Memo from Leo Burnett | A message to his people...from the heart

TODAY'S COMMENTARY by Jack Myers #151
Thursday, December 28th 2006
Jack Myers Media Business Report
CLASSIC JACK: Memo from Leo Burnett
The commentary below was written by Jack Myers in 1991 and is re-published here as both a retrospective as well as an opportunity to assess your current approaches to a radically changing business environment.

Originally published in 1991.

In light of the challenges to traditional advertising business models, it might be worthwhile for the industry to reflect on the words of legendary Leo Burnett, who founded the advertising agency in 1935 during the great depression. Following is a definition of Burnett'sadvertising objectives, which serve as important insight into a credo that is even more relevant nearly fifty years after they were written. Following is just a small part of an eight page memo written by Burnett to his staff. By Leo Burnett

People sometimes ask us: 'What is your technique?' The answer is: We have none. We think the main trouble with advertising is that it depends too much on 'techniques.' This is another way of saying that, in our opinion, a lot of the advertising which is being printed in valuable space and going out over expensive air is 'artificialized' rather than depending on an idea, and leans on the hollow shell of a technique. It looks like the real thing on the outside; it follows the 'copy platform' to the letter; it is usually salable to the client; and often it does all right in the Starch reports; but it has no more effective content that an over-ripe watermelon. It just doesn't have the right thump. We take the position that what advertising needs is more ideas in the raw - whether those ideas are delivered in 12-pointvtype or 64-point type, in black and white or color, in 24-sheets or over the air.We think that much more money is being wasted in advertising through lack of ideas and lack of expressiveness than in any other way. Another trouble is sameness. When advertising depends for its effectiveness on a technique, you are apt to find two or three advertisers in the same issue of a magazine or newspaper, or on thes ame radio networks, employing about the same technique. It is the aim of this agency to build advertising of engaging simplicity which has power, interest and excitement. This is not a 'technique.' It is really a state of mind shared by a number of people in this shop who have a feel for fresh ideas and know them when they see them. It takes full cognizance of research and tested devices, but does not depend on them. Its freshness, its spontaneity and its effectiveness spring from an approach so elementary that most agencies and most advertisers walk right past it. This approach takes people as they are and a product as it is and writes into the headlines, the illustrations and the copy a thought which is at once newsworthy, informative and provocative. It has an earthy, human quality which most advertising lacks. It is bold and vigorous, yet with disarming words which get both attention andb elief. It has almost conversational warmth. It has a friendly overtone which makes people feel good about a product when they see it in the market place.While it aims to get right to the flesh of the reader and to appeal to his basic emotions and primitive instincts, it also has the effect of stimulating the salesman and awakening the trade. It is based on planning the sale when you plan the ad. It is built around the three elements of sincerity, believability and warmth. We try to make our advertising 'fun to look at' - exciting to look at -but never forced, and right on the subject of the product itself. We maintain that every product has inherent drama. It is often hard to find. But it is always there, and once found it is the most interesting and believable of all advertising appeals. We repeat - sincerity, believability and warmth. Most writers, when they become sincere, are merely dull. Most writers, when they try to get warm and human, succeed merely in getting cute. Our problem is how to be sincere, believable and warm but colorful and provocative at the same time, with a good, honest American ring to our words. Good advertising does not come out of the ground, out of the air or out of a machine, but out of the mind of a man or a group of men [Burnett obviously wrote this before gender sensitivity was an issue] who know the score on the conduct of a business and the sale of merchandise, who have a genuine understanding of people, and who have the creative urge and ability to say the right thing at the right time in the right way without relation to what may have been said before or the way it was said. Today, it seems to us, when the advertising needs of business are greater than ever, there is a glaring lack of fresh advertising approach geared to the psychology of the times.

beChange | WHY?

I believe that everyone feels alone or questions themselves from time-to-time. When it gets bad, it is akin to losing one's MoJo...where you doubt your instincts and find a bit of paralysis-by-analysis setting in.

