The Business of Kayfabe

by Sean Oliver

  Within the first year of KC’s existence, we launched that series, wherein all the interviews are entirely conducted by fans’ questions. There was no master plan in giving a series over to the fans and I supposed it was far ahead of its time back in 2007. But something in us caused us to go social with the series.

  There’s a risk in that, of course. Relinquishing total control over the content of your product to fans could anchor you to their limitations. You might end up asking the size of Batista’s dick to every guest on your show. Trust me.

  We did retain a little control of YouShoot. Anthony selects the questions that work best for the show and the guest. Then while I’m sitting there with cameras rolling, I’m scrolling through the shooting script to grab the best questions, and the ones that we haven’t touched on yet. Did we ever take out a little more insurance than that?

  Yeah. We have.

  I should probably begin by saying that we get hundreds and hundreds of questions for every edition of YouShoot via email, video, Twitter, and Facebook. And 99% of the questions asked on the show are from those fans. And sometimes, friends, we must help the show along. Is this a betrayal? Is it a little like saying, “Honey, I’ve been 99% faithful to you?”

  But truthfully I don’t think it’s a betrayal at all to throw in a question here or there with the goal of getting the best possible product for the viewer. If there is a story that fans didn’t know about or just didn’t ask about, and we know the guest will be entertaining or provocative in their telling it, then we have to add it. Time for Noel Medina or The Assassin from Jersey City to fire up their fictional laptop and plant a question. Oh, stop being all offended. Wrestling itself is a work, you know.

  It’s all about touching the fan’s soul with your content, and if planting the occasional question makes that happen then so be it. I live in service of the fans.

  Customers will become members of your congregation when they sense their Blood is mixed with yours, your company’s, and your product’s. The sausage company has a marketing department that has identified, very coolly, that Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter are hot trends and businesses are becoming a part of it. Then know that viral trends are honest and valued so much more than top-down techniques of yesteryear. But they’ve clearly made little effort to examine why Facebook and Twitter find symbiosis with certain companies.

  If your Business of Blood is to be built correctly, it should be built around your passion and your product. The centerpiece is The Blood and the framework is the business. Too often you’ll see people trying to “start a business.” There are magazines and bookstores filled with advice on how to spot market needs and just whip up a business that serves it—finding the market first, then manufacturing Blood.

  Man, that’s a counter-intuitive thought process. It’s not wrong, per se. It doesn’t mean that businesses started in such a cold fashion will fail. Actually, chances are if they have strong business acumen and they can hire people with a passion for that industry, they’ll succeed. But that isn’t what we’re talking about here. That’s all science. They’re lost in a business plan and the color of the logo—focusing on cold stuff. They’re lost in the business. If there was a true passion at work in that entrepreneur, then those items would seem like tedious distractions on the to-do list.

  Forget that shit, let me get busy building this thing, man.

  That should be the attitude. You’re being taken away from building this amazing product to try and articulate that passion into some cold business plan software. Ugh.

  A herd of educated suits trying to find excitement about a product or business that’s entirely functional and cold is a dirty job. Someone does, indeed, have to do it. The sausage company needs a person to wake up every day and get excited about being its marketing director. I have no doubt there is a way to do it, but I cannot imagine how they do.

  4. Bad Blood

  THE BLOOD ENSURES a remarkable competitive advantage as you build your Business of Blood, but there are occasions when this can be your downfall if not identified and managed properly. Many of the decisions you’ll be making with your heart will be good ones, fortified by the love of the subject matter in which you’re dealing.

  But how many people do stupid things for love? A lot.

  Your scientific knowledge of your Business of Blood will, at some point, come into direct conflict with your heart. This is where you will make mistakes, I guarantee that. Passionate folk like you and I tend to listen to our hearts.

  It starts with the germ of an idea. This idea bubbles to the surface from that wonderful place inside us where there lives a fan of our own work, and of the market in which we operate. It sounds something like, “Wouldn’t it be cool if…” or, “You know what would be awesome…” And you best believe that idea would indeed be cool. You know this because The Blood has ensured that you’re a fan first—a participant in the industry which you now serve. You have the instinct of which we’ve spoken so generously.

  That impetus, the “wouldn’t it be cool,” is likely what founded your business in the first place. You spotted the gap in your market because you were already a fan and a participant in that space, and you wanted something more. Fortunately for you, many other people decided they too wanted something more that you now provide. And they’re grateful.

  But here comes another “wouldn’t it be cool” idea, sparked in the shower or on the ride to work. Naturally, you welcome it with open arms. Such curious intuition was the birth of your company and its product line, so now it seems like a gift about to be given again.

  Be cautious. Your new potential enhancement to an existing product/service/program/store or whatever you built is born of the best intentions, however your system of checks and balances now needs to kick in and temper the excitement. By the grace of God, you haven’t gone broke yet unlike the 80% of small businesses we hear about all time. Here you stand—successful and well served by the intuitive power of The Blood.

