A few things have changed in the past month.

My wife has a new man she loves 10 times more than me. (I bought her a new puppy for our anniversary. It’s the size of a rat. I’m embarrassed to carry him despite his ridiculously high rating on the “cute and cuddly” scale.)

My wife picked up a new ride. (She turned in her Audi lease and downgraded to a Volkswagen. She’s devastated. But I tell her: come on, times are tough.)

And, my wife jumped off the edge of the bed in pure jubilation, as if she were a cast member of Glee, after noticing that her husband had money in his bank account for the first time since she met him. (That’s what happens when a man acquires a J.O.B. that pays out every two weeks, regardless of whether he finishes in the top 10.)

Although, that would be humorous, would it not? If I submitted a column to my editor, Matt Landes, and he emailed me back with: “Sorry Hans. This is qualifier-level rhetoric. I’ll inform our accountant, Tim Wheeler, not to cut you a check this week. Perhaps you can get back up to main draw level with your next piece. Practice up.”

It’s strange really, not having income completely reliant on performance. Oddly enough, the pressure inherent with this type of occupation hasn’t entirely dissipated. I still suffer anxiety attacks from Wednesday through Friday: Does this sound okay? What if no one gets it? Is this sentence supposed to be italicized if I’m trying to convey the message that it’s only in my head?

What’s most refreshing about my new source of income is how much different it is than I expected. Shocked? I mean, I’m now writing for the same company that has signed my checks for the last five years, what could be different, right? How about everything.

First and foremost, when I was writing my weekly blogs at hansstolfus.com, I prided myself on being at the top of the beach volleyball information super highway; “breaking” news stories at will, keeping the public informed of the latest transgressions at AVP headquarters—I just wanted to use the word ‘transgressions,’ in honor of Tiger. Sorry.

But in actuality, I had no idea what was really going on at AVP offices. I had no idea how many employees clocked in daily with only one goal in mind, do whatever it takes to make the AVP Professional Beach Volleyball Tour thrive.

It’s sad really. How many times I’ve walked by guys at a tournament in AVP-branded polos and thrown out the traditional “what’s up man?” Trust me; it’s more times than I can count. And if that employee had cared to stop me and ask, “Hey Hans, what’s my name? Better yet, what’s my job title?” I would have replied with, “ummm…” What’s the most commonly used name I’ve noticed in emails from the AVP? “Uhhh... Jay?” Nodding my head side to side and front to back, almost circularly, gauging the accuracy of my blind guess by his reaction, before I followed with, “Operations? You work in operations…?” Adjusting my head bobble to only forwards and backwards while turning away with a vacant stare in my eyes, reassuring myself, his name is totally Jay. For sure. It’s Jay. Only to have the truth don on me four steps later as I spin to hear, “It’s Jake. And I work in production,” as he peels off in his big wheeled AVP buggy/rover, spitting Huntington Beach-colored sand all over my jacket and bag.

Okay, not true. Jake has never crop dusted me with tar-based sand particles because I called him the wrong name. And there’s no way he ever would. He’s not that kind of guy. Nor is anybody working in the office off of Howard Hughes Parkway. But to be honest, if I ever actually did get somebody’s name wrong, or their job title, they most deservedly have the right to.

My point to all of this: players on tour don’t have any idea who the folks are behind the scenes making all of this possible. While only a few of us have taken the time to find out and show appreciation—Kevin Wong has been known to drop off a twelver at the base of a big rig after-hours for the crew to enjoy following a hard day’s work, Casey Jennings is famous for honoring crew members by duplicating their unique choices in hair style—the rest of the players go on about their business, expecting their beloved tour to always be there when they wake up in the morning. And if it’s not, they’re ready with a page full of unsubstantiated complaints as to what went wrong, none of which applies to themselves.

Trust me. I used to be the one holding the clipboard for players to sign. I know.

Fortunately, I’ve been given a second chance, so to speak. A chance to see, first-hand, what’s really going on. A chance I wish was available for every player to experience and gain some perspective. (What am I talking about? If I’m getting in through the front, it’s most certainly an open-door policy.) Well, not to have my job, but to at least visit the ninth floor so they can introduce themselves to the likes of the real Jay; Jay Reynolds in Sponsorship and head of AVP Cares. Or, Dario Soto (Sponsorship), Brandon Thomsen (Marketing), Jeff Pace (Marketing), Carly Keese (Production), Ayinde Waring (Partnerships/Events), Kim Cantor (Partnerships/Developments), Jonpaul Roepke (AVPNext), Kelly O’Rourke (Sport Development/HR), Tony Leko (Operations), Tyler Bidle (Operations), Wheeler (Finance), Maya Galvan (Reception), Landes (Editorial) and some guy named Matt Gage (Tour Logistics).

The names I just listed aren’t those carrying corner offices with views of picturesque Culver City; they’re the guys and gals working day in and day out at desks with limited lighting doing only one thing, getting the job done. Reaching out, finding partners, developing leads, compiling data, building advertising decks, producing content, dreaming up new directions for the sport, taking stock, taking inventory, flying to cities across the nation to secure contracts and build relationships, and occasionally, when they need a break from the grind, challenging each other to a mad game of high-level foosball. Then it's back to locking down markets, developing a pro track for aspiring beach stars, gearing up for January's NCAA sand vote, and perfecting the look of Stadium Court.

Not to take away from the ‘suits,’ their hard work goes without saying; and also, without a sufficient level of praise.

Note—CEO Jason Hodell does not have his own parking space. I found out while walking with him to the parking structure’s fourth floor last week. I like this guy even more every day.

So, when summer 2010 rolls around, and I go to get my credential at the gate, only this time it’s located in the “staff” box instead of the “players” box, for some reason, I think I’m going to be okay. Because if I have my hands in only one percent of the insanely difficult work necessary to propel the AVP forward (in this economy, mind you), work the Tour’s dedicated employees have grown accustomed to—and I’m not even talking about the seven-day work weeks each of them puts in during the season—then I’m going to be even more proud than I was after beating Phil in Vegas with Johnny Mayer.

Count on it.