In baseball it manifests itself as a slump. Pretty soon you are standing at the plate and the ball looks really small...almost like a BB. And because the ball appears so impossibly small, you begin to believe the only way you'll ever hit the ball is if you begin to 'guess what pitch is coming next.' This then leads to BIG SWINGS...at curveballs...or LATE SWINGS...on fast balls. Net/net you look ridiculous! And the biggest thing...you LOOK lost...and everyone in the grandstands can see it!

This happens in relationships as well. You start to lose your MoJo and doubt yourself in your relationship. You doubt the other person's feelings...your own contributions emotionally and intellectually...whether the person is still 'into' you...and you get a bit needy. OK, needy is not good. Life is hard enough to make ourselves happy...when someone else relies on you for their happiness as well...trouble is on the horizon!

At work you find that you feel a bit adrift and afraid of making a decision. You don't trust yourself enough to admit this simple formula exists:

• Every decision will either be right or wrong
• If you make a bad decision...you will invariably fix it
• If you make a good decision...hoorah for you!

However, you are afraid of making a mistake because you've lost your MoJo...which then leads to countless meetings that lack productivity because a decision is not going to result anyhow...and a lot of discussion and very little 'doing.' All the while you are spinning your wheels, wasting other people's time and ultimately just collecting a check for getting very little done.

WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING YOU ASK? Just know this...everyone feels this way sometimes...not just you! Everyone feels adrift sometimes...they just might hide it better or you don't see the signs so well. Everyone lacks MoJo at times...and questions everything they do...

THIS IS WHY IT IS SO IMPORTANT TO TELL PEOPLE HOW YOU FEEL...and to be kind to them! Everyone looks like they are doing great...however that kind word or gesture can be just the thing that helps someone get a little of their MoJo back...and reverse the tide on everything mentioned above.

MoJo = Confidence in decisions...actions...words...gestures...

Instead of being afraid...beChange and help people keep their MoJo just by being a little bit more open and kind to them!

Christmas & my Jewish Friends

I got a note today from one of my Jewish friends today telling me all the good things one can do on Christmas if one is Jewish. What I loved about the note is that it was both a reminder that we live in a world where what is commonplace to one (Christmas) isn't nearly so to another (my Jewish friends). And it also was uplifting, as it mentions different organizations where the Jewish workers will volunteer to work on X-Mas so that Christian workers can have the day off and celebreate X-Mas.

So what is this blog about? Simply this...the world is made up of wonderful and diverse people and cultures...and while I have never thought of one of my friends as 'Jewish' or 'non-Jewish'...I am privileged to have friends from every race, religion and nationality...and I love them all...for the wonderful mix of stories, lifestyles, opinions and overall diversity that they represent...and that I only tend to notice when it is brought up to me. You see...to me...they are simply my friends! :)

Italian Baseball | The Tryout

TO THE BASEBALL FIELD

After meeting Suzanna Zanolli and negotiating our mutually beneficial contract...her translation skills for 'making conversation' - we were ready to get a job playing baseball in Italy! The problem was that Laerte (Baseball Federation President) didn't really want to talk via a translator. In fact, once I returned with Suzanna in tow it wasn't more than a few minutes before we jumped in his Olive Green Mercedes and went screaming down impossibly narrow alleys to the ballpark in Verona.


At this point I had been traveling for nearly 20 hours...awake for about 30 hours and was feeling a bit punchy! However doing 50 mph down a narrow cobblestone alley was enough to get me to put my seat belt on and wake up a bit.

