You Gotta Have Balls Page 10

  I envisioned a nationwide series of sports bar appearances that would coincide with Rick's schedule broadcasting NBA games around the country for TBS. At each stop, Rick would be the guest of honor at a popular bar with a Pop A Shot; a contest winner would face off against him in a competition. And, schedule permitting, a local NBA star—from past or present—could be paid to show up as well. Cutty Sark would sponsor it all, paying for Rick—and anyone else—as well as providing free booze and promotion of the bar and event. In turn, Cutty Sark's name would be indelibly linked to one of the best events of the year in that city.

  The Marlboro Group loved the idea and agreed to support the events. I began to book the flights, appearances, and parties. I had just hired my first intern, George Ameer; he was tremendously helpful in pulling off that project. (George works for the PGA Tour now, as a manager for International Television.)

  The campaign went on for the good part of a year, and covered New York, Miami, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Boston. It was a big success. In each city, the bar at which we hosted the Pop A Shot party was packed, and the event garnered significant attention on local TV. Rick was always immensely personable and the shooting contest itself was inevitably dramatic, an exclamation point on the night. The bartenders served Cutty Collins and Cutty Rickey drinks, and the brand got great exposure.

  In addition, I'd call local liquor stores and arrange lunches with Rick for their owners and the local distributors. Even those lunches were packed in most cities. The whole tour drove home for me the power with which athletes and media exposure move customers.

  Making the Market

  Combined with my star-studded restaurant experience, the Rick Barry promotion confirmed my sense that in the sports business world, there was a need for someone to serve as a liaison between athletes and Madison Avenue. I wanted to be that guy. But I wasn't completely sure how to go about it, how to put the pieces together. Then Kevin Heller opened up a door for me, yet again. (You can never have enough friends.)

  Kevin introduced me to Marty Blackman. A former star ad executive, Marty was the brains behind the famous Mean Joe Greene Coke commercial, and was one of the first brokers to match up celebs and athletes with companies for promotional purposes. He was an original sports marketing guru. Kevin introduced us, and I got to pick Marty's brain.

  Marty knew from his own experience that while a lot of businesses wanted to book athletes for appearances and promotions, the process was complicated and difficult. Some athletes received many requests, but were too expensive. Others would have been happy to do it, but were difficult to get to. There were guys who were easy to work with and guys who were very difficult. Companies were having a tough time navigating it all.

  Marty explained that there were a lot of people representing players, but nobody representing companies—and they were the ones who really needed the help. He suggested that there was an opening for someone—namely, me—to help companies figure out ways to pair with players as a way to drive sales.

  If a company was going to have a golf outing, or a sales conference, I could match them up with an athlete. Ideally, if it was a good connection, the athlete would inspire the participants and generally make the event more productive. And since it was all ancillary income for the athletes, they wouldn't come too expensive. Everybody wins.

  The first thing I had to do was get a stable of athletes I could pitch. Thanks to Kevin's network, I had a few guys on board already, but not enough to get a serious business going. Fortunately, Rick Barry had many athlete connections, through his TV and charity golf event work, that he offered to share with me.

  Tapping the money I had saved from the Sid Loberfeld–Pepsi settlement in high school, I signed a lease for a 200-square-foot office share that was part of a 5,000-square-foot space. My first intern, George, was succeeded by an intern named Tiny Gerome—younger brother of my old frat buddy Gary Gerome. Tiny was a hard worker and an invaluable asset, despite making it fairly clear that he thought I was a lunatic. Together, we sent out letters to as many athletes as I could think of, asking each one to become a part of a sports speakers bureau. In those days, nobody had cell phones or e-mail. All I had was addresses for these guys, at their pro sports team facilities. In most cases, no one even knew how to get in touch with their agents.

  After three straight days of printing, stuffing, and sending letters, speakers bureau invitations had gone out to hundreds and hundreds of athletes—all over the country.

