Yes I do, Al, yes I do.
But don’t mistake that for gullibility—there are many things I don’t believe in. And that list starts with—but is not limited to—frozen envelopes, tank jobs, and fake blood seeping through a white sock.
Whenever I hear the term control freak, it makes me think we should come up with another term—or at least another category—for strong, willful people in control. Something with a little more positive spin. It just seems like many of these supposed control freaks are actually pretty good at turning around companies or businesses.
The late technology whiz Steve Jobs was a control freak, wasn’t he? It certainly seems that way if you read his biography. He wanted a say in everything Apple was creating, and in the end the consumer won. Sometimes feelings would be hurt, but tension and disagreement are often part of any creative process.
Think about all those crazy control freaks in football. Bill Belichick of the Patriots and Jim Harbaugh of the 49ers would be one and two on any NFL-control-freak list. Belichick won’t even allow his assistants to talk to the media. They also happen to be, quite possibly, the two best head coaches in the league.
Nick Saban of Alabama and Urban Meyer of Ohio State also own reputations as almost maniacal behind-the-scenes leaders. Nothing happens at either school until both coaches have a final say. They override assistants on the smallest matter without guilt. Aren’t they considered the two best college football coaches in the country?
Anytime you read a business book about turning a losing culture into a winning one they always talk about a need for attention to detail. It all starts with that. The best CEOs are lauded for it. Yet how do you know and manipulate every detail, in any rapidly changing business, without seizing control of a department or an idea that’s under you? Is that a freak or is it a progressive boss willing to adjust on the fly and having the ability to spot small problems before they become big ones?
Why shouldn’t a more experienced and frankly superior football intellect like Belichick override a less experienced and less talented assistant coach? All coaches aren’t equal. Neither are all technology employees at Apple.
Let’s face the truth about control. We all like it when we have it and we mostly resent it or fear it when we don’t.
It’s different in personal relationships, where harmony often supersedes production. You’re not competing against other couples. You’re rarely on a deadline to get an argument resolved. Needing control creates resentment, which often creates a trip to divorce court.
But in business and certainly football, I want the smartest coach who is willing to occasionally hurt some feelings to get it right. If assistants are offended, then get new assistants. Belichick seems to win with a revolving door of assistants and coordinators. To me, he’s a control maven, not a freak.
Primal Time
Years ago I was approached by a radio executive who had grown tired and disgusted by a brand of on-air dialogue he considered too angry and mean. Rush Limbaugh was dominating the national airwaves with his now-familiar style of firebrand conservatism, and local markets—eager to capitalize on the ratings—were attempting to clone their own versions of Limbaugh.
This radio executive was offering me an afternoon slot as a general talk-show host to leave sports talk. He felt my socially liberal views would combat the evil forces of right-wing talk radio and right-wing politics.
I had a different opinion of Limbaugh. He didn’t bother me, and I didn’t see him as a threat to the radio industry or the nation. His anthem doesn’t work for me, no matter how often he repeats it. I felt his popularity, and the popularity of his message, was wildly exaggerated.
When the executive told me he felt I could be a formidable counter to Limbaugh, I said, “You do realize that Bill Clinton is on his second term and he’s wildly popular, right? People listen to political radio for affirmation, not information. Rush isn’t changing minds or views—he’s just reaffirming them.”
The job offer flattered me, but the job didn’t interest me. Moreover, I didn’t think the executive’s logic was valid. I left him with four words: “Don’t worry about it.”
Limbaugh was one of the first, but by no means is he the last. Even today, conservatives dominate talk radio. Fox News still maintains a massive following, but the GOP is falling further behind in presidential elections.
Why? How is this possible?
Popularity shouldn’t be confused with influence. The media, as a whole, has less impact than politicians, public-relations staffs, and radio executives believe. There’s a reason that people call those conservative talk shows hosted by Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, and Glenn Beck “The Echo Chamber.” People listen and regurgitate what they hear, making the noise louder than it is meaningful.
Limbaugh’s power comes from his narrative. He makes conservatives feel he has their backs, which gives him virtually no impact outside of a self-contained group that is already predisposed to believe what he says.
He’s not changing minds. He’s not making voters think twice about their political beliefs. There’s so much anger and vitriol between the two sides that many people would consider it a personal failing—a refutation of who they are—to switch sides and vote for someone from the “enemy” camp.
What Limbaugh offers is connectivity, the personal reinforcement for people out there to know someone else thinks the way they do. His ability to create an enemy—the mainstream media—was a stroke of genius. The us-against-them mentality forges loyalty. And when it’s packaged as a hardy band of underdogs (conservatives) fighting a monolithic force (the liberal media)? Hell, even better.
It’s the Letterman vs. Leno dynamic. I have a friend, Tim Kelleher, who interned for Letterman, and he said their goal was to make the audience feel they were in on the joke. There’s always been an inside-the-rope-line quality to Letterman’s show that you don’t get from Leno. The loyalty is generated by the fact that not everyone gets the joke. And a Letterman joke that bombs—strangely—still ends up working.
