It came as a total surprise to me. With about 3 minutes to play in the 4th quarter of last night's Super Bowl, the Pepsi ad flashed on my screen. There I was. I. Just me. Alyssa and Grace, my two lovely teen twins who took a day off from school to film the commercial, were nowhere to be seen. At least on TV. They were sitting next to me when the ad aired. Needless to say, they were a little taken aback.
It turns out this blog and my public spat with the team has "twisted my image," as super agent Jack Perry said to me the morning. In Pepsi's eyes, that's not a bad thing. The ad was originally supposed to air in two more weeks, right after pitchers and catchers reported. But, as Jack revisted with me, Pepsi thinks I've got an "edge" now. I was the equivalent of Miss America, Jack said, for so long. It's fresh to see me ranting here. It's edgy to see me taking on my team instead of taking one for them. They think I've become an individual, a voice for their target demographic, which is slightly younger than me (by about 20 years). I've become an icon.
Tell that to my kids. Well, I did. They don't really care what other people think of their dear old papa (they've never called me that). They wanted to be in a commercial for Pepsi, ahem, Lipton Brisk (owned by Pepsi). That's another thing. We filmed a Lipton Brisk commercial. But you saw me and Pepsi during the Super Bowl. It appears they not only digitized my kids out, they digitized out their own brand and replaced it with another, albeit a bigger-name brand, one I had been led to believe I was endorsing all along. Endorsement complete. I'm a Pepsi guy again. Edgy. Cool. Twisted. Just what today's youth wants.
I hope my team wants me half as bad.
Showing posts with label Endorsements. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Endorsements. Show all posts
Monday, February 4, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
...Something For Everyone
See the heading? That's Pepsi's slogan, or at least one of them. If I lead the league in strikeouts this year (highly doubtful), Pepsi leads the soft drink industry in slogans. I'm not really complaining. Not anymore at least. Let me start at the beginning...
I arrived at a New York City loft in the mid-twenties on Friday morning with Alyssa and Grace in tow. At the last minute, Grace had decided she did want to appear in the commercial. "I need the money," she had said. I told her the money was going to her college fund. "I'm not going to college then," she said. Then, I told her, the money will go into a when-I-say-you-can-have-it fund. She made a half-smile, not because I'm funny to her. I explained that the money will go somewhere, but she won't have access to it until she's 21; 35 if I want her to stick around in 6 years to clip my toenails on a daily basis. I told her not to ask any of her little friends to try to hack into Vanessa and my accounts either. Even though it's clear to me the geeks will inherit the earth, I don't want them to touch my money. "I don't have any friends," she said. Good, I said. Let's keep it that way. She came along and didn't talk for the rest of the day (except when her phone went off). Teenagers, you can't live with 'em and... Well, you can't live with 'em. Very moody.
At the loft, it was explained to us by David, the director of the commercial, that we would be doing a spot for the Lipton Brisk brands. I stopped him right there. "Pepsi," I said. "My contract is for Pepsi and a flagship brand." David apologized, said Pepsi corp. had made some changes. Q-scores... Focus groups... Gut instinct... Phrases were thrown around like Frisbees. I asked David if he had any idea what he was talking about. He said no. Those were just things he'd heard in a conference call the day before.
I called up Jack Perry, agent to the superstars - and me. The conversation went like this:
Me: It's me.
Jack: You at the Pepsi shoot?
Me: Yeah. They want us to do it for a ready-to-drink tea.
Jack: I heard.
Me: You did? When?
Jack: Doesn't matter.
Me: Oh, I guess it doesn't then. You're fired.
Jack: No I'm not.
Me: Then tell me why we aren't getting the Pepsi treatment.
Jack: You're too old, you're going bald, you're not a star - just a former star rehabbing. They don't know if you'll come back this season and mean anything or not.
Me: Good thing they're paying me millions of dollars.
Jack: That didn't change.
Me: So Lipton Brisk, huh?
Jack: It was either that or Propel Water.
Me: Never heard of it.
Jack: That's what I'm saying.
I flipped my phone closed, took a deep breath, and decided to live with it. Sure I felt old and inadequate. But there's no such thing as a Viagra to appease self-loathing. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right Dad?" That was Alyssa's take on the whole thing. Not sure what Grace's take was. She wasn't talking. Her eyes were in perpetual "roll stage." Love that.
I went back to David, the director. "What do you want us to do?"
They gave me a generic baseball uniform as Pepsi is not the official anything of the National Baseball League. Just vertical pinstripes that kind of match our team's pinstripes if you squint real hard for a few minutes and turn down the lights to strobe. Alyssa and Grace were given matching uniforms, although theirs were a little tighter than mine. Strange, I thought, since I'm the one who was 15 pounds overweight 8 weeks ago. Have I lost that many pounds? I tricked myself into thinking I had so I wouldn't have to deal with my girls being used as the sexy part of the ad. I considered not talking to anyone the rest of the day, but it would've been hard for me to say my lines. Instead, I plowed through and pretended I was happy.
