I had an interesting moment at Progressive Field today. On days of away games, I work in the Distribution Center (DC), which is basically a large warehouse full of Indians merchandise, spanning from T-Shirts to dirt from all 30 MLB stadiums. I was hoping for a project in Baseball Operations, but it was just not available.

Anyway, the DC is in a tunnel under the stadium, in which the batting cages and clubhouses are also located. As I was walking back from lunch (they had the same Taco Pizza as Hawken does, oddly), I heard an energetic voice playfully yelling around the bend of the tunnel. Aware of my surroundings and propinquity to the Indians Clubhouse, my spirits were raised. As I started to make my way around the curve, walking directly below home plate, I saw Manny Acta, the manager, and Chris Perez, the closer.

As a fan, my heart was bouncing; I desperately wanted to run up to them, shake their hands, and give them suggestions to improve their faulty strategies. But as an unpaid employee of the Indians, I knew that I couldn't do this. I casually walked by them, probably about as suavely as I have ever walked in my life, hoping that our paths would cross again. Acta let out a friendly "How are you?" but it led to no further conversation. I had just let two people whose brains I would love to pick walk by without any hassle from me. A part of me was sad to let them pass, but I knew I did the right thing.