We arrived at 'al Centro sportivo Gavagnin' (Gavagnin baseball field) where much to my delight there appeared to be a full fledged baseball practice in progress on a gorgeous baseball diamond. The familiar sounds of balls being hit...the pop of leather and the smell of grass was exactly what I needed after such a long trip. Standing there in my khaki pants, running shoes and button down collared shirt, Laerte began summoning me onto the field. Surprisingly, I wasn't nervous...as one place where I have always felt at home is on a baseball field...however there was one small problem; my baseball gear was in the car and he wanted me on the field now. I tried to ask if I could get my gear, however he simply kept waving his hands to 'come here'...took a glove off of one of the Italian players and through it at me. It was a Rawlings infielder's mit...beautifully maintained and oiled...well formed pocket and obviously the owner had taken a lot of time to break the glove in properly. Somehow with all the hand and arm waving, I understood that it was time to play catch.

After the first few tosses, it was apparent that a long-sleeved-button-up-shirt wasn't designed for throwing a baseball...so I unbuttoned the sleeves and pulled them up to my elbows and started getting loose.

Right then an amazing feeling came over me. Despite the fact I wasn't wearing spikes...a ball cap or baseball pants...'all in the world felt right.' The familiar feeling of the ball landing in the pocket between thumb and forefinger...the ball's quick transfer from glove to throwing hand...a quick, yet subconscious spin of the ball to get my fingers across the seams...and the whoosh and feeling of the ball coming off my fingertips with a flick on a direct line to the other players chest...made me feel confident, secure...and happy.

After playing toss for a bit with a heavy dose of adrenaline I was 'shooed' out to shortstop to take some ground balls. I have never liked playing sports in tennis shoes as I love the firm footing spikes afford, so I found myself feeling anxious. I also felt tight and tired from the 30+ hour journey. Somehow, none of that mattered...as here I was...on a baseball field as somehow, vaguely planned. Amazing how intent can manifest dreams!

I threw the ball in my hand straight down...directly to the dirt...to see how it bounced; soft dirt and the ball stays down...hard bounce and you need to pick your hops more carefully as the ball will come up on you. The field was pretty soft, so I knew that all I had to do was keep my butt down...glove down...and I should be OK.

Roll my shoulders...quick pound of the throwing hand into the pocket...shift my weight forward onto the balls of the feet and 'thwack' the first ground ball is coming my way. Auto pilot kicked in as ground ball after ground ball poured my way. Perspiration helped me get loose and that familiar feeling of elasticity in my arm meant it was 'show time'...as I only had one chance.

Time to air out my throws and showcase the arm, because the hitting wouldn't be so impressive! Instead of quick flips to first with a little something on it...I raised my elbow to use my lats and triceps to really pull down and start cranking throws across the diamond. In the midst of the stream of ground balls...I felt myself breathing and focusing on 'being in the moment.' I trusted my instincts and let the fundamentals that had been drilled into me take over. I was on a baseball field, and that's the only place I ever wanted to be!

Without notice or warning...the defining moment came in the form of a hard hit ball deep to my backhand. Right off the bat I didn't think I could get there without spikes on; however I only had a few hard digging steps to try. Thankfully the field was soft enough to allow me to get traction...yet the same soft field may keep the ball down where I can't reach it on a dead run in running shoes. As I stretched for the ball I got a break. The ball took a little hop at the end that allowed me to glove it...jump-turn-in-the-air...and throw cleanly to first base while drifting towards the left field line. As I landed I felt relieved and thankful for that last second hop...and knew I had gotten lucky! Then I heard the applause of ball players slapping their gloves and a chorus of 'bravo, and 'bravissimo' from the other ballplayers. I looked around and I saw the smiles of the players and then Laerte walking out onto the field with a smile on his face. I didn't know what it all meant...but I knew this; it felt -g-r-e-a-t!

That was the last ground ball of the night...
(more to follow)

Italian Baseball | Arriving (VERONA, ITALY)

ARRIVING IN VERONA, ITALY to PLAY BASEBALL

On the train from Milano to Verona I found myself being suddenly freaked out. My family-heritage-enthusiasm was starting to leave me...and self doubt started to pop up. In moments like this...and in my lifetime I had plenty...I did what I was taught to do on the baseball diamond...stick to the fundamentals and don't try to do too much! So I took a deep breath and kept thinking to myself, 'one thing at a time...and the first thing is to get rid of this HUGE, unwieldy, ridiculously heaving duffel bag!'
There are two things everyone should know about Italian train stations:
Left Luggage - you can leave your bags with them, thus unburdening yourself for a small fee.
Buses - there are lots of buses outside of train stations and if you take Bus #1, it will take you to Il Centro (the center) of town.

