A Handshake And A Mission

This month of May 2012 marks the ninth anniversary of the loss of a visionary man, Mark Hume McCormack (1930 - 2003).

I was fortunate to meet Mark in 1986 and the man universally recognized for pioneering the modern sports marketing industry left an indelible impression on both my career and my life.

This column could very easily be filled with his myriad accomplishments.  Names like Jean Claude Killy, Wayne Gretzky, Bjorn Borg, Mohammad Ali, Jeff Gordon, Chris Evert and Arnold Palmer would be bantered around.  Hallowed places of sport such as Wimbledon, Augusta National, Yankee Stadium, St. Andrews, Madison Square Garden, Wembley and The Indianapolis Motor Speedway would surely be mentioned.

But that's not what makes Mark McCormack special to me.

It was his thirst to innovate, his desire to do things better.  It was his creative nature, his drive to be first tempered by a common touch.  And it was his love of and appreciation for competition that drove him always into new territory... a true pioneer in every sense of the word.

I love to tell the story of how IMG was born with a handshake between Mark McCormack and Arnold Palmer... it is one I continue to tell with pride today.

His company, IMG, was an audacious experiment.  His team of executives and staff were a collection of talented people, from all corners of the world, who could make the seemingly impossible possible.  And his energy and enthusiasm filled the halls of IMG offices from New York to London to Paris and Aukland to Johannesburg to Hong Kong.  For goodness sake, MHM, as we IMGer's affectionately referred to him, was well known in New Delhi, Hamburg and Kuala Lumpur.

Mark was, quite simply, on a mission.  A mission to innovate.

He was legendary for some of his quirks.  He maintained a meticulous file of index cards on people and projects that he would fill with handwritten notes allowing him to keep track of details, large and small.  And he was forever preparing to-do lists on yellow note pads... and then knocking off the tasks one by one.

He was feared by some, admired by many and respected by all... but never ignored, underestimated and rarely, unknown.

What I like most about Mark was his dedication to IMG and the people that made up the company.  And what will stay with me forever is the way he steadfastly kept after his goals.

With a handshake and a mission.

Garage Band Music

I have heard it said that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery.

If so, this week I am flattering Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and to some extent, Orville and Wilbur Wright.

As the warm spring sunlight banished the long, rainy and cold (did I say rainy?) pacific northwest winter, I packed up my office, lock stock and barrel, or more accurately, desk, lamp, computer and office decor and moved out to the garage.

What a feeling of freedom from the house I call home... to a remote, okay not too remote, location in the back corner of our yard.

There is something very empowering about working in your garage.  Let's set aside for a moment the fresh air when the door is thrown up to bring all of the beauty outside in.  And let's not even count the all too obvious benefits of filtered sunshine bringing your creative juices to their peak.

Let's instead focus on the just plain basic surroundings that inspire ideas.  The romance of the concept that anyone who is willing to imagine something new, can bring it to life, simply by trying again and again to make it so.

Perhaps the garage is the common denominator for the inventions of The Wright Brothers, Hewlett, Packard, Gates, Jobs, Page and Brin.  Maybe it's the image I have of the garage as a starting place, a cornerstone or could it be that there's just something cool about toiling away without splashy surroundings which is in and of itself motivating.

Whether the garage is on South Williams Street in Dayton, Addison Place in Paolo Alto, Crist Avenue in Los Altos... somewhere in Bremerton or on 32nd Place in Portland... I'm not sure it matters (although Los Altos probably trumps Dayton in January).

So with a equal parts optimism, inspiration, perspiration, dreams and, oh yeah, a measure of good fortune... we might just make a little music at The Wright Stuff!

Garage band style.

Those Who Cannot Hear The Music...

Must think the (Big) DANCEr MAD.

There is a good chance that many of the stars competing for the NCAA basketball championship this past four weeks don't know who Dr. James Naismith was. With all the conversation about possible Cinderella teams, the 'one-and-dones' from Kentucky and Duke's early departure from March Madness, his significance gets short shrift.

But of course my fellow Canadian Dr. Naismith invented the game of basketball one hundred and twenty one years ago. Naismith was first and foremost an innovator. He is also credited for inventing the first football helmet.

Naismith's invention of the game allowed for only passing, no dunking and focused on team play. He created the game to provide an indoor outlet for athletes who were forced inside during the long winters of the northeast USA.

In 1891 there is no way he could have envisioned the sport the way it is today with 300 million participating worldwide. It is unlikely he foresaw the enormous commercial circus that has now become March Madness. I like to think the game he designed was built more for a John named Wooden than one called Calipari... more for a John Stockton than a LeBron James. A game that builds character beyond the arena. A game that would develop leaders, rather than celebrity stars. And a game that could allow the genius of a Pistol Pete Maravich to fire the imagination of thousands of young fans.

For now, the Madness that was March actually concludes in Asylum April. This year the Kansas Jayhawks, the school Naismith first started into the sport made the final. The best team won, the losing team gave it all... and a most valuable player hoisted a trophy named after a man that, by those who could not hear the music... perhaps thought him Mad.

Madness Reigns

Every year during March Madness, fans scrutinize the teams records and fill in their brackets to predict the outcome of The Big Dance. I always try and find a dark horse that will differentiate my picks from others in my group.

But it's not just to win the pool (although bragging rights for twelve months are attractive), it's because inherently I (and I suspect many fans) love an underdog. We love David knocking off Goliath... the Little Engine That Could... so to speak.

For me, it's because I always expect to win, even against long odds, or uphill into the wind. And since I believe sport serves society by providing vivid examples of excellence, I need David to knock off Goliath sometimes.

That way we all can tilt against windmills with a little more confidence, knowing that once in a while... Madness Reigns!