment on our trip than the Fakers took on the road for the NBA Finals. Video camera, two still cameras, six media cards, two laptop computers, two cell phones, a portable DVD player with two headphones, eight DVDs (which were still not enough – one lesson learned), batteries, power cords, chargers, and tapes.

I describe how we changed planes in Cincinnati, going from Terminal B to Terminal C schlepping 6 carry-on bags, a two-seat stroller and two lethargic ‘superstars’ who could not understand, nor truly care, about the need to ‘hustle.’ It’s not THEIR problem if we miss a plane. Running past the food court the ‘superstars’ decide they HAVE TO HAVE McDONALDS. Never mind that we’re going to miss the plane if we stop – they are HUNGRY and they HAVE TO BE FED. NOW.

So we procure the required food and drink and resume our mad dash. They are actually calling our names over the PA system as we sprint toward the gate. Careening around the corner, one of the beverages flies out of the stroller and splashes against the ticket counter. I shout an apology as we speed by, while Chris ‘Grant Your Wish’ says calmly, “That better not have been MY drink.”

I tell Mr. Jack Smith, VP of Operations, how we packed every possible ‘uniform’ combination, anticipating every conceivable ‘game’ condition. Which turns out to be a good thing because nearly every ‘uniform’ was worn, sometimes for as little at 15 MINUTES before being deemed ‘unacceptable.’ How we did laundry after every ‘game,’ folded and placed each ‘uniform’ in their ‘locker’ for their selection the following morning. How we ensured their ‘game day’ meals would provide the nutrition, flavor and selection to ensure an optimized performance for that days’ contest, and how each meal was scrutinized, picked over and hardly eaten.

And how, ultimately, we can back from that trip with everything intact and an 8-0 record.

I go on and provide a few more examples, but at this point its ‘game over.’ I can see in his eyes he knows I’m his savior. Nobody he’s talked to can touch my experience.

“Well, Mr. Family Man, you make a strong case. I’ll meet with my boss later this afternoon and I’m sure I’ll be in touch.”

I walk out of his office with a spring in my step. It’s going to happen, a lifelong dream fulfilled. I cruise by the Hummer dealership on my way home, trying to decide between red and black. Hmm. Maybe one of each.

He calls me later that afternoon.

“Mr. Family Man, my boss and I were extremely impressed with your credentials and experience. You were clearly head and shoulders above all the other candidates,” he says.

Definitely red and black. Maybe a silver one, as a backup.

“But,” he says, “unfortunately we can’t extend a job offer to you.”

What?

“Mr. Family Man…you’re overqualified.”

It’s great to be The Family Man.