Small Ball, Long Ball

Posted on | February 4, 2010 | 7 Comments

Happy New Decade, everyone.

Now let’s get started.

We’re going to begin, naturally enough, with baseball.

Baseball is an individual sport masquerading as a team sport. A team is made up of a group of specialists who don’t necessarily have to like each other. A game is made up of dozens of contests between those individuals – the guy pitching and the guy at bat, the guy running and the guy trying to tag him. But, of course, the game is decided by the sum of those contests – so really the only way to win is as a group. But then again, players are ultimately captains of their own careers: it’s actually far, far more common for someone to switch teams  several times than to stay loyal to a single franchise.

There are basically two strategies to winning games:  stack the team with sluggers, tell them to hit the ball as hard as possible every time they get up to bat and rack up home runs. Or try to manufacture runs based on the strengths of your individual players: bunts, sacrifice flies, stolen bases, bloop singles.

Personally, I’m a big fan of small ball. Not only do I think it makes the game more interesting, I also think it’s more sustainable – those sluggers are going to cool off, or get injured, or go to another team at some point. But, I have to admit, the big hits are the things that make ESPN’s highlight reels, and it’s a lot easier for fans to get excited about a big name. And, to be sure, there really is nothing like the crack of a bat and that swell of the cheers as the ball is up there, going … going … gone!

But it makes no sense for me to pop out to center in order to advance the runner if the next guy up is looking to crank it over the far wall – better for me to get on base and get 3 runs instead of 2.  So: everyone involved needs to know what kind of team they are on – and what the strategy is for winning.

And this is my point about theatre.

There are basically two overarching reasons to produce theatre: to put on shows, or to build a company and community around your work.

“But Dan,” I hear you protest to your screen, “I want to do BOTH!” Of course – no one puts on a show without wanting people to see it and be affected by it, and you can’t build a theatre company without, you know, putting on shows. And in the same way, even the heaviest batter sometimes pulls one down the line. But knowing where you want to be helps you make decisions along the way that ultimately determine how fast – if ever – you get there.

So you need to be honest with yourself and as a company: are we primarily just interested in putting on particular plays, or am I interested in doing something *through* the plays we put on? And then: is this a long-term or short-term thing?

Is your lineup primarily built around a couple of sluggers or a rocket-armed pitcher? Do you have a plan for if they slump, get hurt or get offered a better contract? Individual careers will always grow faster than organizational reputations – which is the hidden cost of ensemble-based companies.

Is your goal to win every game? Is your bench strong enough to support that kind of sustained, day-to-day effort? If you’re looking to make a big splash, make your mark and kickstart your individual resumes, then pushing your starters is the way to go. But if you’re looking to take the pennant and the Fall Classic beyond, you need to think long-term, think strategically, and keep everyone healthy for the long run.

And: what happens when you win the Series, what then? Do you pull a Marlins and sell off the team? Do you have a plan and the resources to keep the big stars around?

When I think of what ails Chicago theatre and contributes to individual burnout and the perennial birth-ascension-death of small companies, the issue is not that people have short- or long term-goals. It’s that people have long-term goals and short-term strategies, or short-term goals and long-term strategies. People who want to build the next Steppenwolf throw everything they have – favors, money, energy – into their upcoming production, leaving nothing left to build on for the next show, and the one beyond. Or people form 501(c)3 companies and kill themselves trying to come up with a lofty-sounding raison d’etre when all they want to do is put on plays they like with their friends.

So my thing is: when you are thinking of forming a team, have a conversation both internally and as a group, about what your goals are, then plan accordingly. Don’t try to build a stadium when all you need is a well-groomed, well-placed sandlot. Or don’t wear out your players before the All-Star Break if you’re hoping to make it to October.

What I’m talking about here is a mission.

Now I want to be clear, I am saying “mission” as opposed to a “mission statement.” Ideally, the two should be related, but it is far, far more important to have a clear mission than a mission statement.

Because a mission is, in effect, how and why you do what you do. What is it you are trying to achieve by mounting a play or plays? The extent to which you answer that question clearly and honestly – and the extent to which that answer is clearly and honestly understood by everyone in the organization – is the single biggest determinant of long-term success.

And yes, you will always have multiple goals, but there needs to be one big one that everyone agrees on: this is what we do, and this is why we do it.

What kind of player are you? What kind of team are you?

You’ve got to be very careful if you don’t know where you are going, because you might not get there.
Yogi Berra

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