So with this knowledge I rented one of their changing rooms for 30 minutes...took a shower and sorted through what I needed to begin my quest for a job.
Baseball glove, bat, baseball pants, long sleeves and spikes
Minimalist possessions such as clean underwear, socks and toiletries

I stuck my essential equipment into my huge scuba-backpack...with the baseball bat sticking out of the slot where your flippers normally go. Did I mention that fluorescent colors in diving were in vogue back then...so my backpack had some REALLY BRIGHT colors?! Well...it did...which did not help me to 'blend in.'

OK - I had a problem that needed solving...which was that I needed to find a job playing baseball and had no idea how to start.

• First step...get to the center of town to multiply my potential available resources. Bus #1 would be the transportation for this important first step.

I was dumbfounded by the beauty of the Roman Amphitheater, massive cascading fountain, gelaterias (ice cream shops), cobblestone streets and outdoor cafes with awnings that were filled with very stylish Italians strolling arm-in-arm and all speaking a language that was both beautiful and incomprehensible.

There I stood...khaki pants...button collared shirt...running shoes...sweater wrapped around my waist and a big black and fluorescent backpack with a baseball bat sticking out...and nowhere to sleep and no idea where I would be sleeping.

Being single minded has its advantages at times (contrary to all the women in the world who say that multi-tasking is the superior attribute)...and this was one of those times. Despite the beauty surrounding me...the fact that I hadn't slept in an ungodly amount of time and was feeling a bit overwhelmed to say the least...I stuck to the fundamentals and found myself a pay-phone and a phone book. There I promptly started alphabetically with "B" for baseball...and found the address of the "Federazione della Baseball e` Softball" (Federation of Baseball and Softball)...and promptly wrote down the address.

I had no idea where it was...as I only knew two Italian words which were 'no' and 'si.' And seeing how no is the same in English, one could argue that I actually only knew ONE word. And thus I embarked with my piece of paper in hand...and every so often would stop someone with a pleasant look about them...point to the address on the paper...smile and say, 'help!' This is where my Italian language lessons informally began. Sinistra (left)...destra (right) and sempre dritto (keep straight)... and help translated is 'aiuto' (pronounced I-you-toe).

Of course I didn't recognize any of those words; however I did recognize when someone waved their hand straight and then left...which translated means, "go straight for a bit and ask someone else for help so you don't turn left in the wrong place." Step-by-step...kind stranger after another I made my way to the Federation of Italian Baseball and Softball in Verona.

Thus far, this had been a long and taxing 17+ hours (time change considered).

• 2:30 pm - I left Los Angeles
• 6:20 am - (the next day) Arrived in Milano
• 1230 pm - Arrived in Verona
• 1:00 pm - In Verona's city center
• 1:20 pm - In pursuit of the Baseball Federation
• 3:30 pm - Arrived at President Laerte Panarotta's office

After lots of hand-waving...walking...smiles and blind luck I arrived at what was 1/2 trophy shop and apparently the office of the President of the Baseball Federation in Verona...one Signor Laerte Panarotta.

One may surmise that the President of the Baseball Federation would learn a word or two of English along the way, having dealt with American ballplayers every so often (when not employing Cuban shortstops for the same job); however this was not the case. Laerte (pronounced Lay-ere-tay) stubbornly refused to try to learn even one word of English or was playing possum better than the best back woods raccoon trader.

