I was never a swing.

And I don’t think I could have been.

It’s harder than people think.

In a company of thirty-two or thirty-three, there were eleven male ensemble tracks.

Eleven.

When I did the show, there were two male swings covering them.

Two.

On paper, that looks efficient.

In practice, it means holding eleven separate choreographies, traffic patterns, harmonies, quick changes, prop plots and spatial maps in your head — knowing you might not physically step into one of those tracks for weeks.

Or months.

And still being expected to execute it cleanly at 7:30pm.

Swings don’t get repetition the same way the rest of us do.

If you’re in one track nightly, muscle memory builds quietly. You stop thinking about corners. You stop calculating traffic. It sits in the body.

A swing doesn’t live in one track.

They store multiple.

If we were doing an understudy run, that was their rehearsal too. If someone moved up to cover a principal, the swing would step into that person’s ensemble track. That was often their only chance to physically refresh it.

Otherwise?

They’re side stage.

During the show.

Watching.

Not casually.

Checking someone’s track. Noting spacing. Marking small adjustments. If something changed in a clean-up rehearsal — a diagonal altered, a lyric shifted, a new cross added — they needed to log it.

Because they are the backup system.

And mathematically, two swings for eleven tracks doesn’t always hold.

I remember nights when people were off and it was physically impossible for two male swings to cover everything. Other cast members doubled up on bits. Picked up traffic that technically wasn’t theirs.

It worked.

But it shouldn’t have been necessary.

Apparently there are four now.

That tells you something.

The biggest misconception is that swings are “just ensemble who cover.”

They’re not.

They can be swings and covers simultaneously. My swing was also second cover for Marius while I was first. So they weren’t sitting around on a show day. They were learning principal material, monitoring ensemble tracks, attending every rehearsal, adjusting to changes.

They are always ready.

An understudy can be called at any moment.

A swing can be called for multiple tracks at once.

That’s a vast amount to retain.

And unlike a principal cover, they don’t get applause for stepping in. They’re often invisible to the audience.

The brain strain isn’t loud.

It’s constant.

Standing side stage during a performance, tracking someone else’s route in case tomorrow it’s yours.

Not watching for enjoyment.

Watching for retention.

They are part of the company in a way that’s easy to overlook.

Without swings, people would work through illness.

Without swings, the structure collapses.

I wasn’t one.

But I watched them.

And it’s not for the faint-hearted.