Collecting and managing tour schedules for acts like Ozzy Osbourne, Travis or Jane’s Addiction is a tough business. Tempers flare, emotions run hot and tensions seethe through every pore and orifice. Hard to believe, but there was a time not too long ago when we would capitalize on the hormonal rush one would experience after entering dates for Jane Siberry or Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise. However, those times are past. It’s a new era, and we are no longer slaves to sudden impulses that might wreck havoc upon our readers.

Our first step was to eliminate the traditional no-rules bare-knuckle boxing matches held in the courtyard during our lunch hours. Sure it was met with some resistance. After all, the chipped teeth, broken jaws and blackened eyes were worn as badges of honor by our workers as they processed dates by Harry Connick Jr. and Gallagher. But reasoning, as well as the promise of proper dental coverage, won the day. No more tag-team matches between sales and marketing. No more eye gouging, sucker punches and shattered kneecaps for us. Sure it’s a minor improvement, but at least our janitorial staff has stopped complaining about the bloodstains on the monitors, as well as discarded bandages and sutures plugging up the johns.

Now we channel our urges into a company-sponsored exercise program. We lift weights while entering dates for Blue Rodeo. We pump iron while researching “Songs 4 Worship” and F-8 Featuring Leif Garrett. We squat, thrust, bend, dip and stretch as we update the schedules for Blind Man’s Bluff, Carl Weathersby and Dashboard Confessional. And while we miss those raucous days of yore, the benefits have been amazing.

Now our bodies are lean mean tour processing machines. Our strapping muscles shine in the indirect lighting as we enter changes for Rod Stewart and Vince Vance & The Valiants. Our lithe movements are not unlike dancers moving through the choreography of dates, cities and venues that make up the finely tuned mechanism that is the concert industry. People are amazed when they see us. Some actually faint in our presence, while others acclaim us as “the gods of buffed bods.”

Yes, the violence is gone from Pollstar.com. Instead, each and every worker is the personification of perfectly fit bodies. We’ve transformed our chocolate-munching, carbo-swilling sacks of flesh into incredible hunks and dazzling babes that enter dates for 30 Odd Foot of Grunts and The Dirty Dozen Brass Band. And if you’re asking, “Sure, that takes care of the violence, but what about the sex?” We have only one answer to give.

Patience, gentle reader, these things take time. Besides, we still need something to do during our lunch hours.