“You there! Yes, kid, you. Move your ass and get on the plate!”

You know how it is in feel-good pseudo-sports movies (and even books) where the underdog team is trailing by only 3 points in the bottom of the 9th inning of a baseball game, with all bases full and all the “good” players in some way incapacitated? The coach reluctantly turns to this one scrawny kid with his baseball cap falling over his eyes and his too-large shirt hanging on his bony body (yes, there’s always a kid like this in those movies, isn’t there?) and tells him to move his ass and get on the plate. This, with a humungous monster of a pitcher smirking and licking his lips in anticipation of the kill, just a few meters away on the mound. And the spectators all hushed, thinking to themselves: “what the —-?”.

The kid, also reluctantly, drags his too-heavy and too-long bat to the plate. He looks around and sees his sweating coach. His anxious teammates. The monstrous pitcher. The pale, hushed crowd. And suddenly, in a pure, terrifying moment of clarity, he realizes:

“Omigod. I’m expected to hit a homer, bring all the players in, and win the day. No shit.”

I feel like that scrawny kid. Congratulate me.

These past two weeks have been one heck of a roller coaster ride while our web company moved to adjust to the changing tides of the economy in general and our industry in particular.

Our management decided that financial prudence would be the best strategy to take in these uncertain times. And although they strongly believe in the potential of our business and our industry, it was decided that we would have to cut costs. A lot of it. And so the meetings and the new-business-plan-making and business-plan-revision sessions began.

In the end, we had to let go of a lot of expenses, my immediate boss decided to resign, and some of our officemates were offered positions in a closely related sister-company.

Objectively speaking, it wasn’t that bad. From an original team of 5 people we had grown to 26 in 2 years’ time, and we’re now back to 16. Several of the staff who moved to the sister-company are now in positions were they could help maximize the strengths of the business better. We save on expenses, and we still get to meet our initial objectives as well as support the brands of the core business.

It’s just that, I never knew a relatively small and simple “transition” like that would involve so much of my time, energy, emotions. The hardest part of all, in that 3-week business transition, was not so much the number-crunching and the list-making and the negotiating - it was dealing with the anxiety of the staff. We had to explain, not just once or twice or three times - and not just to the ones who were being transferred but even to those who were left behind - that they weren’t being fired, that we were not closing shop, and that this did not happen because, despite all our efforts, we “failed” (we met almost all of our targets last year).

I’m glad that that part is over now. But I must have aged 5 years in the last 3 weeks. Not my face, mind you. My, you know, maturity level. (Although my closest officemate did mention she thinks my hair is falling off and that I’m going bald. Haha.)

And so the ride continues. And the targets (sales! membership! loyalty! usage! ekek-chu!) are as real and as urgent as ever.

What the heck. Ready or not, scrawny or not, I’ve decided I won’t back down from this challenge for as long as there’s still some fight left in me.

So bring it on, man! May sharp minds, staunch hearts and strong hands find a way to beat this lousy economy. And may God help us all.

Posted under Navel-Gazing