  A lot of rejection letters flowed in, but there were also a fair amount of yeses. Most of those explained that they had nothing to lose.

  Two Actual Rejection Letters

  MIAMI DOLPHINS

  JOE ROBBIE STADIUM

  MIAMI, FLORIDA 33056

  October 26, 1989

  Brandon Steiner

  Steiner Associates

  645 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  Dear Mr. Steiner:

  Thank you for your letter. I appreciate your asking however at the present time I would not be interested in being included in your speakers bureau brochure for this year.

  Best wishes.

  Sincerely,

  Don F. Shula

  Head Coach &

  Vice President

  UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA

  CHAPEL HILL, NC 27514

  November 16, 1989

  Mr. Brandon Steiner

  Steiner Associates

  645 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10022

  Dear Mr. Steiner:

  Thank you for your recent invitation to be a part of Steiner Associates Speakers Bureau. Your notion is a good one and I'm sure that a number of the people you mentioned in your letter will be able to take advantage of the additional exposure your group could offer.

  I appreciate being included in your list of speakers, but I will not be able to participate. Most of my speaking engagements are associated with our university, and I really do not have time for any further commitments.

  Most sincerely,

  Dean E. Smith

  After my letter blitz, and the generous help of Kevin and Rick, I had amassed a database of over a hundred athletes' home addresses and phone numbers. Just having all that information compiled was something special.

  Along with the invitations, we had sent out a brief survey asking about the athletes' personal preferences. When the surveys came back, I learned some valuable information about the players: the products they dreamed of endorsing; which ones wouldn't mind being paid in products such as car parts or stereos; who had issues with alcohol; even the practice schedules of their teams.

  I knew this information could be my lifeblood.

  I added all the information into a database on a Mac Plus computer whose $2,600 cost drained most of the $4,000 of the remaining Pepsi settlement. Then I printed a brochure that promoted the athletes for speaking engagements.

  I would sit home at night and watch every channel on TV, to see which athletes were doing what, and read every paper and magazine to see which advertisers were doing what.

  I filled scrapbooks with clippings of articles and advertisements that pointed to overlapping interests between athletes and companies—potential sponsorships. My eyes and ears were always on high alert.

  When an idea hit me, I'd call a company's PR or ad department, and pitch them a player and a marketing plan. I was making this all up from scratch, but I called as many companies as I could, working What Else's from all angles.

  Dreaming Up Appearances

  In the late 1980s, Darryl Strawberry was one of the biggest names in sports, and I had a good relationship with him, dating back to my nights at the Hard Rock. I proposed to a local Ford dealership that they make a special edition model called the Strawmobile. Darryl would do an appearance at the showroom, sign autographs, and take photos with customers. I'd help them promote the event and the new model. I promised it would drive a lot of foot traffic to the dealership, more than they'd ever seen
in one day at that location. People could bid on the Strawmobile; one lucky person would win it. Ford loved the idea and it turned out to be a huge success.

  I was working with a great business model—representing not only the players and their interests, but also the companies and theirs. Rather than competing against each other, each party had a vested interest in promoting the events, seeing them succeed, and in splitting the money evenly enough so that all involved would be interested in doing future projects.

  Oftentimes I'd pitch an athlete to a corporation for a specific event, and immediately afterward, the company would start to plan a slate of future events with me. In other words, that company would become a new client of mine.

  There's no better way to get business than to give business. Help people sell. Drive accounts to them. When Ford saw how many customers Darryl and I brought them, they wanted to organize other promotions with me. (And sometimes I could even borrow a car from that dealership-if I needed to shepherd around a celeb who was in town for a day.)

  In the late 1980s and early 1990s, there was a retail boom, during which stores like Walmart, Target, Caldor, Sports Authority, and Macy's opened a wealth of new locations. A host of new sporting goods stores also popped up.

  These retail stores were eager to try new things and invest more and more resources to increase foot traffic. And they had both their own money and vendor money to invest in promoting events.