Five hours later, we were done. We got to see a rough edit of the spot and congratulate ourselves for a job well done. My fake smile was perfect. You would've loved it. Nobody had any idea how depressed I felt.
Except Alyssa and Grace.
Here's a little of our conversation in the car on the way home:
Alyssa: Dad, you didn't look bald.
Grace: Mmm hmm.
Alyssa: And the soda machine in our school cafeteria has Brisk teas. I think.
Grace: Mmm.
Alyssa: Was today the first time you realized you weren't 25 years old anymore?
Grace: Mmm?
When I was 25, I won 19 games and led the league with 269 strikeouts. My first championship came that year, in Chicago. I earned $10 million in endorsements that off season and filmed a spot with Michael Jordan. Remember? The "Swish Spot" it was called. Third commercial to air during the Super Bowl. I have it on VHS somewhere, but I bet you can find it on YouTube. I was the toast of Chicago. I was young and had my life ahead of me...
When I was 25, Alyssa and Grace were born. I had been married already for 4 years. We had a house, I walked a dog, put out the trash (when I was home). We had car payments and mortgage payments and paid off Vanessa's student loans... I was doing responsible, adult things at 25 too. Just like now.
In fact, if you compare me at 25 to me now, there are only a few key differences:
1. Less hair, more body fat.
2. I play in New York, not Chicago.
3. My girls are considered sex objects in ads and I'm the "father figure"
I've lived a pretty good life. Lots of wins, lots of money, still married with two kids - one of whom is talking to me. Still have my parents, although I'd disown my father if I could find the right paperwork. I've still got fans who like me, who want my autograph. I'm not asked to sign many boobs anymore; instead my rookie card, from 1988, is the thing I'm asked to sign the most. Yes, the occasional boob gets stuffed into my line of vision, but it probably belongs to a grandmother. I'll sign it because I know it'll make the woman's friends down at the home all giddy.
In a way, I guess I've given a little something to everyone. Wins to the people in the past. Life to my two darling daughters. Agita to today's management and the media. A paycheck to Andy, my personal trainer. Fun to today's kids who are all "Internet savvy" and read blogs. Maybe Brisk was the right brand for me. Maybe I'll call Pepsi and let them know they made the right decision. Sales are going to catapult to heights unknown because of our association, I'll tell them. Just you wait!
Which they'll do as they tell each other it's gut-check time, find the results of my new Q-scores and see what the focus groups say about the ads. I'm under no illusions what those people will say. "Give us more of his kids. He's showing too much skin on the top of his head."
Yeah, they'll think I'm giving a little something too much. Maybe they can airbrush in a hat for me.
I arrived at a New York City loft in the mid-twenties on Friday morning with Alyssa and Grace in tow. At the last minute, Grace had decided she did want to appear in the commercial. "I need the money," she had said. I told her the money was going to her college fund. "I'm not going to college then," she said. Then, I told her, the money will go into a when-I-say-you-can-have-it fund. She made a half-smile, not because I'm funny to her. I explained that the money will go somewhere, but she won't have access to it until she's 21; 35 if I want her to stick around in 6 years to clip my toenails on a daily basis. I told her not to ask any of her little friends to try to hack into Vanessa and my accounts either. Even though it's clear to me the geeks will inherit the earth, I don't want them to touch my money. "I don't have any friends," she said. Good, I said. Let's keep it that way. She came along and didn't talk for the rest of the day (except when her phone went off). Teenagers, you can't live with 'em and... Well, you can't live with 'em. Very moody.
At the loft, it was explained to us by David, the director of the commercial, that we would be doing a spot for the Lipton Brisk brands. I stopped him right there. "Pepsi," I said. "My contract is for Pepsi and a flagship brand." David apologized, said Pepsi corp. had made some changes. Q-scores... Focus groups... Gut instinct... Phrases were thrown around like Frisbees. I asked David if he had any idea what he was talking about. He said no. Those were just things he'd heard in a conference call the day before.
I called up Jack Perry, agent to the superstars - and me. The conversation went like this:
Me: It's me.
Jack: You at the Pepsi shoot?
Me: Yeah. They want us to do it for a ready-to-drink tea.
Jack: I heard.
Me: You did? When?
Jack: Doesn't matter.
Me: Oh, I guess it doesn't then. You're fired.
Jack: No I'm not.
Me: Then tell me why we aren't getting the Pepsi treatment.
Jack: You're too old, you're going bald, you're not a star - just a former star rehabbing. They don't know if you'll come back this season and mean anything or not.
Me: Good thing they're paying me millions of dollars.
