Despite the best efforts of my 13-year-old son, a monthly subscriber to Soccer America and a devoted fan of English League Football, I’m suffering from a serious interest deficit in this year’s World Cup. And the sad truth is, the American in me is winning-out over my own best efforts to maintain the same level of interest I had four years ago.

Forget, for a moment, that the US soccer team’s chances of winning The Cup are about as strong as Dale Junior’s. It’ll take nothing short of a tectonic shift in the sport (most notably the off-sides rule) and/or the American psyche for soccer to generate anywhere near the interest it commands in the rest of the world.

The most obvious problem is, of course, the lack of scoring; an Unforgivable Sin in a culture increasingly insistent on instant gratification. Adding insult to injury, there’s the all-too-frequent occurrence of games ending in draws. As Rick Reilly (one of our least parochial sportswriters, in my experience)  wrote in his June 15 column on espn.com,  “In the NFL in the past 10 years, there have been two ties. In the first 11 games of this World Cup, there have been five ties. I hate ties. Doesn’t anybody want to win in this sport?”

Lack of scoring, however, is only one element of the more serious disconnect between soccer and literally every sport with a popular following in this country: It simply isn’t TV friendly.

For starters, there’s the near-impossible task of Americanizing the broadcast with eye-catching graphics, stats and human interest stories—since the “action” (a term itself with which many Americans would take issue) only stops for serious injuries. For one, it relegates the match commentators’ role in the perceived drama to the level of pinball-game narrators. And, for another, it eliminates the possibility of all-important beer-grabbing and/or bathroom-visiting during commercial breaks—while minimizing opportunities for highlight-show-worthy instant replays.

Soccer is, overwhelmingly, a game of flow—whereas virtually every popular American sport hinges on The Moment: Fourth down. Ball at the one foot line. Penn State down by six points. These are the moments we’ll discuss between plays, during timeouts, at the water cooler, across the dinner table, on the talk shows (hell, everywhere) for decades—and in American sports, virtually every big game produces scores of those Moments. Not so in soccer.

Moreover, because of that Big Moment structure, the crowds in American sports play a central role in the games’ drama. We love hearing the roar before and after every big play—in the same way that we love our sitcoms filmed before live studio audiences: That way, the folks at home always know when to roar, or laugh, as the case may be.

Soccer crowds have never been particularly punctuative. But this year, the human voice of the crowds is utterly de minimis, under the unsurpassingly-irritating drone of the vuvuzelas (3-foot-long plastic trumpets)—which South African fans blow, without so much as an inhale, from well before the national anthems to well after final whistle. Given their average 130-decibel output (10 above the human pain threshold), numerous players have complained they can’t hear themselves thinking—and (again, the TV issue) it’s forced ESPN’s technicians to dramatically alter the sound mix.

Yes, I understand vuvus are an important part of the South African culture—and since they’re the host nation, I should be sensitive enough to accept them. But the American in me cannot listen to those horns blare without asking, “Seriously, what the hell?” I’d honestly rather hear Mississippi State’s clanging cowbells.

And finally, for me the World Cup has suffered greatly in comparison to this year’s unusually compelling NBA Championship Series—Game Five of which, for instance, produced a third quarter so highlight-filled that even my wife was glued to the set. Except, of course, during the commercials—when we enjoyed every available opportunity to recount the Moments, grab more beers, and run to the bathroom. Because after all, that’s what we Americans like to do.

This column (which was written during the World Cup’s first round, or Group Stage) appears in the July print edition of B-Metro Magazine

June 18, 2010: After months of intense speculation, adoring fans across America are queued-up (some since the night before) to be among the first to own the latest release from Apple. It’s a scenario not uncommon to my generation’s once-upon-a-time frenzy to procure tickets to a Beatles concert. And in many ways, Apple today has become this generation’s Beatles. An analogy with its upside, and its downside.

On the upside, Apple represents much of what is great about America, particularly in its near-unrivaled history of innovation. From the original MacIntosh to the iPod, iPhone and iPad, Apple has literally created new product categories altogether—fulfilling needs that consumers didn’t even know they had, and in the process genuinely improving quality of life for millions.