Alas, after 10 hours of arriving in Italy, I found myself standing in the Baseball President's office, near the beautiful Lungadige river that snakes through the middle of Verona. This is where the communication got much worse! Laerte would ask me in Italian what I want (Che cosa desiderate?)...and I would cleverly answer, "I don't understand." This went on for awhile with my pulling out my baseball bat and mock-swinging it to show that I was a baseball player...making throwing and fielding motions while smiling like a fool in the hopes that kindness would somehow overcome the barriers...and then I broke out my Million Dollar Solution...and used the only phrase I had come to Italy prepared with (somehow in my fatigued state, I had forgotten this till now): Sono un giocatore americano di baseball (I am an American baseball player).

I then pulled out my Italian/English dictionary and phrase book...which Laerte promptly pushed aside and refused to use or even look at when I found a word I wanted him to look at. He then took the ridiculous-age-old-time-tested method of speaking more LOUDLY and S-L-O-W-L-Y in the hopes that I would suddenly understand the Italian language.

At this point, my frustration and fatigue reared up...and I stepped behind the counter and grabbed his phone book. Yet again, I was sticking to fundamentals...'if you can't get someone to talk to you...get someone to do the talking for you' is what my logic told me. As fate and fortune would have it...I found the address for a Collegio Universitario (University), which was located close by. I motioned to Laerte that I was going to the address on the page I wrote, pointed at my backpack etc with the words, "I'll be right back," and way I went. As luck or fate would have it the University was two buildings away.

Seing at it was a University, I felt that the odds were pretty good that I could find someone to help me. I entered the building...for some reason went to the 2ND floor (some prehistoric impulse that tells one that 'high-ground' is an advantage) and proceeded to ask each friendly looking girl I saw if she spoke English. And this was how I became acquainted with Suzanna Zanolli of Brescia (near Lake Garda or Lago di Garda).

Me - Hi! Do you speak English.
Suzanna - A little bit (with thumb and forefinger slightly separated)

Me - Can I hire you to help me negotiate a baseball contract?
Suzanna - I don't understand.

Me - Sono un giocatore americano di baseball, and I need help talking to a man down the street. Can you help me? Aiuto me?
Suzanna - Ah...but you speak Italian?

Me - No. I can only say that I am an American Baseball player...and I will do anything...buy you dinner...pay you...whatever...if you will please help me talk to this man who is just two doors down the street.
Suzanna - That is not necessary. If you will agree to 'make conversation' with me so that I can improve my English, that would be enough.

Me - Of course! That's awesome! When can we go talk to this man?
Suzanna - Subito (immediately) `er, right away.

So it was thus that Ms. Suzanna Zanolli of Brescia became my official translator to speak to the President of the Baseball Federation in earnest...or so I believed at the time...

Italian Baseball | The Decision to go

Living in Italy is Magical! Living in Italy and playing baseball is even better...

Italy is full of all the usual things you have heard/read so much about - cobblestone streets, architecture, food, wine, art, history, beautiful people, gorgeous English teachers at German Schools, hand made masterpieces, gorgeous cars, siestas, loving families and talking with ones hands. What you almost never hear about in Italy is the wonderful sport of baseball. Yes...baseball...

I have had the privilege of living in Italy three times in my life...for three baseball seasons.

An American finding himself going to Italy to play baseball isn't easy. While there are many roads to Rome, there are shockingly few roads to Italian baseball. This is where my adventure began...

I had decided that I wanted to play baseball in Italy and had no idea how to go about it. I had heard of Coach John Noce (pronounced NO-CHEE) of San Mateo Junior College (San Mateo, CA). Coach Noce had sons who had played in Italy and had coached the Italian National Team. Coach Nocci is a legend! So, not knowing any other way to go about playing baseball in Italy...I called Coach Noce on a Thursday or Friday...and the conversation went like this;

Me - Coach Noce, I'd like to play baseball in Italy and was told that you would know how one could go about doing so.
Coach - Well, that depends.

Me - On what Sir?
Coach - How good you are. Have you played double AA baseball here in the states?

Me - No Sir.
Coach - Well then, I can't recommend you.

Me - How come Sir?
Coach - I only recommend players who have played at least double AA baseball professionally in the states.

