I’ve spent years writing about the intersection of technology, culture, and policy. When social media is increasingly used to create events, rather than report on them, I find that work increasingly relevant.
It is one thing to write an essay here or a newsletter there. Given the potential harms, utilizing adding additional forms, like narrative, seems warranted. Moneyballer Americana is a seven-part novelette about a struggling bluegrass musician who accidentally ignites a sports-betting media frenzy.
Come back each day for the next installment. When all seven parts are published, they’ll be compiled into a single downloadable version.
~Matthew
Scene 6 - Fourth and Long
A week later, Eli was trying to navigate the garage studio. There were boxes stacked haphazardly.
“Just who we wanted to see!” Ty called out while unboxing one of the boxes on the set. “Check it out! We have merch!”
He wrestled for a moment with a smaller package before pulling a cartoon copy of the very set.
“It looks just like us!” Lance exclaimed, leaning over to examine himself in miniature.
“If you think that is great-“ Ty paused dramatically before suddenly flicking his caricature.
“LOCK. IT. IN.” The bobble-head screeched, the original audio file barely comprehensible beneath its heavily processed optimization and cheap reproduction.
“Dude! I love my mini-me so much!” Lance turned to Eli. “Isn’t this awesome!”
Eli looked at the stacks upon stacks of other boxes in slight disbelief. “Is that what all these boxes are?”
“Some,” Ty said, stepping off the stage and reaching into a previously opened box. “We also got logo tees - large, extra-large, and so on.”
“That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about.”
Eli moved a box off the chair that he usually used for producing, and set his stuff down.
“You joined the show at a critical inflection point. Whether it was adding the graphics, improving the audio, or jumping in to answer email you’ve taken everything like a champ.”
“And now we’re taking things to the next level,” Ty said, “Merch is where the real money is at. And we’re going to need someone to handle things - watch the store, handle the orders, ship things out, that kind of thing.”
Lance leaned against the stage set. “We know that’s a lot. That’s why Ty and I have talked it over and we’re willing to offer you a percentage of sales through our online store, after expenses and our cut, of course.”
“Dude! We’re dealing you in! This is big!”
Eli looked at the both of them, eagerly waiting for his answer.
“I am glad we’re having this talk now,” Eli started, “but I’m not going to be around for a couple of months. I wanted to tell you that I’m not going to do the show. And I’m definitely not going to be able to handle merch sales.”
Ty broke the stunned silence first.
“You’re not going to be around? What do you mean?”
“My band has been offered a slot to perform on a bluegrass cruise. I’ve decided that will be what I’m doing most of this winter.”
“A cruise?” Lance asked, “Like rocking out with spring breakers?”
“No, more like playing bluegrass music for retirees after dinner.”
“But it pays good, right?”
“It pays-“ Eli paused, eventually plucking the right word from several options, “enough. It’s a mid-tier boat. It is unglamorous, low-tech, and pays a fraction of what I’d probably make here. But I’ll be playing music I like with people I enjoy, and that means a lot.”
His explanation only seemed to confuse them.
“So,” Lance drew the word out, “What’s the angle?”
“No angle, just music.” Eli mimicked playing air guitar. “When we play, I’m making something with people. We’re in the same room as the audience. If we do our job right, there’s a shared experience there, something greater than what we had individually. It’s real.”
Ty frowned. “Well, OK. But how do you leverage that? You sell your own merch then? Is there much of a market for blue…? Blue-“
“Bluegrass. And not really.”
Lance’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re walking away from this for that?”
“Yes. I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
Ty snapped his fingers.
“Oh. Ohhh.” He grinned. “I get it.”
Lance tilted his head. “Huh?”
Ty shook his finger. “You’re going offline. Creating scarcity.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Disappear for the season. Come back authentic. Analog. Double-down on the salt-of-the-earth vibe. Creating an ‘Eli Mystique’ before you launch your own channel.”
Lance looked impressed. “That’s very 4D chess. Integrity is so hot right now.”
Eli opened his mouth to object, then reconsidered.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, finally. “Let’s just say I’m betting on myself.”
“Respect,” Lance said. “Huge long play.”
“Can’t say this ain’t an unexpected kick to the balls,” Ty said, ruefully, “I’ll have to make some calls to get some help in the short term. But look us up when you get back. There’s always room for one more in our Discord.”
Ty awkwardly offered to dab.
Lance gave the most platonic of hugs.
And that was it.
They were already turning back to their phones as Eli picked up his things and left out of the side door.
The make-shift garage studio had been stuffy, but outside the air was fresh and invigorating. It had snowed recently, and the lawns surrounding the suburban cul-de-sac glittered in the afternoon sun. The world was a clean stage.