  Well, not entirely. You started your business because of The Blood. But you’re still in business because you are now becoming (or you were to start with) savvy in business as it relates to your market. You were able to get to the next level and tame the wild horses inherent in Businesses of Blood’s early days. Discipline and an adherence to a set of personal rules have kept you profitable and growing. And that’s exactly what you need to keep this latest “Eureka!” moment in check. For a few minutes, we’re not going to be a fan.

  The move of a successful business from innovative startup with an abundance of The Blood, to sustainable operation requires the discipline and long-term perspective often lacking in the entrepreneurs that founded the company in the first place. Most often, the founders are eventually moved aside after all the pieces are in place and skilled managers come in and scale the business properly and work on business development. There’s a tangible “Phase II” that occurs simply because the ingenious founders are the wild horses and they may ruin the operation as it grows beyond their wildest dreams.

  A great example of this is ESPN, the cable sports channel that is now an institution. The story of the network’s journey from radical start-up (What? A 24-hour sports station airing small-time college football games and something called Australian rules football?!) to established standard bearer is brilliantly charted in Anthony F. Smith’s book ESPN the Company (Wiley, 2009). In a Cliff’s Notes-type encapsulation of the fine work, Smith categorizes the all-important move of the company from the hands of the visionaries and founders in the “Start-Up” stage—in ESPN’s case it was Bill Rasmussen, Stuart Even, and Chet Simmons—over to more seasoned businesspeople in the stage Smith defines as “Survival.”

  In a most succinct illustration of the needs and requirements of said stages, Smith uses the allegory of the Pioneers and the Settlers. It’s an easy connection for all to make—can you imagine if the rebellious, wayward drifters that discovered the land actually tried to run it? After the finding of—or taking of—the l
and, folks must come in who can form a government, settle disputes, and form communities.

  Thank you, Mr. Columbus. Kindly step aside now.

  This process isn’t foolproof. After the leadership transition, there exists the challenge of trying to retain the spirit and value system of the visionary founder(s). There are countless examples where visionary companies have lost their way after the founder leaves or is removed. The story of Starbucks is a great example. Howard Schultz built the coffee empire, left, and was compelled to return to serve as CEO in 2008 when financial constraints and questionable business decisions muddied the brand, and damaged the company. Those who succeeded Schultz after his initial departure failed to keep the visionary’s code that founded the company. In this case, losing the wild horse almost lost the business.

  Okay, enough history. There you have two opposing examples on each end of the philosophical spectrum when it comes to moving from the founding stage to the management stage. In ESPN, who moved the founders aside, we see a massive success story. The company has become a defining sports entity and is now a property of Disney/ABC. In Starbucks, after Schultz was gone the heart of the initial brand was lost in the rapid expansion of product lines. Schultz was able to come back in and restore order, making Starbucks the monolithic monster in coffee.

  What does that tell you? It tells me that each case is as individual as the people we’re talking about. There’s no doubt that initially an innovative business needs a visionary disruptor at the helm. Beyond that phase, it will only last if it is run with disciplined management and focus.

  We should all strive to be innovative and disruptive visionaries with great discipline and management skills. Maybe we can be both Phase I and Phase II in our business’s life cycle.

  And that brings us back to our Business of Blood. Now we must reign in our latest “Eureka!” moment that has come to the surface. Our very cool, new idea needs to be viewed with our “Phase II” eyes. Man, I hate the “Phase I” and “Phase II” shit. It reeks of blockhead business-speak. But there is a point to be made in identifying the different mindsets.

  Your new idea has to move your business forward and not harm it in the long run, and your initial excitement can cloud your judgment. This new idea is a great one. It will introduce a new element to your already innovative and trendy core product/service. It’s a real game changer, says you.

  The first hurdle you must give yourself to hop is asking the question: Why hasn’t this been done already?

  Seems simple, but man, is it important. Don’t skip this step. Why aren’t your competitors, who need cash flow just as much as you do, already doing this? The question may have an obvious answer, one that you can find just by knowing the competitors in your market. You probably patronized them before you started your company. But more than likely you’re going to have to dig for the answer. Is your idea really so innovative that no human being in this market has thought of it? If it is, then you have your answer. But it probably isn’t. Maybe there’s a horror story out there as to why this new product line or augmentation to an existing product is not happening elsewhere. Maybe it’s illegal. Find out.

  If you have an answer and you are still proceeding with your idea, then it’s time to set up your next hurdle. You need to put your idea up on the lift and do a diagnostic on it. You’re so excited you might rush into this without checking for the following signs of preventable trouble:

  1. Cost of this new idea is too high in relation to expected returns

  2. The new idea will either hurt or stray from your brand

  Both of these would be Bad Blood—passion that may satisfy the fan in you, but also hurt the company you founded.

