You Gotta Have Balls Read online

  To this date, it's the most we've paid to an athlete for that type of deal.

  Unfortunately, we were so swept up with covering all our bases that we didn't take the time to do the due diligence to truly see if the Schilling base was worth it.

  As it turned out, it wasn't.

  In the end, Curt didn't have the kind of lasting popularity we need for our business. Many of his items are still gathering dust on our warehouse shelves. Curt Schilling was the one touch of gray on the Red Sox silver lining.

  The mistake would have been excusable had we not had to pay Curt so much up front. His outsized demands were a red flag—a reason to pause, step back, and do the right research. But we were rushing so much at that point, trying to get everything done so quickly, that we didn't—and we're still paying for it. Around the office, we have a slang term for a deal that appears to be more hassle than it's worth: a Schilling.

  Sometimes your best deals are the ones you don't make. Occasionally, working hard on a deal ultimately leads to scrapping it. Better to do the work and let the thing go than voluntarily tie an anchor around your own neck.

  When the Yankees collapsed, I thought we were toast. Then we rebounded and reached great heights with the team that sunk the Yankees. But even that turnaround carried a major problem, in the form of Curt Schilling, that I wouldn't have expected.

  It just goes to show you—you always have to be on your game, always ready to see the silver lining, always be ready to bust out Plan B.

  Nothing ever comes out as planned.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 12

  Turning Dirt into Dollars

  I'll never forget the last day at the old Yankee Stadium for many reasons, but one image may stand out more than any other.

  In the moments after that game against the Orioles ended in a Yankees win, several of the Yankees and Orioles players bent down, scooped up a little infield dirt with their hands, and put it in their pockets. Some of them even came out of the dugout with little buckets.

  Picture it. Mariano Rivera and Derek Jeter and Yogi Berra—on their knees—scooping up dirt like little kids.

  Some people know me only as The Guy with the Dirt.

  It's not the most prestigious title, but the truth is, I'm proud of our dirt. Steiner dirt is quality. It's authentic dirt!

  It started in the 1990s, when I was first building Steiner. We were a small company. We didn't have a research and development (R & D) department. We had me, wandering around supermarkets, malls, stadiums, card shows, and Walmarts, to see what was going on in marketing and retail. That's something I do to this day.

  Anyone who sells products has to regularly visit malls, and go to trade shows, street fares, bazaars, flea markets, bodegas, and garage sales. You never know where your next great inspiration might come from.

  While attending the National Sports Collector Convention one year, I met a guy who was selling dirt from the first Marlins game at Joe Robbie Stadium. Little bottles of dirt, labeled appropriately, $9.99 each. I've always loved stuff like that. When the Colorado Avalanche won the Stanley Cup, I bought hockey pucks that had melted ice from the rink inside. Oddball things hit a nerve with me. I never know what I'm going to do with them, but I like to accumulate them. I'm a pack rat. And the more obsolete and obscure the items, the better. I placed the little bottles of dirt on my desk.

  I stared at them. I didn't really understand the appeal at first.

  But after some time, I found myself thinking: “It would be nice to own some Yankee Stadium dirt.”

  I remember the first time I had the privilege of walking on the field at Yankee Stadium. It was such an honor—one that most Yankees fans never get to experience.

  But if I could get actual dirt from the field, I could give a small piece of that experience to anyone who wanted it. A piece of the field that, small though it was, was 100 percent authentic.

  When I first asked the Yankees for field dirt in 2005, they didn't quite understand the request. But they were agreeable.

  We played around with the various ways we could turn the dirt into a keepsake. First, we sold little capsules of dirt, glued to framed photos of players. Then the products became more intricate. We matched up specific dirt to specific players. We took shortstop dirt and paired it with Derek Jeter items.

  Of course, we had everything authenticated. Independent MLB authenticators oversaw the dirt being extracted from the field, as well as its insertion into the capsules. That might be the most important part of the whole process.