But it’s not just product features that makes Apple so unique: It’s everything about, and around, those products. From his consistently impeccable sense of product-design aesthetics to his advertising, packaging and product-delivery system, Steve Jobs has created arguably the strongest single brand in the world today. A brand that inspires cult-like loyalty, and consistently rewards its fans with the best products of its kind.

And since that brand is so carefully controlled, we never have to worry about anyone at Apple claiming, for instance, to be bigger than Jesus. Or inspiring millions to experiment with mind-expanding controlled substances.

Then there’s Apple’s recent track record for blockbuster commercial successes—which has been almost as strong as the Beatles’ was. All of which is why Apple (despite lagging significantly behind Microsoft in total sales) now has a higher market valuation than its Seattle-based competitor.

That’s pretty much where the rosy side of the analogy ends. For starters, the Beatles created art. Music that touched the souls of millions, and still resonates with listeners more than 40 years later. Apple makes things. And that new Apple thing you want so much right now? It’s replacing that old Apple thing you wanted so badly just a year or two ago. Forget about that new thing you just bought touching your soul for forty years. The 4g Thrill you’re currently experiencing won’t even last four.

Then there’s the fact that people actually waited all night, sleeping on sidewalks, to buy that thing. When people waited all night for Beatles tickets, they actually got better Beatles tickets. Waiting all night for that new Apple thing didn’t get anyone a better thing. It only got you an extra day or two with that thing. And honestly: How could an extra day with that new thing possibly be worth the pain and inconvenience you endured to get it?

That’s where the analogy gets really sad: What does it say about us, when one of our single most unifying cultural icons is a publicly-traded corporation producing perpetually-replaceable objects—rather than anything of lasting value?

I’ll bet, if you asked Steve Jobs in complete confidence, and promised to cut off your 4g high-def camera before he spoke, he’d admit that, fifty years from now, Apple’s latest Coolest Thing Ever Made will inspire about as much loving hyperbole as the Altair 8800 or the Commodore PET does today.

And yes, I freely admit that the iPad and iPhone are very possibly the two coolest things ever made. But if you asked me, Steve Jobs’ enduring legacy, the accomplishment that we’ll still be talking about fifty years from now, will be his role as a co-founder of Pixar Studios. Where they know a thing or two about touching people’s souls.

This column also appears on the B-Metro website: http://bit.ly/appletoapple
(Special thanks to Kevin Boyd for the photo illustration)

Following-up on Monday’s entry (two posts down from this one), the topic is, once again, PR blunders.

#2: THIS LITTLE PIGGIE WENT WEEWEEWEE ALL THE WAY TO COURT.

The National Pork Board is threatening the makers of Canned Unicorn with a copyright infringement lawsuit. One would assume the Pork Board did not want this issue to become widely publicized. However, I learned about it from a TIME tweet. At last count, TIME.com had 2,088,677 followers on Twitter alone. Oops.

Here’s the story: On April Fool’s Day, Think Geek—a web-based novelty product shop—introduced (for $9.99 a pop) Canned Unicorn, under the headline Pâté Is Passé. Unicorn – The New White Meat. Obviously, that last part is a play on the Pork Board’s 23-year-old slogan, Pork: The Other White Meat. A slogan which, Think Geek notes on its Facebook page, the Board is strongly considering replacing anyhow.

Apparently, the Pork Board was not amused. On May 5, Think Geek received a 12-page Cease And Desist letter from the international law firm of Faegre & Benson—ordering said novelty shop to forever refrain from using the slogan The New White Meat.

To be fair, I can see why the Pork Board would want to protect their own brandline’s integrity. Even from obviously fake products like Canned Unicorn.

But it seems to me that the best way to handle a case like this would be to call the happy-go-lucky folks at Think Geek.com personally, and ask them real nicely if they’d please not use the line anymore. Maybe even offer to buy a few cans of Unicorn as a token of goodwill.

If that approach didn’t work, for a fraction of the money they spent on Faegre & Benson’s Cease and Desist letter, they could’ve hired a freelance copywriter to offer Think Geek alternate brandlines.

