Being the secretary for the Northridge Polar Bears baseball team was tough after a loss. Lisa told herself it was always just a matter of perspective, and she acted more like a therapist than anything else on these calls. The Polar Bears suffered a 7-3 loss, so there were going to be some angry fans.
The phone rang.
“Hello, Northridge Polar Bears—take the plunge with us! How may I help you?”
“Hello,” said a man on the other end of the phone. “I would like to complain about yesterday’s National Anthem singer.”
“We don’t field gambling complaints,” Lisa said.
“Gambling complaints?”
“Yeah, if you’re upset because the National Anthem lasted too long and you lost money, that’s not our job. We’re a baseball team. We can’t control such outcomes.”
“How ridiculous,” the man said. “No, I have a complaint about the singer.”
“The singer, Harvey Gilroy?”
“Yes,” the man said.
“Do you know Harvey?” Lisa asked.
“Irrelevant.”
“So what’s your complaint?”
“I don’t think Harvey has the pedigree to sing the National Anthem.”
“You do realize that most nights we let 40 children sing out of key to make their parents buy tickets to the game.”
“That makes the pedigree of the solo singers even more important,” the man said. “Harvey was never a member of the Northridge Children’s Choir.”
“He’s an adult,” Lisa said. “Why do we care if he was in the Northridge Children’s Choir?”
“The Northridge Children’s Choir is the most prestigious choir in the region. It has produced stars both in music and in life. Why, when I was a member…”
“Wait, you were in the choir?”
“Irrelevant,” the man said. “But if Harvey could not get into the children’s choir, he should not get to entertain your audience.”
Lisa paused for a moment. Whatever lost dreams this man had from his children’s choir day were certainly not the Polar Bears’ problem.
“The Northridge Children’s Choir performs next Tuesday,” Lisa said. “Thanks for taking the plunge with us, and have a great day!”