Jack: That didn't change.
Me: So Lipton Brisk, huh?
Jack: It was either that or Propel Water.
Me: Never heard of it.
Jack: That's what I'm saying.
I flipped my phone closed, took a deep breath, and decided to live with it. Sure I felt old and inadequate. But there's no such thing as a Viagra to appease self-loathing. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right Dad?" That was Alyssa's take on the whole thing. Not sure what Grace's take was. She wasn't talking. Her eyes were in perpetual "roll stage." Love that.
I went back to David, the director. "What do you want us to do?"
They gave me a generic baseball uniform as Pepsi is not the official anything of the National Baseball League. Just vertical pinstripes that kind of match our team's pinstripes if you squint real hard for a few minutes and turn down the lights to strobe. Alyssa and Grace were given matching uniforms, although theirs were a little tighter than mine. Strange, I thought, since I'm the one who was 15 pounds overweight 8 weeks ago. Have I lost that many pounds? I tricked myself into thinking I had so I wouldn't have to deal with my girls being used as the sexy part of the ad. I considered not talking to anyone the rest of the day, but it would've been hard for me to say my lines. Instead, I plowed through and pretended I was happy.
Five hours later, we were done. We got to see a rough edit of the spot and congratulate ourselves for a job well done. My fake smile was perfect. You would've loved it. Nobody had any idea how depressed I felt.
Except Alyssa and Grace.
Here's a little of our conversation in the car on the way home:
Alyssa: Dad, you didn't look bald.
Grace: Mmm hmm.
Alyssa: And the soda machine in our school cafeteria has Brisk teas. I think.
Grace: Mmm.
Alyssa: Was today the first time you realized you weren't 25 years old anymore?
Grace: Mmm?
When I was 25, I won 19 games and led the league with 269 strikeouts. My first championship came that year, in Chicago. I earned $10 million in endorsements that off season and filmed a spot with Michael Jordan. Remember? The "Swish Spot" it was called. Third commercial to air during the Super Bowl. I have it on VHS somewhere, but I bet you can find it on YouTube. I was the toast of Chicago. I was young and had my life ahead of me...
When I was 25, Alyssa and Grace were born. I had been married already for 4 years. We had a house, I walked a dog, put out the trash (when I was home). We had car payments and mortgage payments and paid off Vanessa's student loans... I was doing responsible, adult things at 25 too. Just like now.
In fact, if you compare me at 25 to me now, there are only a few key differences:
1. Less hair, more body fat.
2. I play in New York, not Chicago.
3. My girls are considered sex objects in ads and I'm the "father figure"
I've lived a pretty good life. Lots of wins, lots of money, still married with two kids - one of whom is talking to me. Still have my parents, although I'd disown my father if I could find the right paperwork. I've still got fans who like me, who want my autograph. I'm not asked to sign many boobs anymore; instead my rookie card, from 1988, is the thing I'm asked to sign the most. Yes, the occasional boob gets stuffed into my line of vision, but it probably belongs to a grandmother. I'll sign it because I know it'll make the woman's friends down at the home all giddy.
In a way, I guess I've given a little something to everyone. Wins to the people in the past. Life to my two darling daughters. Agita to today's management and the media. A paycheck to Andy, my personal trainer. Fun to today's kids who are all "Internet savvy" and read blogs. Maybe Brisk was the right brand for me. Maybe I'll call Pepsi and let them know they made the right decision. Sales are going to catapult to heights unknown because of our association, I'll tell them. Just you wait!
Which they'll do as they tell each other it's gut-check time, find the results of my new Q-scores and see what the focus groups say about the ads. I'm under no illusions what those people will say. "Give us more of his kids. He's showing too much skin on the top of his head."
Yeah, they'll think I'm giving a little something too much. Maybe they can airbrush in a hat for me.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Commercial Integrity
Last Friday was the day Alyssa and I were supposed to go into NYC to film the Pepsi commercial. We didn't make it. Alyssa had been sick all week. She probably could have appeared on camera on Friday, but I woke up a little off kilter and went downhill from there, spending the whole weekend in bed. Apologies to Pepsi and their promotional agency for the last-minute change. We're now looking at the end of this week to film it. Pepsi has an ad-run date that they're up against. They've already bought the advertising time for this unproduced ad, so they don't have much time to wait on us. They don't want to run dead air.
Spring training is less than a month away. I report on February 15th. By February 16th, we'll be filming all sorts of things for the league, our regional sports network, the major networks, various charities... It's like we go down to spring training to be movie stars instead of baseball stars.
