In general, I feel okay in the clubhouse. Obviously, I’m the low man on the pole, and when I get the brush off, it’s fine. Nobody knows who I am. I understand. And when I feel a little awkward standing there fiddling with notes among half-dressed young men, I just have to look around and look at how awkward half the rest of the room feels and I’m more comfortable again. At least I’m not lugging heavy television equipment around or tugging at a tie.
All of that is not to say that I didn’t feel my heart in my shoes on Monday night in the Padres clubhouse:
In my defense, dude’s mustache is a full beard now, and he wasn’t sitting at his own locker. But, yeah. Still. I know. I know.
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