  As the economy began slipping into a recession in the latter half of the 2000's, our dirt items, which were more modestly priced than our other collectibles, began to really take off. So we dreamed up new products to expand the line even further. Dirt from specific games. Dirt with specific players. We sold dirt from all over Yankee Stadium. Dirt from the infield, outfield, and from around home plate and the pitcher's mound. Dirt from two inches below the surface, to as deep as two feet down. We sold over three tons of authentic Yankee Stadium Dirt.

  We sold dirt from certain stadiums.

  Fenway Dirt, Wrigley Dirt, Notre Dame Dirt.

  Perfect Game Dirt. Playoff Dirt. World Series Dirt.

  We created a collage with a map of the United States, and a little disk of dirt from every stadium in its proper geographic place.

  We sold a hollowed-out Louisville Slugger with dirt from Derek Jeter's 3,000th hit game at the Stadium. Autographed by Derek, of course.

  Half of our dirt is stored in barrels in our warehouse, for future use. The other half is divided into half-ounce portions that are allocated in discs, plaques, keychains, paperweights, collages, clocks, coasters (in case you want to serve a dirty martini), and countless other souvenirs; 360,000 collectibles in all. We look at all of our items to see if they can be paired with dirt.

  Steiner Sports has sold $20 million of baseball stadium dirt over the past few years—$10 million from Yankee Stadium alone.

  Not long after the dirt took off, we thought, “Why stop at dirt?” So we took some of the Yankee Stadium field grass, replanted it at a sod farm, then freeze-dried it and warehoused it. Fans can buy a little slice of the last field at the old Stadium—and it lasts a lifetime. Can you imagine having a little patch of Yankee Stadium center field on your desk at work?

  Just a few months after we started selling our field grass products, I learned that officials at the Rose Bowl, the BCS Championship, and other college bowl games were going to sell patches of those fields. It's always gratifying to come up with a product from scratch, develop and market it, and then see it emulated by others.

  I'm always ready to go right up to the edge of the cliff, when everybody's rolling their eyes and telling me not to jump. The more people don't see something, or don't agree with it, the more interesting it becomes to me—and, the more I enjoy the process of developing that market and activating it.

  Steiner has sold 1 million dollars' worth of grass.

  Chapter 13

  A Jewish Kid Meets Touchdown Jesus

  While partnering with the Yankees fulfilled my lifelong dream, I wasn't dead yet. I still had a company to run, and I knew there were more opportunities to bring fans closer to their heroes. I had to find the next thing that would fuel our business.

  After I find a new opportunity, I like to ask myself, “What did I miss here?” It's kind of like asking, “What Else can I do for myself?”

  In this case I was thinking, “Is there another brand comparable to the Yankees?”

  “What is it that makes the Yankees so special?” I analyzed. “They have a rich history. They have prestige. People who don't even follow baseball know who they are.”

  The only other team I could think of that had these qualities was Notre Dame football.

  Many people might think the next logical step, after signing the Yankees, would be to sign another New York team, or another baseball team. Or at least, another well-known pro team.

  But I wasn
't looking at it that way. I'm in the business of selling history; that's what makes the stuff I'm known for. I can't only consider brands on account of their current popularity or geographic influence. First and foremost the brand has to have history. It has to bring out emotion in people.

  That describes Notre Dame's relationship with its fans exactly. Like the Yankees, the college football program has a long, rich history, renown, and a stadium held sacred by many.

  The only problem in adding Notre Dame collectibles to the business was that Notre Dame said no to everything. They're Notre Dame and they're doing just fine. Sure, they're aggressive with their brand; they want to be on top. But they can afford to be very, very picky.

  Nonetheless, I figured Notre Dame might have seen that the Yankees had partnered with Steiner Sports, and having just inked that deal, it was a good time to go after them. We were hot.

