Go Fishing?

52.

You would think with the volumes of history between and behind us that by now our relationship would be solid, or at least civil with some form of gentlemanly agreement to peacefully co-exist as standard operating procedure. Trust me when I spill the beans and confess that it is not. Not by a long shot. Making this delicate situation worse is the reality that the success of our team, the very lives of our mates, rests in the balance we are able to negotiate. A motivational speaker once claimed in a lecture we were forced to attend that we don’t get what we deserve — we get what we negotiate. It is my responsibility as well as my challenge to keep our relationship professional and efficient. It doesn’t have to be ‘all lovey dovey’ but it must not be a point of weakness, for much like the proverbial weakest link, this cannot become that rusty inflection point that might be exploited by the expert application of force. This is true with our adversaries equally as much as it is with our team. If leadership is in-fighting the message sent down the chain of command is compromised, weakened and sits dangerously close to implosion. 

Gene Hackman as captain of a nuclear submarine, The Alabama, spoke of this critical show of respect to his XO Denzel Washington in a pivotal scene from the terrific film Crimson Tide. As did Jack Nicholson to his XO, JT Walsh, warning him to ‘never question my commands in the presence of a junior officer again.”  Each of these instances points in the direction of the importance of a non-questioning team, be they sailors, Marines or the company softball team. Someone is in charge, a captain, one undisputed leader. When this code is broken, or shows the slightest hint of softening, rusting, or being second-guessed, the risk factor is exponentially pushed towards code red. This I hold to be true.

It is my personal challenge to never allow my, somewhat petty, histories with my current squad to negatively affect the rigid chain that makes our team the best in the business. This, I hear myself say aloud, will not happen. Not on my watch. 

It has always intrigued me that the backstory of why this is such an important point is a detail so small. I will admit to my shrink and to my favorite bartender, who happen to be the same person, that all this consternation, unnecessary drama and intrinsic turmoil, the detail that puts me at the doorstep of catastrophe, the one bit of sand in the vaseline, is about a girl. 

A girl I deeply loved and the one that son-of-a-bitch Davis, he who was once my best pal and pit buddy, stole like a shameless thief. One would think that after the quarter-of-a century since the heist, I would be ‘over it’ by now. My shrink, refreshing my mug, uses the analogy of there being more fish in the sea. “Go fishing more often,” he says with all the good intentions of a charter boat captain, “you'll catch something bigger one of these days.” 

He could be right. I might be wrong. I should be over it by now. 

But I’m not. Worse, I blame Davis for this. Totally unfair, I readily acknowledge, but there are some things that stick with a guy. I honestly intend to get to the point of forgiveness and trust that it will be sooner rather than later. Maybe tomorrow. 

But the guy stuck a knife in my back, stole my gal and then tossed me under the bus to die a slow and humiliating death. 

And to this day has never uttered a single word of contrition. 

I close the file committed to taking the high moral ground of forgiveness. 

Again.