Or they might have even had some fun with the whole matter by posting a tongue-in-cheek entry on their own Facebook page assuring Pork fans that Canned Unicorn contains no pork—and should, in no way, be confused with the Original Other White Meat. If, of course, they had a Facebook page. Which they don’t.

Instead, they paid a lot of money to get a lot of unwanted publicity that rightly makes The National Pork Board look, yes, downright pigheaded.

We recently started work with Baggett Transportation, a privately-owned trucking firm specializing in military equipment and munitions transport. They needed a new driver recruitment ad campaign.

The first thing we learned about Baggett’s folks was pretty much the same thing we heard from every driver we interviewed for background: They’re really nice people.

Their drivers (all Owner Operators, not Company “employees”) consistently reported what a good company Baggett is to work with. And how proud they were to be serving the armed forces.

All of which led to a pretty dramatic overhaul of their ad campaign. Click on the images below to see the ads in a larger size. Then you can zoom-in on the larger images by holding down your Ctrl button and rolling your mouse-roller forward.

The copy pretty much came straight from the couple profiled. When I read it to Wayne and Bonnie over the phone, Bonnie said, “Boy! I got chill bumps.”

Now that is why we’re in this business.

BEFORE

AFTER

Our topic is PR blunders, and was inspired by two classic gaffes I discovered just today.

NUMBER 1: THAT’S YOUR LAST SHRED OF CREDIBILITY SAILING AWAY.

By now, you’ve surely heard that BP CEO Tony “I Want My Life Back” Hayward gloriously reclaimed some of his old life this past weekend by competing in a yacht race. Unsurprisingly, that bracing jaunt was in the jolly clean seas around Great Britain’s Isle Of Wight. Not the Gulf Of Mexico—where Hayward has, once again, defied predictions that his image couldn’t get any worse than it already is.

Let’s be honest here: There is nothing good Tony can do for BP at this point, short of allowing the company to fire him—and issue a tersely-worded press release announcing the decision.

Let me make this point clear: Hayward would be doing BP an additional disservice by resigning. The public doesn’t want to see an act of sacrifice from Hayward—and wouldn’t believe him if he said it was his decision. We want to see his ass summarily tossed to the curb. And if he ever wants people to like him again, a public firing is a lot more effective than a resignation in generating the sympathy “foundation” on which he can begin rebuilding his image.

So what else would I do if I were BP? First, I’d hire another PR firm. One, by the way, that’s smarter—and more experienced—in crisis management than I am. But off the top of my head, I would start by using Social Media the way it’s intended to be used: As a dialog medium—not a broadcast medium. Angry people are going to be posting nasty messages about you all over Facebook anyhow; why not give them more freedom to do so on your own page—where you can at least control the response?

Second, I would expand the campaign BP has already launched—profiling actual Gulf area residents involved in the cleanup effort. I like Barryl Willis, the Louisianan whom BP has featured in print and TV ads, discussing his commitment to Gulf residents in leading his company’s legal claims process. For starters, he’s not Tony Hayward.

But I’d take that idea a step further: I’d start profiling non-BP employees working with the company on the cleanup. LOTS of them. I’d even consider building a website featuring those people. Maybe even allow them to blog about their experiences.

Yes, there’s clearly a risk this idea could lead to some negative blogging. But if BP demonstrated absolute goodwill with those people in its mission to make things right, and faithfully followed-up on problems those folks encountered in their own cleanup efforts, I’ll bet they’d start winning some converts.

Got a classic PR gaffe—new or old—that you’d like me to add to this column? Shoot me an email ( francis@harebrains.com ), and I’ll post the best of the best.

COMING SOON…Part Two: This Little Piggie Went WeeWeeWee All The Way To Court.

I was at lunch the other day with a buddy who posed a question I stopped asking a long time ago: “Why is radio in Birmingham so bad?” The broad answer is, “Because radio is bad everywhere”.

That said, this is not a Bash-The-Radio column. There are plenty of good people working in commercial radio—and there are any number of clients to whom I have enthusiastically recommended it as an effective, cost-efficient medium for targeting their clients.