Some guys enjoy that part. I'm okay with it. I know how to read, so I can usually be done with whatever it is within an hour or so. But some guys hate it. They freeze up. They read their lines like first graders. They move like robots. And some of these guys are big stars. For them, it's easy to stand in the batters box in front of a live audience of 55,000 and a TV audience of millions and stare down a 6 foot 10 lefty throwing fastballs 100 mph at their heads. They were born to do that, and that's why they're so good at it. They were not born to speak in front of a camera and promote Kahn's hot dogs.
There are always those guys who feel left out, too. A few seasons ago, Steve Emory, who bounced around pretty much every year with a new team, insisted he appear in a spot. He went to our then PR guy, Doc Castro, and made a major stink. "I've been playing this game for ten years. I've played for eight teams. People follow me around. They know me. I'm perfect for this." Part of his statement was true. "The Emory Board," a legion of four or five fans, did follow him around each year in the summertime for a couple of weeks. Steve was one of the more wacky guys and "The Emory Board" wanted to be associated with a wacky guy. I guess because they were wacky too.
So Doc relents and lets Steve appear in a radio spot they would air during the pre-game show. Steve wouldn't read the script. He kept ad-libbing, saying his material was better than Doc's. Doc, of course, didn't write the scripted material, which was: "This is Steve Emory and you're listening to Tom Myers on The Team, sports radio 820, WTEM New York." Steve didn't like this. He wanted to say: "Steve Emory here. Did you know you were listening to The Team? And did you know it was pre-game time? And did you know Tom Myers is The Man, telling it like it is? If you didn't, you do now."
"Too long," Doc said. The radio spot was supposed to be 5 seconds. Steve's version clocked in around 11 or 12, depending upon his usage of commas. Neither man would budge; Steve screaming about integrity and Doc just wanting to finish up so he could take care of some other tasks on his endless daily To Do list. Doc gave him an ultimatum of doing the spot as written or not doing it at all. To be fair, he was giving 11 seconds to decide.
From what I heard, they refrained from airing Steve's spot in spring training games just in case something happened. And it did. Steve was cut the last day of camp. When he cleaned out his locker, there was a cassette tape of his version of the spot resting neatly inside one of his dress shoes. Apparently, Doc, always the softy, had recorded both versions. That's how Steve got his pre-game gig on FOX later that year. From an audiocassette rehearsal tape. I guess it helps to have a little artistic integrity.
Spring training is less than a month away. I report on February 15th. By February 16th, we'll be filming all sorts of things for the league, our regional sports network, the major networks, various charities... It's like we go down to spring training to be movie stars instead of baseball stars.
Some guys enjoy that part. I'm okay with it. I know how to read, so I can usually be done with whatever it is within an hour or so. But some guys hate it. They freeze up. They read their lines like first graders. They move like robots. And some of these guys are big stars. For them, it's easy to stand in the batters box in front of a live audience of 55,000 and a TV audience of millions and stare down a 6 foot 10 lefty throwing fastballs 100 mph at their heads. They were born to do that, and that's why they're so good at it. They were not born to speak in front of a camera and promote Kahn's hot dogs.
There are always those guys who feel left out, too. A few seasons ago, Steve Emory, who bounced around pretty much every year with a new team, insisted he appear in a spot. He went to our then PR guy, Doc Castro, and made a major stink. "I've been playing this game for ten years. I've played for eight teams. People follow me around. They know me. I'm perfect for this." Part of his statement was true. "The Emory Board," a legion of four or five fans, did follow him around each year in the summertime for a couple of weeks. Steve was one of the more wacky guys and "The Emory Board" wanted to be associated with a wacky guy. I guess because they were wacky too.
So Doc relents and lets Steve appear in a radio spot they would air during the pre-game show. Steve wouldn't read the script. He kept ad-libbing, saying his material was better than Doc's. Doc, of course, didn't write the scripted material, which was: "This is Steve Emory and you're listening to Tom Myers on The Team, sports radio 820, WTEM New York." Steve didn't like this. He wanted to say: "Steve Emory here. Did you know you were listening to The Team? And did you know it was pre-game time? And did you know Tom Myers is The Man, telling it like it is? If you didn't, you do now."
"Too long," Doc said. The radio spot was supposed to be 5 seconds. Steve's version clocked in around 11 or 12, depending upon his usage of commas. Neither man would budge; Steve screaming about integrity and Doc just wanting to finish up so he could take care of some other tasks on his endless daily To Do list. Doc gave him an ultimatum of doing the spot as written or not doing it at all. To be fair, he was giving 11 seconds to decide.
From what I heard, they refrained from airing Steve's spot in spring training games just in case something happened. And it did. Steve was cut the last day of camp. When he cleaned out his locker, there was a cassette tape of his version of the spot resting neatly inside one of his dress shoes. Apparently, Doc, always the softy, had recorded both versions. That's how Steve got his pre-game gig on FOX later that year. From an audiocassette rehearsal tape. I guess it helps to have a little artistic integrity.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
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.
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.
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