There’s a similar principle at work in sports. Leagues and teams fret over negative publicity or—even worse—irrelevance. Negative publicity at least gets your name out there. Being ignored is a death sentence.
Oftentimes, these teams and leagues argue that they’re producing a good product. This misses the point. Like Limbaugh, they need a narrative to lead the way.
The MLS or NHL might feel neglected, but I’m here to tell them a cruel truth:
It’s not us. It’s you.
Tell a better story. Get more compelling stars, or do a better job telling us about the ones you already have. Give us a reason to be excited about your sport and we’ll be there.
Conveniently, there’s a perfect blueprint out there for all you underserved sports to follow: MMA.
There’s no plausible reason for this sport to exist, let alone thrive. Best-case scenario, it should be stumbling down a hospital hallway with frantic nurses on each side and a priest in tow. It has survived obstacles and setbacks that would have destroyed even the best-financed and most shrewdly promoted enterprise.
Think about it. The sport didn’t even have a legitimate name until ten years after it started. It was called various forms of “cage fighting” until it was called No Holds Barred, which sounds like a cross between a bad hairspray and a Guns N’ Roses ballad. Not that long ago, the only places fights could be legally staged were on Indian reservations, which meant most of its events were held in remote spots in the mountains outside San Diego or the Central Valley.
When the sport finally settled on the more valuable MMA label, it had to change some of its most popular rules to reduce violence and make itself more palatable to a wider audience. In effect, MMA had to eliminate some of the elements that made a certain segment of the population like it in the first place.
Once it fought its way into the public consciousness and earned a spot on pay-per-view cable, senator John McCain led a successful push to throw it off the air. M
cCain didn’t like its viciousness and vulgarity and coined the term “human cockfighting” to describe it.
Yet popularity soared.
Cage fighting was virtually ignored by the mainstream media, which usually mentioned it only to disparage it. To watch the best fights, fans have to pay separately; to watch the lesser fights, fans have to find the channel that falls between Lithuanian ballet and the Montana Wood-Carving Championship.
Yet popularity soared.
It had a primary rival—boxing—which had something in the neighborhood of a hundred-year head start. It’s still barred in New York, America’s largest city. It has very few true “name” stars, and its participants don’t come through the ranks in high-profile college programs, like football and basketball.
And yet—you guessed it—popularity soars.
How? Why?
Under Dana White, the UFC connected with fans. It created an underground renaissance built on anticorporate bravado. It developed an image of a dark, secret league that only insiders understood. The loyalty this generated was incredible.
White tells a really, really good story, and he understands the power of narrative. He has created storylines and rivalries, with humble, everyman stars who don’t command extreme salaries. The sport sells a brand of affordable sex appeal that attracts members of both sexes in the targeted youth demographic.
UFC isn’t flourishing because it suddenly picked up massive amounts of media support. You don’t read long, detailed stories about its championship bouts in the New York Times. In fact, they’ve used that to their advantage, too. The lack of media attention has created a revolutionary feel to the sport—screw the rest of you, this is my sport.
Like most people my age who grew up with the mainstream sports, I was highly skeptical of cage fighting when I first laid eyes on it in 1995. I was in San Francisco at the end of a long night with friends when we walked into a bar called The Condor. Dark and rough, it was the perfect place to experience what was beaming down at us from several big screens.
At this point, the sport wasn’t called MMA. In my mind, it could have easily been named WHW, for What the Hell Am I Watching?
It was a series of raw, uncomfortably violent fights. Eye gouging was permitted, and I can only hope the American Optometrists Association lodged a formal complaint. It was the sort of scene I can imagine seeing in a rural tavern at 2 a.m. the night of a plant closure. Or maybe in the parking lot of a Raider game.
I watched, but I was disgusted.
Nearly two decades later, the sport is not only standing but punching back.
My bad.
White’s efforts have tapped into a vein of American sports fan who doesn’t find much to like in baseball, basketball, and football. They connect to the anarchist mentality of MMA. It’s back to the insider idea; they’re getting something they can’t get somewhere else. They draw strength from knowing there are other people out there like them. Watching UFC and wearing TapOut gear is like nodding along to Limbaugh or laughing at one of Letterman’s failed jokes.
The success of MMA—and specifically the UFC—proves the customer is always right. The marketplace dictates success and failure. Sports networks have promoted women’s basketball, college baseball, the Tour de France, and rodeo, but those audiences remain small. Ultimate fighting, however, exploded in popularity without the benefit of a “sugar daddy” network or even a popular proponent among newspaper columnists. The sport was virtually ignored when it wasn’t being singled out for ridicule or elimination.
Through the years, the sport blew through every major disadvantage.
The critics haven’t disappeared. They feel the sport has blossomed only on the strength of bloodlust. Violence sells, right? Then why isn’t hockey more popular? Why has boxing basically vanished?
Simple: MMA survived, and thrived, because it made people care. It connected with its core audience and made it feel important and special. It sold a grassroots narrative that a lot of people on the fringes identified with.