  But there was another problem: I've never been a Notre Dame fan. I watch them, and I respect them, but I bleed Syracuse orange, not Notre Dame green. I'd be lying if I pitched to Notre Dame and claimed to be passionate about the school (as opposed to the brand). And they'd see right through me. How many times a year does Notre Dame get proposals from people coldly looking to capitalize on that brand? This couldn't be a business deal that added up only on paper. It had to add up in the hearts and minds of the organization as well. I had to find a way to earn their trust.

  One of my sales guys at the time was Pete Kelly. He was a Notre Dame lunatic—passionate about the team and the school. I knew he was going to be important here.

  “Better to have a guy named Kelly call Notre Dame,” I told Pete, “than a guy named Steiner.”

  Pete worked some magic, and eventually he connected with Boo Corrigan, now the athletic director at West Point, but at the time the associate athletic director in charge of corporate relations and marketing at Notre Dame. Boo worked closely with Scott Correira, who runs Notre Dame Sports Properties. Winning these guys over was going to be essential to completing this deal.

  On their initial call, Boo told Pete, “We don't do things like this at Notre Dame.”

  Now, this isn't the first time I've gotten that response. It's gotten to the point where, if people don't say something like that, I get worried my idea is all wrong. And as a Steiner salesman, Pete felt the same way.

  Despite their response, we sent Notre Dame information on our business. I had a few follow-up calls and they liked what we had to say. They were aware of what we had done with the Yankees after all, which gave us credibility.

  There comes a point in business deals, though, where you need to meet in person. And, if you're waiting for that invitation, especially when dealing with a powerhouse like Notre Dame, that fields dozens of proposals every day—you're never going to get it. You have to step up.

  We had to fly out there. Wherever “there” was. I couldn't have located Notre Dame on a map. I just knew it was somewhere in the Midwest. Somewhere between New York and California, there was Notre Dame Stadium. Touchdown Jesus.

  So one January morning in 2005, Pete and I woke up at the crack of dawn and made a two-flight trek to Indiana: Westchester to Chicago to South Bend.

  Scott picked us up at the airport in South Bend and drove us to the campus. We went to lunch at Legends, a University-operated restaurant just a few yards away from Notre Dame Stadium. It was a nice lunch, but I was antsy. I knew we had to get in front of Boo, the right hand to Athletic Director Kevin White, who was ultimately going to have to bless the deal. I didn't schlep out to Notre Dame, in the middle of nowhere, for a pesto turkey wrap.

  Scott gave us a tour of the campus. It was beautiful. It took me back to the first time I visited Syracuse—that feeling of needing to be there, to be a part of it.

  Then we got to the stadium.

  For a Jewish kid from the streets of Brooklyn who's been obsessed with sports his whole life, I felt like I had died and gone to heaven.

  We walked through the locker room, touched the legendary PLAY LIKE A CHAMPION sign, and stepped out onto the field. The stadium was empty, but that only made it more impressive; it was cavernous, like a cathedral.

  I asked Scott about possibly putting up signage for Steiner Sports at the stadium if we were to get a deal done. Scott chuckled. He pointed to a spot in the distance, and we saw one small sign, for NBC Sports. That was it, in the whole stadium. No advertisements, no jumbotron—nothing. Nothing standing in the way of all of that history. This was not the type of arena I was used to.

  The silence was deafening.

  I looked up. Towering above the rim of the upper sections, I saw the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, the golden dome of the main administration building, and the Hesburgh Library with that famous mural of Touchdown Jesus.

  I was completely in awe. But I was also completely nervous. I was about to have one of the biggest meetings of my life. If I closed this deal, it would be another milestone for Steiner. Notre Dame. You can't top that brand.

  But what did they need me for?

  I looked up at that 134-foot-high Jesus statue, with his arms outstretched. “Man,” I thought, “I'm not in Flatbush anymore.”

  Meanwhile, Scott kept telling us that Boo was running late.

  Before I knew it, it was 4 p.m. and we hadn't met with him. I was beginning to think it just wasn't going to happen. They certainly didn't seem overly excited to meet with us. It began to feel like we were being brushed off.