Me - OK. So then how else could I go about playing ball in Italy?
Coach - Well son, let me tell you. If you have balls...and I mean industrial sized cojones...you'd get on a plane to Rome...make your way to the Office of the President of Italian Baseball...get yourself a list of towns with baseball teams...and go find yourself a job.

Me - Is there any other way you can think of...that might be a bit...oh...easier than that?
Coach - Nope.

Me - Thank you Coach for your time!
Coach - No problem. Let me know how you make out.

The conversation didn't last more than a few minutes. Anyone knowing Coach Noce knows you don't waste his time! And in hindsight...Coach Noce knew what he was talking about because while Italian Baseball isn't the same as US baseball, there are still very talented athletes who are dedicated and have a passion for the game!

At this point, I had a dilemma. I hadn't made it far enough in America to warrant an endorsement...and I was stubborn. Well, stubborn seemed to be taking hold over lack of talent...so two days later on a Sunday, I found myself with the travel section of the Los Angeles Times in my hand. Way in the back...I found one of those tiny boxes that said, "Cheap Flights - Europe." I called the number and found one-way airfare to Milano for less than $400.

I couldn't afford a round trip ticket, so I thought I'd start off the simple way and just get there first. Before I actually paid for the ticket, I did some quick math re my finances. I figured I had about enough money to eat for about 3 weeks or so before I'd have to get to an English-speaking country and get a job at a bar or restaurant to earn enough money to eat and have a place to sleep...and ultimately make my way home. Three weeks isn't a long time, however stubborn was a place I was used to...and I bought the ticket.

Althought I didn't personally know Coach Noce, his reputation is impressive...and I thought I'd let him know 'how I made out.' I called his office and got his answering machine...

Me - "Hi Coach Noce. This is Jamy and I am taking your advice. I bought a one way ticket and am leaving for Italy in a few days...thanks for the advice! Take care Sir!"

I never called him back, and I am sure he is completely unaware of the profound impact he had on my life. Coach Noce has had a profound impact on the lives of many young men, and their approach to their responsibilities...so I am sure he wouldn't be surprised should he ever find out.
Now I had to tell my family...which wasn't as smooth as buying the ticket and took a little longer than talking to Coach Noce.

My mom was first. I had to explain that I was giving up life in the US for awhile and going to Italy to look for a job playing baseball...and would be leaving in a couple of days. I never told her I only bought a one-way ticket till years later...which caused a 'clutching-hand-over-heart-maneuver' and a "THANK GOD' I didn't know that" from her. I then received in rapid-order phone calls from all my brothers. The questions ranged from, "are you crazy," to "what are you thinking" and some variants in between. All of them thought I was crazy...but they supported my decision nonetheless. While they tried to discourage me from going...their opinions and stubborn bumped into each other yet again...and predictably...stubborn won A-gain.

So, I bade farewell to life in America and my college girlfriend and got on a flight for Italy...with a HUGE duffel bag full of as much stuff as I could pack...lots of books in English and my baseball gear. In hindsight...the bag was wayyyy tooooo big to haul around...but I had never done this before so didn't know any better.

Arriving In Italy
I flew from Los Angeles to New York (enjoyed a 'self toast' during the layover) and then on to Milano. It was an overnight flight so I arrived in Milano at 0620. I didn't sleep at all on the plane and met some fellow passengers in the back galley. The usual assortment of travelers and a few models who routinely flew to Italy for work. Standing in line at Customs I was struck by how different life suddenly seemed as I walked past a line of Uzi-toting-policemen (Polizotto)...and a rather friendly looking German Shepherd. I suddenly found myself wondering what the heck I was doing, and turned to one of my new found friends and began asking a zillion questions. Laura (enflight-new-found-friend) cleared Customs first and then it was my turn. She kindly hung around as I believe she sensed that my chattiness and an Uzi-brandishing-Polizotto weren't likely to be a match made in Customs-Heaven...