I don’t have to love or even regularly consume a product to respect its path to popularity. The rise of MMA, over and through countless obstacles, highlights a bigger and more inspirational story: people with ideas and passion overcome the roadblocks that are placed in front of them. The defining quality is passion, not fancy titles or bloated ad campaigns or celebrity endorsers.
Starbucks overcame the Great Recession not by slashing prices or ramping up a fancy television campaign but by speeding up service and touting a have-it-your-way Frappuccino. My mom and dad didn’t get in the car and drive somewhere to get their cup of Folgers, but millions feel their days aren’t complete without their 9 a.m. and 4 p.m. Starbucks runs.
Great ideas and great thinkers can thrive in the worst economy and against the longest odds. The UFC is proof.
So all of you sports leagues and teams whining about lack of media coverage need to look to Dana White and MMA for an example of how to make it work.
Tell a better story. Cast yourself as a revolutionary or an underdog. Connect with your constituents. Make them believe you’re giving them something they can’t get anywhere else.
Listen to Dana White.
Or, if all else fails, Rush Limbaugh.
Hockey is never going to be as popular in this country as football or basketball. It didn’t originate here, and it’s just so much better in person than on television. Probably comparable to Broadway. You can only really feel it if you’re there.
But the sport doesn’t do itself any favors with marketing. When they returned after the strike, the ad campaign they sold to the public was, “Hockey is back.”
Now, think about that. You are reminding us that you left. Reminding fans of your labor strife.
“Hey fans, we may have ticked you off. We realize you’re the most loyal fans in sports. But listen, we are back. Now. Today. What’s up?”
Brilliant.
This is a sport with so many assets. It has great parity and good-looking players who play through injuries. There’re very few divas and, unlike most pro sports, it’s mostly relatable dudes. The sport is also superfast with a regulated level of violence. Many major cities such as Boston, New York, Detroit, Chicago, and Philadelphia love the sport. Yet can most sports fans name four players?
Introduce me to those guys.
Be demographic specific in your ads. Sell young people and maybe women. Sell a party, not just the sport. It’s how Mark Cuban turned around the Dallas Mavericks. Invite the sexiest girls in town. The guys will follow.
Let the party begin. Get the ten best-looking guys in the league, splice in some hard checks, some great goals. Sell the speed of the game. This is what real men play. You can’t turn the channel even if you dislike hockey. Let me see the fans. Hockey fans are nuts. Add some hip music and remember, you are selling a vibe, not just a sport.
Then have those guys look straight into a camera and say, “Ladies, we’re in town this week. We’re having a party. Bring some of your friends.”
Fade to black. White letters then appear. “The party is back. Bring your friends.”
Now that is a place I want to hang out. Stop reminding me you dumped me and broke my heart.
Bean There, Done That
If you’re anything like me, parenting is one continuous reality check. When your son is five, you think he could become President of the United States. By six you’re hoping he could be president of a fraternity and by seven you’re awake nights praying he doesn’t end up on a grainy security tape on the eleven o’clock news.
The ups and downs are tough. I’ve also come to realize I’m much more forgiving of my kids than I might be of, say, your kids. Mine just make common, age-appropriate mistakes—phases, let’s call them—while your kids are completely undisciplined and probably need counseling.
My philosophy pretty much boils down to this: I love my kids; I tolerate yours.
I have high hopes for my kids, and I’ll defend them to the death. Come
to think of it, I’m a lot like Boston, the most peculiar and parochial sports city in America.
Fans in every city have emotional connections to their teams. There’s no debating that. But as I have discovered, Boston takes it a step further. A big step.
I was first hired by ESPN ten years ago, and I made a simple request to get television ratings for every market for every event, large or small.
Immediately, one truth became undeniable: Boston is, without debate, the most provincial major market in the country.
Rose Bowl? Not interested.
Indy 500? Crickets.
Final Four? Final What?
I’m not here to claim Chicago loves NASCAR or New York is a college football Mecca, but Boston’s ratings were a healthy notch below the norm for every major event that didn’t include a Boston-area team.
I can hear it now. Every Fitzy or Patrick O’Connor on the South End is hollering, “So what? This ain’t a college town. All we care about are pro sports.”
Fine, but the same argument could be made for several major cities—Chicago, Minneapolis, San Francisco, Dallas—where they still watch nonlocal teams far more often. Boston, judging by the numbers, is a world all its own.
Why? Is it geographical? Boston’s tucked up in a corner of the country with no connection to the rest of the nation. Am I supposed to believe that? I’m supposed to believe that one of the most educated cities in the world doesn’t get cable TV or the Internet? Does the Red Zone Channel fail to penetrate New England? For a quick comparison, take Honolulu. It’s a city with quite a bit of outdoor entertainment. It’s not exactly rubbing elbows with Iowa. And yet it’s the highest-rated NFL market without a team. Sorry, Tommy Boy, the count’s now 0-2.
The numbers I found most surprising were World Series ratings. We all know Boston as a hub of baseball history and enthusiasm. But explain this: from 2010 to 2012, a three-year span, World Series ratings in Boston were substantially lower than most major markets. They were even lower than many markets without major-league franchises.
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