Alex and I Discuss Wages and Reality TV

Dear Alex Stimson [Director of Media Relations; Eugene Emeralds]:

Thank you for your expedient response to my missive. We have reached a point in our endeavors where speed is an essence, and delays in communication can be very detrimental to our cause. The mundane is our enemy. I do have a question before we continue though. What is your official title? Are you the Director of Media Relations? Or just Media Relations? Was your official title bestowed upon you, or did you get to choose it? “Director of Media Relations” sounds more authoritative, while “Media Relations” seems more encompassing. I ask so I can afford you the respect you deserve.

Thank your reasons why you must also work for the Oregon Ducks. Low pay and long hours are an unfortunate staple of minor league baseball, and one of my largest targets in my campaign to save Minor League Baseball. “We do this for The Love of the Game” is a complete horseshit mantra shoved down MiLB employee’s throats from the time they are interns at Itty Bitty University in Bumfuck, Iowa until they leave the industry to support their family on decent wages. Those who work in MiLB work for shit wages do so because they have no choice because of the current power structure that exists.

Because I am willing to speak out on this, my wisdom is shockingly not accepted by many minor league owners. In some places, I am even persona no grata. Some upper management front types feel the same way and go out of their way to disparage me, saying thing like “What does Bads85 know? He has never worked a day in our industry.” My response is always, “Hey chumps, I know I get to leave the stadium before the lights are shut off because I am spiritually wealthy and financially sound because of my career choices. Oh, I also know that celebrity promotions usually are bad for ledger sheets, but conventional wisdom in MiLB still thinks a minor character from The Office will pack the seats. Hey, look, there is Willie from Duck Dynasty! Sign him quick!”

But I digress. We have a reality television show to create. Allan Benavides [General Manager; Eugene Emeralds] has instructed me to obtain a contract with Netflix to open up sweet, sweet revenue streams, so I m working under the assumption we have a full green light to pursue the show. I do understand your concerns that a glimpse in the Eugene front offense might alarm the power structure of MiLB because the front office is comprised of a group of outlaws who live beyond the rules of society, but yet follow their own code. Have no fear; we control the content of the show. We get to make ourselves look like endearing scamps we are while making those dunderheads in Pasco, Hillsborough, and Everett look like the stumbling incompetents they are.

Like many good really shows, ours should be a show within a show. The overall show will be about the Eugene Emeralds’ quest to provide quality entertainment to its fanbase as past industry paradigms fall away in the NEW WORLD while trying to secure a new stadium. The stories within the story will be the individual interactions of the front office staff with each other as they overcome the obstacles of the profession while hilarious hijinks occur. The fourth wall will be broken with sledge hammers. Viewers will see the different perception of realities between upper and middle management, plus the serfs who have to do the heavy lifting around the stadium.

One of the focal points of the show will be the reckless pursuit of successful promotions, and the premise there is no room for failure on the minor league circuit. Failure is for the losers in Myrtle Beach who lose Golden Bobbleheads to something called the Udder Tuggers. No promotion should fail as long as the proper tenets of promotion planning are followed:

  1. Defined purpose
  2. Diligent research
  3. Obtaining a generous sponsor
  4. Targeted, consistent marketing
  5. Precise execution
  6. Killer playlist
  7. Charismatic voice on the mic in case something goes awry.

Alas, this missive grow long. I will continue in future correspondence.

Your friend in baseball,


PS: Have you touched your inner Squatch today?

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