Ask any of my former co-workers at WUMB what I have in common with Johnny Damon and they’ll be able to tell you. No, I am not a 6′2″, 175 lb., hairy major league baseball player with a .289 batting average. Or a man, for that matter. In fact, I don’t really even understand the rules of baseball, and trying to teach me using the salt and pepper shaker on the table of a diner won’t change that. I am culturally predisposed to not understand the rules American sports. I only understand football (soccer to you) and maybe rugby, so what could I possibly have in common with Johnny Damon? Well, to start, he did play for the Royals, and I spent a summer running the board for Royals games at a tiny AM station in rural Missouri, so at a strech we have that in common. (By the way, how is it possible that someone who is 3rd among active major leaguers in runs and 7th in hits and stolen bases started his career playing for the worst team in baseball?)
But I digress. We do in fact have one rather major thing in common, at least when it comes to my former co-workers; we both “deserted” the great town of Boston for the (in my opinion) even better city of New York. So when the memo went out at WUMB announcing my departure for the gig at Songlines and likening me to Johnny Damon (and Wade Boggs, and Roger Clemens), it was not a salute to the player who helped the Sox win their first championship in 86 years, but rather it was meant to denounce me as a traitor. Understandably, I’ve been wrestling with this comparison for the past month. Though I didn’t become a Sox fan during my year in Boston, working with a group of rabid Sox fans was one of the most fun things about my job there. They actually get excited when the truck loads up and leaves Fenway for Spring training in Florida. And they stay excited until the end of the season. Or at least until September when it becomes clear they won’t be making the World Series. Every morning for the interminably long 162 game season there consists of hysterical jubilation or morbid commiseration, as every play of the previous night’s game is rehashed. It’s hard not to get caught up in that kind of sweeping, lasting enthusiasm. So, what I’m trying to say is that understanding the nuances involved in the comparison, I didn’t take too kindly to being called “Johnny Damon.” Furthermore, as a St. Louis Cardinals fan (long story), I don’t even like Johnny Damon. He robbed us! But then again, life in Boston also taught me that it’s always better to be a Johnny Damon than a Wally Pip…
Fortunately, New York enjoys such a diverse population that I haven’t been defined by such a derogatory term since I moved here last month. In fact, I work with a Pirates fan and an Indians fan, so the whole Yankees/Red Sox rivalry doesn’t even figure into the nine-to-five life here at Songlines. Moreover, the only Yankees fan I have met here comes from Boston, and there’s at least one Red Sox fan who lives in my building. So my initial fear of being booed by Bostonians, and having dollar bills thrown at me when I made my New York debut has subsided. Nonetheless, I do take offense at being compared to Damon (and will until I secure a $52 million contract). I have cut my hair since moving here, but not in deference to the strict appearance code at Songlines. I definitely haven’t shaved my beard. I still don’t understand the rules of baseball. And I have to point out that I did not “switch sides” professionally. Yes, I worked at radio for the last six years and now I work in promotion, but contrary to certain belief, radio and promotion are not in competition. We are not Red Sox versus Yankees. In fact, we are both all about getting good music out to a meaningful audience. Mind you, I bet Damon says the same thing, he’s still playing the same game, right? So there’s something else we have in common.
At this point, I should mention that Damon doesn’t even live here, he lives in Florida. But the fact is, as much as I don’t want to be compared to Johnny Damon, I can totally understand why he made the move; New York is the most exciting city on earth. Sure, Boston is great, but it does go to sleep for a few hours each night. Like Ryan Adams, Frank Sinatra, and a million others, I fell madly in love with New York upon my first visit ten years ago. I’ve lived in Scotland, Missouri, Vermont, and Boston, and nowhere else even begins to measure up. The act of living here itself is the accomplishment of a major ambition for me. So as the Yankees may have been the best thing that ever happened to Johnny Damon, Songlines is the best thing that ever happened to me. I get to keep doing what I love in a city I adore. I love that Central Park is only four blocks from my apartment, and that I can go to the Met whenever I want. I love feeling like one of the millions of foreigners here, instead of “the foreigner.” In fact, I’m kind of sick of hearing other Scottish accents already. I love every step I have to climb to get to my fifth floor walk-up, and the fact that “I’m Waiting for the Man” by the Velvet Underground goes through my head every morning when I change trains in Harlem. I have already had the best ginger martini of my life here. I’ve seen Rudy Giuliani. I’ve already subscribed to The New Yorker. And I don’t find New Yorkers to be rude. I feel like I’ve always been a New Yorker, and if anyone asked me if they should move here, I would tell them definitively “yes.” So while I set out to prove how completely different I am from Johnny Damon, I guess I have more compassion for him than I realized. That said, I’ll still be rooting for the Cardinals this season, as I sip on a Sam Adams in a pub in Manhattan.
–Julia Clarke