Customs Agent - Avete qualche cosa dichiarare? (do you have anything to declare?)
Me - Huh? (I often have clever responses like this one in moments of stress)

Customs Agent (not looking too thrilled) - repeats himself
Me - Uhhh, I don't understand. (honest...yet not really what he hoped to hear)

Laura (to me) - He wants to know if you have anything to declare.
Me (to Laura) - Like what?

PREGNANT PAUSE - Uzi-toting-Customs-agent unzips by 'body-bag-sized-duffel-bag.'

Customs Agent (pulling out one of my wooden baseball bats) - Ciò assomiglia ad un'arma! (This looks like a weapon!)
Laura (to me) - He says that the bat looks like a weapon!
Me (to Laura) - Tell him, "not the way I swing it"...with a bit of a nervous chuckle and a smile to hopefully win him over. (NOT!)

Customs Agent - Che cosa farete con questo? (What will you do with this?)
Laura (to me) - translates his statement for me
Me - Well, I hope to play baseball with it...but that's not too certain right now.

Customs Agent - disgusted and obviously irritated puts the bat back in the bag and waves me away.
Laura (to me) - Do you need help?
Me (to Laura) - Yeah, I am starting to think so!

After clearing customs so gracefully, Laura gave me directions to the train for Verona. Why Verona you ask? Verona is the home of Romeo and Giulietta...and the city is renowned for its beauty...plus if I was going to fly halfway around the world to potentially starve...I might as well do it somewhere beautiful!

Baseball | Is like life...

Baseball has a rhythm and pace that is like life and unlike any other sport.

Baseball doesn’t have a time clock…the game unwinds in an unhurried, meandering pace that is unique and beholden to no one...in its own time. The game progresses at times to appear like an eternity and yet frantic in its final moments…just like life.

Baseball is the hardest sport on the planet when one considers these simple facts for an 'average' Major League Fastball -

• 85 mph is the 'average' major league fastball - many pitchers throw much harder
• It takes 4/10 of a second for the pitch to go from the pitchers hand to the hitting zone
• A 'major league hitter' can get the head of the bat to the hitting zone in about 2/10 of a second
• Translation = a hitter has 2/10 of a second to decide if the pitch is a ball or strike, decide to swing and hit a round ball with a round ball...squarely...on an 'average' major league fastball

There is nothing harder than hitting a pitched ball...and there is nothing harder than life. The feeling of hitting a baseball on the sweet spot is effortless and beautiful...just like when life is going well and projects are coming together or job offers are rolling in. Conversely, when you are stuck in a slump the ball looks like a BB coming at you...impossibly small to hit. You feel powerless and lost as you flail at each pitch with less and less success. The doubts begin and you start looking for answers. You eat more or less chicken...you step on lines or don't step on lines...you carve words or symbols in the on-deck circle...you change the order of how you put your uniform on...you don't wash your stirrups...you get a different bat...you change what route you take to the ballpark. Struggling on a baseball diamond feels very similar to being lost at work...or lost in life...you feel powerless and like you are on an endless search for an answer.

Baseball doesn’t allow you to take more than it gives you. If you get an outside fastball and try to pull it…you will end up with a weak ground ball for an out. You can’t make something from nothing, and instead of struggling against this premise…you have to ‘go with the pitch’ and take what baseball gives you to be successful. Outside pitch means going the other way and hitting to the opposite field. Going with the pitch is taking what baseball gave you, and cooperating with it...and hopefully getting a base hit. When you cooperate with baseball...you have taken what baseball has given you and made something positive from it…just like life.

Baseball requires planning. Runner on first base who can run a bit…pitcher on the mound who has a good fastball…power hitter at the plate. The pitcher has to have a plan; throw a fastball to keep the runner from going and you risk the hitter going yard. Throw a curveball to try and throw the hitter off balance and risk the runner stealing second base. So the right answer is more complicated than that…and requires a pitch by pitch adjustment to the situation based on whether the pitcher is throwing a ball or strike. Get ahead in the count and you are in control...get behind in the count and your strategy becomes more conservative and defensive. Reminds me of salary negotiations...a time to ask for more and a time to be content with what you have...at least until the next proverbial pitch...which just might give you the temporary advantage…just like life.

