I'm not much of a sports guy, but two stories jumped out at me this week, both related to smart PR guys and media placement.
The first is from Sunday's Cowboys-Lions game (Cowboys lost 30-31). Wide receiver Dez Bryant made at two highlight-video catches for touchdowns (he made have made more; I was napping) that were only rivaled by his sideline tantrum that would make the wildest ADHD kindergartner proud. Just in case you missed it, take a look (and this is only one of several incidents).
What's impressive are his teammates' responses to media inquiries following the game. In a Fort Worth Star-Telegram article, the Cowboys' coach -- their PR coach, not their football coach -- shines ... well, like the star in the middle of Cowboys' stadium.
Dez invokes Pop Warner football to explain his passion for the game ... a passion demonstrated by sideline tantrums (uhhh ... yep, tantrums). One "discussion" (his word) was simply to point out that the Cowboys' defense was stopping the Lions and that the Cowboys' offense should politely respond by scoring points. Quarterback Tony Romo even applauded Dez's winning spirit and selflessness, and calls him a "good teammate."
Dez's on-field and off-field childishness is a distraction to the Cowboys, who are struggling to avoid another dismal year by a talented team, and his on-field performance is critical to the team making the playoffs.
More importantly, his on-field performance ... minus the sideline tantrums ... is critical to maintaining the interest of a Cowboys' fan base that is rapidly losing interest. Kudos to the Cowboys' PR guy who scripted Dez, Tony and others, and planted the article in Monday's must-read sports section.
The second story relates to game #2 of the World Series between Boston and St. Louis. NPR reported on the 4-2 Boston win Monday morning. The story included a brief feature on Jonny Gomes, who's home run broke a deadlock tie to put Boston ahead 4-1.
Gomes, described by NPR as "a journeyman who first made it to the majors nearly nine months after a heart attack on Christmas Eve in 2002 (sniffle sniffle)," wasn't even scheduled to play until pre-game batting practice. He was 0-9 in the series until the home run; and, in a post-game interview, he attributed his turnaround to a pep talk by 8-for-11 hitter David Ortiz.
Just like Dez, Gomes takes us all back to childhood. Here's how he described it: "It was like 24 kindergartners looking up at their teacher. He got everyone's attention, and we looked him right in the eyes. That message was pretty powerful."
NPR broadcast Gomes' comments from a post-game interview, where he thanked mentors and other supporters who helped him get to the majors, then NPR's Mark Memmott talked about Gomes path to baseball. He mentioned Gomes' heart attack, then went into the car accident Gomes was in at 16 that killed his best friend AND followed that with the heart-tugger about his homelessness as a young child (more sniffle sniffle).
My first thought: who is the PR genius who set that up? What a personal, fan-generating story. That's how PR affects the bottom-line.
So, this week in sports, PR pros are 2-0. Go Spin Masters!
It's that time of the year, and I didn't even think about it until a class discussion this evening on Lance Armstrong and the effect of his fall from grace on his Livestrong Foundation.
I don't remember the exact date except that it was a Tuesday evening in September 2004. I'd just crawled into bed and was doing what I refer to as "the manly thing" -- scratching and adjusting (yes, young people, romance can stay in your relationship).
And sometimes, you just know. My right testicle felt as hard and large as a pecan (a good-sized pecan, of course). A double-check, a calm-down deep breath, and I turned to my wife in the dark and said, "Feel this." Misunderstanding my motives, her response: "I'm already asleep."
I didn't know anything about testicular cancer, but I just knew; and I spent half the night on the Internet. Risk higher in tall men. Risk about five times higher among white men than Blacks or Hispanics. Oh, crap. Family history ... none, so okay there, except that only about 3 percent of men diagnosed have a family history of testicular cancer.
Good news! "About half of testicular cancers occur in men between the ages of 20 and 34." Bad news -- "But this cancer can affect males of any age, including infants and elderly men." I'd always been immature, but to get a young man's disease in my late 40s? Survival rate -- 95 percent. What about that other 5 percent (I'm an optimist until ...)?