However, as an artistic medium, I have long used radio as the quintessential example of the danger in ad agencies always doing exactly what their clients ask. In general, smart clients (who, by the way, constitute the vast majority of accounts we’ve served over the years) hire communications firms like ours because we have experience and expertise they don’t have, and we know things they don’t know.

Thankfully, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard a new business prospect say, “I have a computer at home with a whole suite of layout programs—so why should I hire you to produce my ads?” You know what, I have a piano at home. That doesn’t make me Thelonious Monk.

All of which is to say that we don’t always agree with our clients’ ideas and suggestions. Of course, we don’t fight with them (who wants an agency like that?). But we’ll certainly offer well-reasoned arguments for pursuing ideas we believe to be more strategically-sound. As far as I’m concerned, that’s one of the main services they pay for—and following a direction I flatly consider unwise, without breathing a word of concern, is (in my opinion) nothing short of professional negligence.

So whenever we disagree with a client, and they absolutely insist on having it their way, I tell them (in so many words): We’ll do what you want. After all, last time I checked, you hired us to produce work for you—not ourselves. But if this develops into a pattern, and we do only what you suggest, eventually you’ll end-up hating us. Just like people hate the radio.

So the more specific answer to my friend’s question (which I’m going to re-word): Why do people hate the radio? Because radio stations play exactly what research says they want to hear.

Once upon a time, before the suits in Research started controlling playlists, commercial radio stations had DJ’s who actually knew—and cared about—music. Yes, there was, in fact, a time when commercial radio DJ’s actually had the authority to play what they wanted people to hear. And a lot of what they played was stuff that took some getting used to. Yes, there was, in fact, a time when commercial radio listeners were actually willing to give challenging new music a chance.

Radio was cool when stations routinely played cool stuff people had never heard before. Which is why research killed cool: People don’t know what they don’t know—and very few of us are willing to invest the time and effort needed to investigate stuff they don’t already know.

So when you ask listeners what they want to hear, all they can tell you is what they already know—which usually isn’t that much. And the longer playlists are based only on what people already know, the dumber those playlists get—which is why, inevitably, those same listeners will eventually hate you.

Which is also why clients inevitably end-up hating agencies who do only what they ask for. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this complaint from prospects working with other shops: “I don’t know what we pay them for. We give them the ideas, we write the copy, and all they do is lay it out and take the 15% commission.” The problem: Either the client has a dumb agency, or the agency has a dumb client. Or both. Regardless, nobody’s best interests are being served.

Needless to say, ad agencies aren’t the only businesses routinely facing the same dilemma. Think, for instance, how many litigators have looked like utter morons because they couldn’t convince dumb clients to stay off the witness stand.

So how you deal with a client who absolutely-positively won’t listen to your best advice? If you can afford to fire them, do. In most cases, for the sake of your reputation, you can’t afford not to.

But every now and then, that simply isn’t possible—without, for instance, people you employ losing their jobs. In cases like that (to paraphrase one of Birmingham’s ad legends—who preferred to comment off the record), do what they say. Make absolutely-positively certain they’ll never forget you tried to give them your best professional advice. And take the money. After all, they’re going to pay somebody to follow orders. It might as well be you instead of the guys down the street. At the same time, know that the relationship isn’t going to last—so start looking for their replacement immediately.

Originally published 5/28/10 in the Birmingham Business Journal. http://bit.ly/hearno

With the series finales of Lost and 24 airing Sunday and last night, a huge chunk of my cultural life over the past decade has come to an end in just two days.

I was thoroughly pleased with the Lost finale—primarily because it offered genuine emotional closure for me. But also because I’ve never been particularly concerned with making “sense” of the show’s Byzantine plot twists or its alternate-universe reality—so I didn’t have any giant questions I needed answered. That said, if you were a fan, Time.com’s James Poniewozick wrote an excellent review of the show—and the finale: http://bit.ly/bzScaB

On the other hand, I was fairly disappointed with the last few weeks of 24—particularly in watching Jack Bauer transformed from a crusading superhero to a vindictive, cold-blooded killer. Still, the show (and Jack) already had more than enough credit in my goodwill bank to make the season worthwhile.