Baseball is a team sport played by individuals. Within the larger, grander framework of a team competition…baseball still boils down to one-man’s battle against himself. His own skills on any given day that make up what a baseball player is...power hitter...hard thrower...good-field-no-hit and utility player are the 'tags' that define a baseball player. Throw the ball, field the ball and hit the ball…there is nothing else. Being on a strong team certainly influences your career, as you will score more runs with Ryan Howard hitting behind you than you. However, despite the support of a strong team...you stand alone at the plate or in the field and their strength cannot disguise or hide the deterioration of your skills. On a hot smash up the middle or a belt-high fastball on the inside corner, it is you alone who must make the play or turn on that pitch...and failing to do so exposes your individual shortcomings. Even when you stand on the filed as part of the team…you are ultimately alone…just like life.

Baseball is a game that allows intellect to prolong one’s career. Smart baseball players last longer because the find ways to adapt. Cal Ripken did not cover the most ground at shortstop, yet he consistently ranked at the top in put-outs and assists. Was he 'lucky' to have all those balls hit at him, or did he shade to the left or right depending upon a hitter's tendencies and the pitch count. Cal is smart and he studied tendencies and understood the game on a different level, and that's how smart players take their limitations and adjust pitch by pitch to what the game has given them. Baseball rewards the thinker in the long run…just like life.

Baseball’s dimensions are perfect. The fastest runner on the planet who hits a medium hard ground ball to the shortstop will get thrown out by a clean fielding shortstop. 90 feet between bases is the perfect distance between bases that allows a sure handed fielder to put out the fastest runner…provided he can execute flawlessly every time. It is the battle of lesser talent that can compete against superior athletic ability provided that the execution is flawless…just like life.

Baseball is the only sport where the defense has the ball. It’s the only game that relies upon the defense to start the offense. While sometimes the best defense is a strong offense…more often than not…a strong defensive position has been the difference between success and failure…just like life.

When I have a glove on my hand, spikes on my feet and a ball cap on my head…I am at home. A rocking chair is not as comfortable and familiar to me as the dirt of a good infield. A good ball player doesn’t ‘catch’ the ball…but rather re-directs it. As the ball settles into the pocket…it is effortlessly transferred to my throwing hand without thought…I am at peace. Hitting never felt the same way for me…

I love baseball because baseball is so similar to life…and I love life!

Wisdom | via Circumstances

All the 'sayings' that I heard growing up are turning out to be true, but not as a reflection or condemnation upon society or others...but rather simply through self experience.

• 'Youth is wasted on the young,' does not demean the value of our youth (of any generation), but rather suggests how we could have benefited if we had had wisdom when we were young.

I remember stories. I tend to learn better from stories; however great storytellers are in short supply. It is almost as if storytelling and the gift of storytelling has been affected by the instant gratification society we live in. This scenario begs the question of how can one take the time to hear a great story if we are so focused on the 'quick and easy?' Stories take time to unfold...they have a natural rhythm to them that is much like nature and cannot be rushed. How does this match the title? Simply this...there are many things in life that eventually are uncontrollable...and the sooner one is exposed to circumstances beyond their control...the more quickly wisdom is imparted upon us.

I am fortunate to have good friends who give me the benefit of their wisdom. This of course then brings up the question of listening v. hearing, however for the purpose of this thought...let's suppose that one is hearing and making course corrections as a result.

Why didn't I listen more when I was young? Or was it simply that I only had so many references upon which to draw from? And in lacking life experience, the lessons that could have been imparted upon me simply did not sink in? Is this why 'scared straight' and programs such as those succeed...because while one doesn't remember the words...they do remember the stories and what they don't want as a result?