  My old high school running mate Cliff Savage and I have stayed friends ever since graduating from Dewey. In the 1990s, when I was starting Steiner, Cliff became VP at Franklin Sporting Goods and was an invaluable liaison to the retail world. Utilizing his connections at Franklin, Cliff tipped me off to new mall openings and store expansions; then I would approach the managers with promotional ideas and proposals for player appearances. Cliff also introduced me to key people at stores like the Sports Authority and Herman's; with his help, I was able to get my business in on the ground floor of those stores before they became industry giants. Cliff was a tremendous influence on me; he taught me so many of the ins and outs of retail, and told me who to call at each company, to tap into that chain's marketing budget.

  You never know where your friends are going to wind up. You can never imagine how they one day might be able to help you. (Yet another reason never to make enemies!)

  The Underselling in Selling

  Though Cliff is a great salesman, his style is very different from mine. I'd try to sell a meat Popsicle to a vegan; Cliff goes with more of a “soft sell.” In that way, we've learned from each other.

  My favorite sales lesson from Cliff is that “It's not what you sell the customer; it's what the customer has left.” In other words, don't oversell. If you convince someone to buy more than he needs, there's a good chance his inventory will be overstocked the next time you call on him. He won't buy from you on that call, and he might even look for a new sales rep—one who is more attuned to his needs.

  Better to sell the client just enough, or even a little less than that. Give him a chance to get that “It sold out!” feeling.

  Not overselling is an underrated part of selling.

  I worked as many grand openings as I could, all over the country. And I conducted themed campaigns with the chain stores. A popular player would show up at several different stores in a region, and at each location, people would come to meet him while they bought their sneakers and their tennis rackets. It was the new big way of driving customer traffic.

  Store events were really exciting to me. They were like puzzles; to solve them, I had to get creative. If a Nathan's opened up somewhere, rather than just having a player appear behind the counter, I'd have a Yankee do a fielding clinic in the parking lot. People would go wild.

  One of my favorite promotions from the early days was an event we organized a few times with a pasta company, Ronzoni. I matched Ronzoni—which back then was one of the sponsors of the New York City Marathon—with renowned New York City restaurant Tavern on the Green. The night before the race, we'd have a huge party there. I'd bring in three or four name athletes, and the restaurant would serve a pasta feast. A lot of high-profile runners showed up to those dinners; it became a big event. World-class runners and celebs, carbo-loading side by side. Naturally, I took some of the runners on as clients.

  Medicine Men

  One time I saw Mickey Mantle do a small advertisement for an arthritis cream. Watching Mickey talk about the benefits of the medicine, I realized that athletes had unique credibility when promoting products in the realm of physical health.

  I surveyed every athlete I could get ahold of, to see which health issues concerned them or their family members. Then I went to pharmaceutical companies to see if they wanted to use a player to help promote awareness of a disease, or to get word out to doctors about a new product.

  This led to several spokesman deals for athletes, including Johnny Unitas endorsing a prostate drug, and Earl (the Pearl) Monroe recommending a high blood pressure medicine.

  Another promotion from the highlight reel was one we came up with for Pfizer, at a pharmaceutical trade show in New Orleans. The company's main goal at these events was to get doctors to learn about their new drugs. We had Hall of Fame running back Walter Payton attend one as part of the Pfizer team. He sat in front of their booth, surrounded by sports lockers. Above him hung a sign that read: DON'T RUSH BY. ANSWER FIVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS NEW DRUG, AND GET YOUR PICTURE TAKEN WITH WALTER PAYTON. Countless doctors stopped in their tracks, just to meet Walter. And since we made them answer some questions before getting their photo taken with “Sweetness,” they were helpless but to listen to the reps' talking points. Pfizer quickly became the most popular booth at the show.

