So we meet at the hotel in Fisherman's Wharf at 7:15am. The man in the mask is not there yet.
He phones in instructions for us to meet him at his residence, then caravan to the undisclosed secret location where the training will occur. We obey.
Again at 2:15 we meet in the hotel lobby. We repeat the drill, driving out to an undisclosed beach locale...something that will never appear on Google Maps. We arrive at the location. Medicine balls are handed out and we drudge thru the ankle deep sand to the training ground. The man in the mask stands on top of the hill, we stand below with our gear. Why argue? We submit to the master, we just do as we are told.
Curiously, the day ends with a full blown TV crew setting up on the ocean's edge. We go from cryptic to public, all in the course of the day. This is a curious story producer Chris Bloxom and writer Andy Katz of ESPN are putting together and brought us along to shoot the stills and try to make sense of it all. Of course, we can disclose nothing.
3 comments:
Barry Bonds--Fort Funston. Did I get it right?
I'm smelling the soft bigotry of low expectations through the use of iPhone camera technology. An occasional lense cleaning can sometimes ruin the effect.
Why is Mr. Pink Socks taking up the handicapped parking from the reclining position? Could this be an expression of distain for the assignment, or is it an attempt to solicit a brief cutaway shot of the goofy member of the crew?
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