All that said, I figured this was as good an opportunity as any to publicly disclose something I’ve admitted, without shame, for years: On the whole, I like television better than the movies. Here’s why:

First, I rarely have the time, or the patience, to watch an entire movie on a Friday or Saturday—much less on a weeknight. With my DVR, an hour show on basic cable is 50 minutes, tops. AND there’s always the possibility that I’ll catch a really good commercial among all the lame ones I fast-forward past.

Second, TV is a writer’s medium. TV producers don’t have budgets for the special effects that dominate most Hollywood films these days, so they’re actually forced to focus on the stories. And there are plenty of shows that tell stories I like. (Although I do think the vast majority of TV comedy these days is so bad it’s not even funny).

Third, a month of cable TV—most of which is available in HD—is less than the cost to take the family to a single movie (particularly if you buy Coke and popcorn). Because of that, I’m a lot more easily satisfied by TV than movies.

Not that my overall standards have dropped, but I just don’t bring the same (often unreasonable) expectations to TV that I do to movies. At the same time, on a strictly objective level, I can list any number of TV shows which have genuinely impressed me over the past couple years—but very few movies. And yeah, I know that’s partly my fault—because I’m not willing to invest the necessary effort to find movies I’ll really like; but even if I was, I still don’t have the time to watch them.

Fourth, a lot more people watch TV—so there are a lot more opportunities to make reasonably meaningful small talk, day in and out.

And finally, TV is in my house—and at my age, that’s pretty much where I want to be. Which (to be perfectly honest) is one of the reasons it’s best to call me at the office, if there’s something important you need to discuss with me. Like, for instance, what you watched on TV last night.

Erin and Seth recently got a bulldog puppy. Seth brought it to the office last week. While everyone was eww-ing ahh-ing and awwwww-ing, Kathy (our brilliant art director) grabbed her camera and hit the floor.

One mark of a great photographer is timing. And luck. Based on the shot below, I think you can reasonably say Kathy is a great photographer. If you need further proof, check-out her website: http://kathysheridan.com/

Yes, this is a candid photo.
(However, Erin’s feet have been Photo-Tanned to spare her further mortification.)

By the way: If you’d like to see this photo larger, click on the image. Then hold down your Control button, and roll your mouse-roller forward, to zoom in.

Anyhow, that photo instantly struck me as a Motivational Poster waiting to happen. Below is what I came-up with—pretty much off the top of my head. Feel free to post your own headline submissions—and maybe I’ll lay-out the best of the best. (Again, click-and-mouse-roll, if you wanna zoom).

OUR FIRST SUBMISSION!
Andy Odum, one of the best copywriters of all time (did I say it right, Andy?), sent me the headline below less than 10 minutes after I emailed a link to this post:

(Theodorick Of York, Medieval Barber, bleeds a patient
suffering from “an imbalance of bodily humors”.)

A couple of weeks ago (after years of stubborn resistance) I replaced Outlook Express and Microsoft Schedule for Office 97 with the full version of Outlook. Much as I dreaded it, my initial reaction was unexpectedly optimistic. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that it wasn’t so bad after all. Not only that, it offers several technical advantages that I formerly didn’t have.

Now, after spending two weeks really getting to know Outlook inside and out, I am absolutely positive that there is no hope of my ever regaining the efficiency I once enjoyed with my “outdated” programs. Just one example: Outlook’s AutoComplete function—which apparently cannot remember from day to day that when I type “E”, I want to send an email to Erin.

In a related vein, I recently completed an excellent book entitled Beer Blast (The Inside Story of the Brewing Industry’s Bizarre Battles for Your Money)—by Philip Van Munching. If you’ve ever peeled a Heineken bottle, you’ve probably seen his last name on the top label—after the words “Imported By”. Philip worked several years for the family business—then several months with the corporation that bought Van Munching Co. from his father.

One of the more poignant chapters in the book describes, in detail, the sweeping changes Van Munching’s new bosses introduced to a number of policies Dad had rigidly enforced over the years. They gave local sales reps broad freedom to offer periodic discount-pricing incentives. They added brand extensions—most notably Heineken Light—thereby broadening their product line beyond just Heineken and Amstel Light. They developed a 7-ounce Heineken bottle. They updated the advertising—with humorous spots that featured sophisticated people having good times while drinking beer, rather than focusing strictly on the Heineken brand.

