Standing ovations are nice. And, in case you were wondering, they never get old. Never. We’ve been subject to them every night since opening, and they are just as overwhelming as the first one. The run, thus far, has been far more than I could have asked. It’s quite astonishing. There have been adventures with wigs and pants that are four sizes too big. No pen to write with in the journal. Literally blood, sweat and tears left on stage. Lost socks and mascara. And let me tell you this. I have have a far greater appreciation for the nightly laborious process women go through now that I have to wash makeup off my face. It’s insane!

Many friends and loved ones have come to see the show. Not as many as I had hoped (never are) but still, it is one of the great joys of theater to see people you know walk out with a giant smile on their faces that says both, “That was enjoyable” and “I had no idea!” My family, brothers and their wives, aunt and uncle, the folks, came and saw the show on the 11th. Not just my family, but Hope’s family as well.  I wanted the show to be so incredible for them, as most of them had never seen me in such a role. Danny sings? That’s pretty much the gist of their reaction when I told them I was in a musical.

And, of course, as I wanted the show to be great, the universe had other plans. First, I went out to lunch that day with Hope’s brother and wife, to a great steakhouse nearby. I got the ribs. A short rack. Nothing that would bloat me up or make me feel heavy. Except as fate would have it, the ribs were slathered in a delicious, spicy barbecue sauce that apparently stripped my vocal chords raw for the rest of the day! When I warmed up at 5pm they were raw. When I did mic checks at 6:45pm they were raw. I drank water. Lots of water, trying to moisten and soothe them, but nothing was working. Of all nights! All I could do at this point was to pray to the heavens  with fervency of soul that I could get through the show with a voice and clarity worthy of the audience’s cost of a ticket.

The whole night felt like a baseball game. Every time I came onstage I was up to bat. The first song seemed to take 6 or 7 swings, but by the time “I Need to Know” was over, I was on base. A single, maybe, but it gets the inning going. I fouled off “Lost in the Darkness” which was fine. No real harm no real good. Just a foul.

It wasn’t until Board of Governors that I had my first exciting hit and the first runs of the game. Thanks to the group of governors, we performed well and got the game really started. I felt hopeful. The vocal chords were as raw as ever, but at least I was clear and strong when I had to be.

Three “Jekyll/Hyde” moments in the show are more critical than any others, in my opinion. The moments that the audience will remember more than anything else. The first is actually 9 minutes of moments when I’m on stage pretty much all by myself where I sing this is the moment, prepare and drink the formula and the first transformation. If I can’t bring the audience along with me during that time, then all is lost. So far, it’s worked well. And did this night as well. It was great. Felt good during “Moment” and worked it during the transition. If I had to call it, I’d say a triple. And just like in a real baseball game, as long as the hits keep coming, the crowd stays interested.

The second moment, I wasn’t so lucky. It’s the end of the first act when Hyde confronts the Bishop and decides the Bishop is done living. Hyde then sings “Alive” and hits a high A at the end of it. Leading up to the A, I was feeling cautious, feeling the vocal chords, they were a little raw. A voice said, don’t try it. Go to the safety note. I responded by saying, Screw it, my family’s here. I’m going for it. Well, I swung for the fences, swung waaaay too hard. I made contact, but that high A popped right up in the left field. Crack city. I tried to cover it by moving into a growl/howl/sinister laugh, but when my dad asked me about it afterword, I knew it was an out.

I was disconnected for pretty much the second half. I still performed. Even got on base a couple of times. But I also felt like it was getting down to the ninth inning and there wasn’t a clear winner. All I could think about was, “I have one more at bat. I have got to nail it out of the park. “ Lucy’s death and the confrontation. If I could smack it home, then we were free. The death was reasonable, but I did some silly stuff, that wasn’t the norm and took me out of it a bit. It was deep, but just left of the foul line, you know?

And then came the confrontation. The battle between Jekyll & Hyde all at once. The iconic image of the show and perhaps the lasting impression. I felt like Roy Hobbs. The vocal chords were my bleeding insides. I was sweating up a storm. The only thing missing was the umpire asking me, “Are you alright, fella?” It was time to play ball. We were down two. Two men on. Bottom of the ninth. Here’s the wind up. The pitch!

I have said before that the performance is all in the attitude.   Hitting a baseball is the same way. You try to hard, you tense up, you hold your breath, you’ll miss it every time. If you relax, have fun, and clear everything else from your mind except the trajectory and speed of the pitch, chances are, you’re going to make contact. When I forgot about my family’s presence, when I forgot about the score, when I forgot about the audience altogether and simply  battled between Jekyll & Hyde, I took the ball deep. Out of the ball park. Better than ever before.

So, no matter how the rest of that game went, when it mattered most, I nailed it. That’s the glory and curse of theater. If it were reversed and I had the best show ever, if I had botched the Confrontation, that’s what people would have remembered.  But I didn’t. And they don’t. Instead, as I came off stage at the end of the show, my cast was there to cheer me and pat me on the back. Again, the only thing missing was the sparks from the lights showering down upon us. Such a great group.

My family loved the show. And except for a snide remark from my brother about where he was sitting (dead center, but row J. No appreciation) they were all very complimentary. Hope’s family especially. They knew less about me in this realm than my own family and they were completely blown away.

Nothing so satisfying as seeing people you know walk out with a giant smile on their faces that says both, “That was enjoyable” and “I had no idea!”

But Hope wasn’t there. She stayed home with the boy. She would come later. Two weeks later. And it was a completely different experience...