  I soon started to worry that we might miss our flight out of South Bend. I couldn't think of anything worse than not meeting with Boo—or having a bad meeting with Boo—and then being stuck at Notre Dame for another day, trapped in the shadow of Touchdown Jesus.

  Finally, Scott got a call from Boo's office; he was ready for us.

  As excited as I was, I reminded myself to keep my expectations modest. I told myself that our goal was simply to start a relationship with Notre Dame, not to make a sale but to become friends.

  Usually in a pitch meeting, I begin aggressively, describing the myriad things Steiner Sports can do, and how we can't wait to start doing them all immediately. We break out the PowerPoint presentation, with the charts and graphs, showing how we're going to increase the client's revenue and expand their customer base. Sometimes we try to show the client that we know their business even better than they do.

  But in the end, you have to be cognizant of where you fit into the order of things. A brand like Notre Dame had more to teach us than the other way around, and we'd be better off letting the meeting go where it wanted to go.

  Notre Dame football is a battleship, not a schooner; it can't turn on a dime. If we tried to ram through all our ideas in the initial pitch, Boo and his team might well think, “Who needs all that?”

  Instead, my only objectives were to keep the dialog going, to keep them open minded about what we could do for them and, at the very best, to get Boo to come see us in New York.

  Sometimes it's wise to slow down and not link ambition and speed. In business, you have to know your place in the order of things.

  Notre Dame had to be a slow play. We had to come across modest. We had to show them we could be a lineman, not a quarterback. When the meeting finally started, I saw that Boo and Scott had assembled the perfect group. The head of licensing, the lead equipment manager, and another key associate were there. They'd all be key people in a deal like this.

  To begin, Pete and I emphasized a few of the strengths of Steiner Sports. We didn't propose that these strengths would necessarily come into play for Notre Dame, at least not right away. We told them we wanted to walk before we ran—to start off slow, with a couple of sample lines. We showed them framed photos of great Notre Dame moments, faux-signed by program icons like Jerome Bettis and Joe Montana; a collage of photos of legendary coaches including Knute Rockne and Lou Holtz; and game-used jerseys. We even floated the idea of selling replicas of the PLAY LIKE A CHAMPION sign.

  Then, we let them talk, making sure to listen to what
they wanted and needed. Maybe there were opportunities for us to work together that we hadn't thought of yet.

  As we ended our discussion, Boo and his team explained that Notre Dame has an incredibly strong alumni base and that they were intrigued by the prospect of using it as a built-in sales network. They also really liked our licensing capabilities.

  That was a start but there was more to discuss, and we had made it very clear from the beginning that we wanted to move slow. We just needed them to come back for round two.

  “We'd like you come to New York to see our operation,” we told them. “You need to see how we do things up close. How creative we are. How authentic our products are. If you can't come right away, we'll do it next year. We'll do it in three years.”

  No deal should ever make or break you, and we made it clear this wouldn't.

  “You seem like good guys,” Boo said, wrapping things up. “I promise I'm going to come to New York to see you.”

  As we were leaving, Pete asked to use the restroom. Boo told him he'd walk him there; Pete suggested that he point out the right direction to him instead.

  “We don't point at Notre Dame,” Boo said.

  On the flight from Chicago back to New York, Pete and I were seated across the aisle from each other.

  I was still buzzing from the meeting a couple of hours before. I leaned over to Pete. “How do you think we did?” I said.

  “Why not us?” Pete said.

  Exactly. Sure enough, three weeks later, Boo called us. He was going to be in New York, and he wanted to visit.

  When he came to our office, now in New Rochelle, and saw what we were doing for the Yankees, Boo was blown away. It's one thing to impress someone with a story or a pitch. It's another thing to actually show them what you're made of. Seeing us up close went a long way towards Notre Dame's ability to understand the business and really trust us—to see us as a company that could do justice to its history and brand. Now, they could see us as a worthy partner as opposed to an opportunistic profit seeker.