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Sandino: Incarnate

Before Sandino became “[O]ne of the great teams of Harold Night,” we were the dark horse that no one in their right mind would’ve bet on. A Frankenstein team of leftovers and failures. Two members of a fallen team, two rejects broken by the system, an improv wunderkind spared despite a poor audition, a writer nobody realized was also an improviser, a funny guy whose name was tossed around a few, and a Joe Wengert type or something.

We had one shaky practice, then Alan and I had to miss the second for a trip. When we hit the stage, we had arguably the best first Harold I had ever seen. (How weird was it that I was watching from the back line?) From then on, we had endless conversations as to why it worked out that way. What was it about us 8, then 10, that clicked? After each show we would sort of look at each other and mouth “I don’t know why.” Because, honestly, we didn’t know why. We didn’t expect it. Nobody did. And it really took a long time before we accepted that maybe we were just good, that it wasn’t luck from show to show.

And I think it’s because: We played for each other. If anybody came in with the idea that they were going to be the standout, that Sandino was going to be their vehicle, they were proven wrong pretty quickly.

Sandino was the first time I experienced Group Mind, could prove it existed. We all know that different parts of the human brain control certain bodily and mental functions, all of those mysteriously coming together to form a single mind, a consciousness that is one (ideally). Some call it a soul. People still struggle to comprehend the brain fully and how a mass of gray goo can accomplish so many wonderful and terrible things all at once. We may understand it now more than ever, we can alter it, fiddle with it, but we cannot build a brain. We’ve tried. Doesn’t work. Not yet.

So here we had an artificial brain - neurons plucking away for the greater good and a group mind emerging from that work as a consequence. It was self-aware. If one part was injured or missing, it would compensate. There was no way to predict its birth. No way to replicate it. It wasn’t a perfect brain - it had quirks, as we all do. But, fuck it, it was a living thing. That’s amazing!

If I had to imagine what body that brain would fit into, it would probably be a gay man’s. Attractive in an odd way, features a jumble but making sense as a whole. About 6’1”. Wavy dark hair. Large eyes. Glasses/sometimes contacts. Self-conscious about losing his hair and awkwardly long arms. Multilingual. Musical. Athletic - but with many old injuries and scars. A recent college grad with big ideas on how to change things - smart but immature, sometimes drinking too much and doing something stupid but then beating himself up about it and making it right in the end. He would be funny and likeable but a know-it-all. If you ever got mad at him, he’d do something ridiculously generous and you’d have to forgive him instantly. But God help you if he was ever mad at you. And, sometimes, he’d say something so absurd you wouldn’t know if he was joking or crazy, but you’d be entertained either way.

Not a perfect individual, but someone you could root for - unless, you know, he yelled at you at a bar that one time or you felt like he was full of himself or you, yourself, were an asshole.