  In another What Else twist, instead of just mailing out the photos, we had the area reps deliver them directly to the doctors' offices. That way they could further pitch the drug in person, and deliver samples.

  Nobody else was really doing this kind of thing. Everyone wanted to cast Mean Joe Greene in the Coke commercial, but nobody wanted to be the guy arranging for him to go to a shoe salesmen convention in Scottsdale.

  No matter what the product or promotion or cause, there was always an athlete that matched perfectly and helped take the thing to another level. For instance, a group of disabled Vietnam vets needed someone to speak about overcoming physical limitations. So I introduced them to Phil McConkey, a diminutive wide receiver on the New York Giants who seemed to have made it to the NFL purely on guts and heart.

  It wasn't always the companies or organizations that had the need. Sometimes the athletes themselves had a need. For instance, we did some great work with Bob Mann, a golf pro who made instructional tapes. Professional athletes who played golf as a hobby were always looking to bring down their handicap. I pitched Bob on having them in his instructional videos. We got everyone from NBA Hall of Famer Oscar Robertson to tennis great Arthur Ashe. Each of them got professional golf instruction free of charge—or even received a small fee to participate. The athlete lowered his handicap; Bob had a dynamic new instructional tape to sell. The series did tremendously well.

  I even heard from a lot of agents. As long as I wasn't going to interfere with the player contracts, or invest the athletes' money, I was an asset to them. They entrusted me to market their clients in ways they weren't equipped to do.

  One of the most rewarding—and fun—campaigns I did in those days was with two icons from my childhood: the chocolate drink Yoo-hoo, and baseball legend Yogi Berra.

  In the 1950s and 1960s, Yogi was Yoo-hoo's biggest pitchman, endorsing the drink via appearances in addition to countless advertisements. He even got his legendary batterymate Whitey Ford to join him in a few ads. The campaign was so successful that Yoo-hoo gave Yogi stock in the company—long before major sponsorship deals between athletes and corporations became commonplace.

  But by the mid-seventies, after Yoo-hoo's ownership had changed a few times, Yogi and the drink were like oil and wa
ter. Stories about the breakup made it sound irrevocable.

  In 1993, I was working on a promotion with Yoo-hoo that allowed customers to redeem proofs of purchase from the bottles to get a set of specially made Yoo-hoo Baseball Legends trading cards. I knew Yogi would be the perfect pitchman for it. But the current owners thought it would never happen. And they had good reason to have doubts.

  But I always need to hear the word “no,” live and from the horse's mouth. And even then, I need to hear it several times. Up until that point, there's always a chance. And if you want to be a successful entrepreneur, that's the only way to operate.

  Mickey Mantle graciously introduced me to Yogi, and I personally appealed to him and his wife Carmen to consider the Yoo-hoo opportunity. I knew I had to be patient; just as relationships take time to build, so do they require time to be repaired. I made sure to listen to all of Yogi's concerns, all of his qualms about moving forward. To quote the great Billy Joel, it was a matter of trust. Carmen was instrumental; with her help, I was able to convince Yogi to give Yoo-hoo one more chance. I promised him everything would go smoothly, and thanks to some hard work, it did. It ended up being one of Yoo-hoo's most successful promotions ever. They were happy, Yogi was happy, and I felt reassured that I had gotten into the right business.

  Like I said, I blindly tried to get in front of as many athletes and companies as I could. I worked the phone day and night.

  I called the company. I had the meeting. I called the player. I wrote up the contract. I picked up the athlete and delivered him to the spot. I sent the bill to the company. Then I moved on to the next promotion. At the end of the month, Mara came in and attempted to balance the books.

  In the first few years that I ran my own shop, concentrating on fight nights and other “party” events, we had been lucky to organize five or six corporate athlete appearances per month (in addition to any ad campaigns we could get involved with). But starting in the early 1990s, our business model began to shift. We were managing between 100 to 200 events per month. No promotion was too small. We were doing around 2,000 appearances a year!