In the beginning was The Plan…
And then came the assumptions.
And the assumptions were without form.
And suddenly the The Plan was without substance.
And darkness was upon the face of the roadies.
And they spake amongst themselves, saying,
“The Plan is a crock of shit, and it stinketh.”
And the crew chief went unto the stage manager and said,
“It is a pail of dung, and none may abide the odor thereof”.
And the stage manager went unto the production manager, saying,
“It is a container of excrement, and its fragrance is very strong,
such that none may abide it.”
And the production manager went unto the tour manager, saying,
“It is a vessel of fertilizer, and all who draw near to it
are overcome by its strength.”
And the tour manager spake amongst the management
company staff, and they said one unto the other,
“It contains that which aids plant growth, and it is very strong.”
And the management company staff then went to the
management company executive, saying unto him,
“It promotes growth, and it is very powerful.”
And the management company executive
went unto the band and said unto them,
“This new Plan will promote the growth and vigor of the tour,
with powerful effects to be felt by the audience!”
And the band looked upon The Plan, and saw that it was good.
And The Plan became Policy.
And this is how shit happens.