Every change resulted in unqualified disaster.

That got me to thinking how easy it is for an ad agency to fall into the trap of Change For Change’s Sake—particularly in serving a new client. But here’s the thing I’ve learned: Just because we can do “better”, that doesn’t mean it’s always the right thing to do. For instance, have you ever gone shopping for a specific product, and literally couldn’t find it on the shelves because the new package design looked nothing like the one you’ve bought for years?

I’m not suggesting, by any stretch of the imagination, that change is bad. Just be sure that—when it comes to your marketing communications—your agency has a perfectly sensible reason for recommending the change. And that the change is consistent with the brand you’ve presumably spent years building in the marketplace.

Now, if someone could pass this message along to the half-wits who make Outlook, I’ll  be really happy.

Our web programmer Richard Thomas recently removed himself from consideration for a significant new business opportunity—after receiving a series of abrasive communiqués from the organization’s top executive (a physician). The last of which concluded with a direct order: “From now on, you will refer to me as Dr. [Whatever].”

Shortly after that decision, Richard’s partner Wesley mentioned it to a friend—who told him, “I didn’t want to say anything before, but I saw Dr. [Whatever] as a patient once. And he was not a friendly person.”

Richard told me his story, in part, because he knows my agency’s longstanding policy: We don’t work with a-holes (which, of course, is the print-friendly version of the word). For the sake of argument, I define an a-hole as someone who gets most of his or her pleasure by taking it from others.

Now, does that mean we don’t work with clients who demand their money’s worth—and get mad if we don’t deliver? Of course not; that’s what clients are supposed to do. But we will not work with that personality profile described above, for two reasons: 1) They’ll make your life miserable while you’re working with them, and 2) They’ll usually invent some reason to screw you in the end.

Talking with Richard made me realize there’s another reason—and one that’s equally important: Working with a-holes (particularly well-known ones) is bad for your reputation, and your brand. Which means it’s bad for business. It’s a case of guilt by association, and everybody’s a judge.

Years ago, I worked for a shop whose main client was in a controversial industry (one I don’t particularly admire myself), and lemme tell you: When my job description was expanded to include new business, my introductory calls to prospects routinely ended shortly after I answered the question, “So who are some of your clients?”

The point here is that—whether you like it or not—your brand in the marketplace is often defined as much by who you work with as it is by what you do and how you do it. Which is why your core messaging strategy should at least imply what kind of clients or customers you want to serve—and don’t want to serve. Which is one reason why I’ve always loved DavisDenny’s brandline: “We do good work for people who do good work”.

I’m now working with a great young builder, Daniel Murray, whose construction company has a unique way of doing business: Full disclosure on every expense involved in a budget—all the way down to his job-related cell phone charges. It’s a policy that’s been consistently well-received, but he’s learned—the hard way—that there are certain types (yeah, you know who) who’ll contest any number of his perfectly legitimate expenses. Why? Because that’s what those people do. Which is why a critical part of the brand strategy we’re developing for Murray Building Company will include the same subtle message implied in DavisDenny’s brandline: If you’re one of them, don’t call us. Please.

At the same time, there are plenty of otherwise good companies whose branding places them in a distinctly negative light. I can’t think of a better example than GoDaddy—which, judging from their ads, has defined its core market as oversexed teenage NASCAR fans in rut. Imagine how that sleazy campaign makes the good people of GoDaddy feel about working there.  Imagine how many prospective customers that campaign has repelled over the years. CEO Bob Parsons has heard the criticisms. He doesn’t care. Sounds like an a-hole to me.

And yes, as Mr. Parsons clearly demonstrates, there are plenty of companies doing quite well for themselves despite having major a-holes in charge (even some, shockingly, in my industry). And while there’s a natural tendency to resent—or even envy—their success, you’re better off feeling sorry for them. I know I am. And as a business owner, I have the luxury of avoiding them. But if you don’t have that luxury, remember: Nights and weekends, you get to be around people you like. A-holes have to be around themselves all the time.

Originally published in the Birmingham Business Journal May 7, 2010: bit.ly/a-holes