The next few days were a whirlwind. Called my family doctor Wednesday morning. His receptionist was going to schedule me for the following week. When I told her why I wanted to see the doctor, she put me on hold to talk with the doctor; and when she came back on the line, she asked, "How soon can you get here?"
My family doctor scheduled me for a sonogram on Thursday. When he saw the results, he referred me to a urologist, who I saw on Friday.
We weren't active in a church, and I hadn't learned of God's gift of Grace yet, but I called my sister -- the one I'd referred to as a "holy-roller" for years -- and asked for her prayers. I remember thinking, "I need the A-Team on this one."
My visit with the urologist wrapped up with "I can't do the surgery tomorrow, but let's get you in first thing Monday morning."
What!!!? Can't do the surgery tomorrow? How urgent is this?
Longest weekend of my life. The doctor never used the word "cancer," but talked about a seminoma. I told my wife that I didn't really understand, but that we were getting up at 4 a.m. Monday to get "something" cut off.
I thought about my kids growing up. I thought about how Kim and I always talked about growing old together. I thought about harems I could guard as a eunuch (sometimes it's hard to shake a maudlin sense of humor). And I thought about standing waist-deep in waste materials and trash when I worked at the DuPont refinery the summer after high school graduation.
Three distinct memories of the surgery:
Handing me a pen, the prep staff asked, "Mr. Bowden, will you put an X by the testicle we're supposed to remove?"
"Mr. Bowden, I'm your anesthesiologist, and this will help you rela..."
And then Kim trying to sleep in a straight-back, recovery-room chair next to my bed. I'd look up, giggle and go back to sleep ... several times. I was enjoying the best sleep of my life.
Following my surgery, I went through radiation treatments, and I almost felt guilty for being able to walk in and out of the surgery center knowing that all would be well. Many of my fellow patients weren't so lucky. Many had to be wheeled in for what must've been the last-attempt chemotherapy treatments. Others stopped showing up, and even in the age of HIPPA regulations, the technicians' sad conversations hinted at the inevitable.
A few years later, I started reading Lance Armstong's "It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life." Lance failed to read the signs. His testicle grew to the size of an orange before he sought a diagnosis (how can you bicycle with a testicle the size of an orange?).
If I remember correctly, Lance's cancer metasticized into his lungs and then his brain. I thought about how quickly my week went from my Tuesday-night doing "the manly thing" to Monday-morning surgery. And I almost passed out. I was so grateful for the receptionist who asked, "How soon can you get here?" and the surgeon who said, "first thing Monday." But I still couldn't finish Lance's book.
Lance Armstrong 'fessed up to using performance enhancing drugs during his Tour de France victories when he appeared on the Oprah Winfrey show in January. NPR broadcast an interview with Livestrong Foundation CEO Doug Ulman the following day, prior to part two of the Oprah interview.
PR professionals should take notes. Ulman was brilliant in his responses to queries about Armstrong's lying about his drug usage. He stayed the course.
Listen to the interview, but here are a couple of his responses related to knowledge of the doping and the impact of the scandal on the foundation:
"You know, Lance obviously founded the organization. And his story, his cancer journey, resonated with millions of people. And the Livestrong Foundation and Livestrong Movement is now at a point where it is moved beyond any one individual, and it's about literally millions of people who, unfortunately, are facing or have faced this illness themselves."
And later ...
"Well, I'll definitely watch (the interview with Oprah Winfrey) because it's important to me and to the organization. And I think it's going to take a while for people of all walks of life to process this. But ultimately, come Tuesday, this foundation is going to be, again, 100 percent focused on fulfilling our mission of serving those with cancer."
Awesome responses.
So, for me, I don't give a (insert your own point of emphasis) about what Lance ate, drank or injected. I'd like to tell him to keep his jerseys, kind of as a gift from me. I just want to say, "thanks."
One Sunday morning, newspaper and cup of coffee in hand, I dragged a wicker chair from my garage to the front porch . . . you know, the standard suburban 4x8 front porch. But now it's become my sweeping veranda overlooking my own personal Main Street.
