This is my copier. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My copier is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my copier is useless. Without my copier I am useless. I must copy my pages true. I must copy faster than my enemy, who is trying to jam me. I must load him before he runs out of paper. I will. Before Rob (Butcher, Director of Media Relations) I swear this creed: my copier and myself are defenders of the press box, we are the masters of our gamenotes, we are the saviors of the stat pack. So be it, until there is no paper, but peace. Play ball.
Each game day, hundreds of copies are printed on thousands of sheets of paper. Gamenotes, stat packs, news clips, press releases, box scores, minor league reports and any other material that is needed in the press box keep Major League copy machines running non-stop. Considering the number of pages going through the copier, one can expect the occasional paper jam. After a while, you don’t even notice it. You just react.
Every media relations staffer has a love-hate relationship with their copier. Some days will go off without a hitch, others will be full of paper jams and misprinted sheets. During my first year with the Brewers, two copiers occupied a space no bigger than most closets. There was a running joke that I had contracted black lung disease from the toner dust by spending so much time in the copy room.
As keepers and disseminators of official information, we need our copier, we love our copier. We often spend more time with our copier than with our friends and family. This is my copier. There are many like it, but this one is mine.