  A year or so after we started KC, I was watching the U.S. presidential debates during the election year of 2008. Before us stood arguably the two most powerful men in the world, exchanging their ideas and philosophies for the public. I had a powerful image, one that would work well for our outside-the-box programming that we were beginning to develop. The Blood showed me a program that only we would dare produce—a presidential style debate between two of the more powerful and influential men in wrestling’s history.

  Bruno Sammartino and Harley Race were two wrestlers of the 60s, 70s, and 80s that were world champions in their respective, rival federations. Bruno was WWWF’s anchor for a couple of decades and drove business to such a height for the McMahon family, that their federation was able to keep a cash cow milking the Northeast until the younger McMahon was able to go national via the cable TV model. Simply put, if you lived anywhere between Maryland and Maine and watched WWWF, Bruno was wrestling.

  The NWA was a massive network of smaller wrestling federations spanning the entire U.S. outside the Northeast. Harley Race was a legit badass and held the NWA world title 8 times, ruling all of those wrestling territories that fell under that NWA umbrella. All combined, those bundled territories made the NWA the largest and most powerful wrestling conglomerate ever. And Harley was a guy that carried the massive undertaking of representing all of those territories here and all over the world.

  See where I was going?

  Bruno and Harley had long since retired, but they were never put on-camera in the same room to go through their careers and the business in general. And with the U.S. presidential debates pounding our televisions, we had the perfect format. Harley and Bruno, each standing at their own podium, fielding questions about wrestling’s history and future direction, could have a presidential-style debate. It would be produced under our “Investigative Specials” banner, and could be a powerful addition to the wrestling historian’s library.

  I was on the phone trying to make it happen. I was excited. The Blood told me what an entertaining program this would be. I spoke to the respective booking agents, put all the figures on paper, and then Anthony and I were armed with the info we’d need to greenlight it.

  But the cost was steep. We were booking this through a third party and there’s always a little risk in that when you aren’t talking to the talent directly. Is the agent or promoter giving them the proper details about your show? The “shoot interview” has come to have a dirty connotation in the business and I always thought what we did transcended that label. But it was what it was—we were a shoot company.

  Let me pause the business lesson with Bruno and Harley and say that Super Agent Eric Simms is notorious for this. He admits that he tells his clients “as little as possible” about their bookings. He proudly proclaims this and it’s part of his strategy, I guess. But when we receive his talent and they’re clueless or annoyed as Simms is on his way out the door counting his money, it’s frustrating to say the least. He’s reliable and hard working, but his quirks are a nuisance.

  After famously dropping a bomb on our Ring Roasts show by attacking a comedian, Scott Hall was finally booked to be on YouShoot. It was an Eric Simms booking and the price was right. Eric had done his job by packing Scott so full of bookings for his stay out here, that the prices had gone down significantly. It was an easy negotiation with Eric. I think we went back and forth twice, and Eric managed to meet my price.

  Once we got situated on the set and I sat down beside Scott and prepared to jump into the show, he started bellyaching about the money. It’s always a joy to launch into those discussions when we’re under the lights, wearing microphones, with a slate board in front of our faces ready to clap and start the show. Great for establishing on-camera rapport.

  “Well this is the deal Eric negotiated for you,” I said. See, I always go to logic during confrontation, idiot that I am.

  Eric Simms, of course, was nowhere near the set, tending to other clients at some other booking. But there we sat, ready to roll, and Scott serves me up a heaping dish of this shit. If he were on the set of some TV show or film, would he wait until the slate was in frame before looking over to the director and complaining about his fee? Would this not have been handled well in advance? Part of my job in dealing with talent is to shelve the in
sult and deal with the problem at hand, which was money. And sushi.

  “I’m just sayin,” Scott began, “the envelope is a little light, and I got people coming to the lobby to take me for sushi.”

  “You want sushi?” I asked. “I’ll get you sushi. We can eat it on camera, throughout the show.” A pathetic attempt at humor to diffuse the situation.

  “The money is just kind of insulting. I want to see these people and they’re taking me out for sushi, so we better just get going with this.” This was Eric’s bundling of Hall’s commitments and ill preparing him for us. An agent should have been aghast that one of his clients would insult an employer. That’s in the real world. In wrestling, no one gives a fuck about anything.

  In Kayfabe I talked about the first few minutes before a cold shoot, wherein we have no time to become acquainted with a guest, as being indicative of what’s to come. Scott was ballbusting and pissing me the hell off. Once you commit to a price you just go with it and take it up with your agent later. That’s my thinking. In Scott Hall’s case, I should have told him that his offer would have been higher but I deducted damages from Ring Roasts five years prior.

  Instead, we just rolled the cameras and like so many in wrestling, Scott Hall delivered a hilarious and honest edition of YouShoot, answering everything asked of him and dishing the dirt when prompted. So many of yesteryear’s performers are gifted with that performer’s gene, always able to rise to the occasion. I will deal with the dickiness of a talent as long as the product is great. It makes it hard to host and appear jovial and chummy on camera, but you do it. It’s about the show.