OP_Ed: "The Slam Jam"---Great in Basketball; Bad in Sales: Worse in Financial Planning
(Ed. note: I normally leave the sports stuff to other famous bloggers who are far more capable than I...in sports, beer, bait and ammo. However----I will make an exception......
just this once.)
I always did love the Blue Devils basketball team of several years ago that had the 'Up tempo" game as a real weapon. At some point after everyone got warm and comfortable,and.... say the score was pretty close, "Big Blue" would launch its "Up tempo" weapon.
The quick long inlet pass to the breaking guard to the hoop. Then the "press" on the subsequent inbound pass of the opposition-----then the steal and the jam to the hoop. WOW.
A quick 4 points. The enemy unnerved. Confidence lost. It was the turning point in many of these games. The crowd went wild. The rush of excitement of the locals brought down the house. It does not get any better than that..... In basketball That's the basketball "Slam Jam."
In sales, it looks a bit different. The evening telephone call during dinner. The offer of a special deal of a one time opportunity----available only right now etc, etc, etc......You all know the rest of the story. These calls are why there is a "do not call" list.
In financial planning, or school financial planning it also looks a bit different. A consultant is called. A quick set of options discussed in closed meetings. Options eliminated without public discussion. Then the short public presentation in February at a board meeting and then the solicitation of bond counsel right before a school election. Limited public input. No time for reflection. No chance of successful outcome.
So. To summarize. I just love the "slam jam." It is GREAT in basketball. I just hate it in public policy and school planning.
Make a note of it.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
"The Power of Persistence", or "Norwegian Wood"
Norwegian Wood; Or, the power of persistance
Norwegian Wood
Some time ago, I wrote an article about my friend, Denny, the agricultural science professor and rock star. My old roommate, Rich Ginnaty has prompted me, to relate the rest of the story.
The three of us, Rich, Denny and I had moved into the bachelor pad on the edge of Dinky Town in Minneapolis, just next to the railroad tracks. It was the fall of 1969 and it was that time of our lives when we were between steady girlfriends. Rich, who had just completed his BS in accounting and was working his first job, was for us a guru financial advisor. One evening after work, we noticed that three beautiful women had moved just next door. One especially was striking, tall, brown hair and we had heard a rumor that she was a beauty queen from somewhere up north---the really frozen tundra.
We had to ask ourselves then what three pretty commonplace guys could possibly have that might attract such fine women. Rich, ever the financial analyst had us list our assets and liabilities. Yes, we were light on cash. Yes, we had extensive financial liabilities. However, we had the musical talent of Denny and his guitar. We groaned. Alas, he knew just five songs. Quickly we went over the five. Ok. Number two was Norwegian Wood. Bingo. That was the answer.
Next we had to review our looks. They were ok, but we needed something of a “superhero look,” something that might elevate Denny from “roofers helper” to renaissance minstrel. Quickly we went over our clothing stock. There was a very large bath towel, purple. There were some white long johns and some red shorts as well as a white shirt. Quickly we put it together to form a “superman” effect.
When all the girls had gotten home from school we began singing “Norwegian wood” through the wall at first. After singing for an hour we realized that the wall was dampening our sound and it was possible that they were not able to clearly hear our plaintive message. So, we moved to the balcony. Presto. In just another 15 minutes there was a loud rap on our door.
Breathlessly we opened the door. “ Well,” the tall dark haired one said, “we will give you two choices! Either come over for coffee or we will call the police.” Bingo.
So there it is. The whole story. On persistence. On determination. On what it takes to succeed.
Norwegian Wood
Some time ago, I wrote an article about my friend, Denny, the agricultural science professor and rock star. My old roommate, Rich Ginnaty has prompted me, to relate the rest of the story.
The three of us, Rich, Denny and I had moved into the bachelor pad on the edge of Dinky Town in Minneapolis, just next to the railroad tracks. It was the fall of 1969 and it was that time of our lives when we were between steady girlfriends. Rich, who had just completed his BS in accounting and was working his first job, was for us a guru financial advisor. One evening after work, we noticed that three beautiful women had moved just next door. One especially was striking, tall, brown hair and we had heard a rumor that she was a beauty queen from somewhere up north---the really frozen tundra.
We had to ask ourselves then what three pretty commonplace guys could possibly have that might attract such fine women. Rich, ever the financial analyst had us list our assets and liabilities. Yes, we were light on cash. Yes, we had extensive financial liabilities. However, we had the musical talent of Denny and his guitar. We groaned. Alas, he knew just five songs. Quickly we went over the five. Ok. Number two was Norwegian Wood. Bingo. That was the answer.
Next we had to review our looks. They were ok, but we needed something of a “superhero look,” something that might elevate Denny from “roofers helper” to renaissance minstrel. Quickly we went over our clothing stock. There was a very large bath towel, purple. There were some white long johns and some red shorts as well as a white shirt. