Seeking My Endorsement

Jack Perry, super agent to the baseball stars, surprised me yesterday with a contract offer from Pepsi. They have a new ad campaign, Bringing You Back To Life, and they think I am the definition of someone thought of as gone who has now returned. For $3 million, I would appear on up to 4 different television commercials (the first to air on Easter Sunday), in radio and print ads, and throughout a massive Internet campaign targeted at sites like the New York Times. Those annoying pop up ads that disturb the flow of your daily web surfing? Imagine my face featured on 7% of them.

Was I interested? Of course I was interested. $3 million for two days out of my schedule and the potential to be seen by the same many millions of people who, like me, prefer to read the Sunday Times Magazine for free (and immediately click out of those annoying pop up ads), was like asking a hungry wolf if he was interested in the elk carcass listing on that nearby snowy ridge.

But it can never as easy as just saying yes, especially if it's a company like Pepsi that wants to engage my services. I'm a big star, you know. I only threw two pitches in 2007 but remain considered an A-lister of the sports world. Yes, I've fallen a few notches below Tiger and Peyton and Maria, but, when it comes to baseball, I'm still close to the top. Because of this, I couldn't just say Yes to Pepsi's offer. I needed to give them a counter-proposal, because that's what A-listers like me are supposed to do. I had to ask for a little bit more of one thing and also throw something new into the ring. The little bit more would be the money. Pepsi earns more than me. After a few hours of research, one of Jack's staffers suggested $3 million spent on me was worth $55 million to Pepsi in direct revenue. Using the old 'To make money you gotta spend money' mantra, we decided to go back and ask Pepsi for $5.7 million and be willing to settle for $4.2 million. It's not what I used to get, but, then again, I did only throw two pitches this year. (Back in '99, Reebok paid me $22 million for shoe rights to my name. Remember "The Jimmy"? Didn't think so.)

Besides the $5.7 million, we also had to ask for something else, something Pepsi hadn't yet thought of. Jack and I brainstormed a little. A donation to The Scott Foundation? It would be tax-deductible and make both Pepsi and me look like wonderful entities. Nice, but not what I was looking for at that moment in time. A lifetime supply of Pepsi products for Julia and Grace's school? Maybe. But after 10 minutes of research, one of Jack's staffers discovered Julia and Grace's school, Madison High, had a contract with Hi-C. Hi-C is owned by Coke.

Back to the drawing board.

How about renaming all of Pepsi's arenas around the country The Jimmy Scott Dome or Jimmy Scott's Wild Meeting Place or, simply, The J.S. Arena? One of Jack's staffers suggested that, while my name means something, with all due respect, Pepsi's means a little bit more. Besides, if Pepsi spent $100 million for naming rights to a large structure, they probably had a good reason. Yeah, I thought, like to sell more Pepsi Cola.

I should mention that this was all taking place by conference call. Jack's super agent office is in California, and he wasn't on the call the entire time. This is a busy time for the fellow. He's trying to get much larger contracts signed than my rinky dink $5.7 million, settling for $4.2, endorsement deal with a manufacturer of fizzy drinks. Since I was on speaker phone in their office, I put them on speaker phone in my office, which is really my recently remodeled basement, a place I like to call my Entertainment Veranda. When Vanessa asked what an Entertainment Veranda was, I spread my arms and said, "This." She shook her head and went back upstairs into the Food Preparation Gallery (she of minimal imagination calls it a kitchen). Having Jack's staffers, and occasionally Jack himself, on speakerphone in my Entertainment Veranda meant their voices carried through the vents and up into the greater part of my Greater Living Facility (house). Eventually, Julia, Grace and Vanessa were lounging on the couches, enjoying the comfort of $2000 throw pillows and listening to me try to negotiate something I didn't really care about into my special new endorsement deal. Occasionally, they'd smile at each other when I'd bring up how Pepsi should donate $10 million per year over the next 5 toward ending the illegal elephant tusk market in Africa or $22 million per year over the next 2 toward new BMWs for runaway teens.

Then, Vanessa spoke up. Usually this is a no-no when it comes to contracts. I'm supposed to know what's best. I have the experience, after all. To which she normally replies, "If you're so experienced, why did you give back $9 million to the team last month?" I don't like to argue with the woman in front of large cordless telephones, so I let her speak her peace.

Vanessa: Why not put the girls in the commercials with their father?
Me: What?
Julia: Cool.
Grace: And 2 new BMWs.
Me: Let's get back to the real world, shall we?
Jack: I think they'll go for it.

30 seconds later, the call was over. 10 minutes later, we had a deal. $4.8 million for me, $100,000 per daughter toward their college degrees, and 2 new VW Bugs (one blue, one yellow). Jack's staffer, who recapped the deal for us, said he'd messenger the contracts to us in a few days. Filming is tentatively scheduled to take place the week between Christmas and New Year's. And, one more thing, Pepsi demanded I lose 20 pounds before going on camera.

Seems like they asked for a little something we hadn't yet thought of too.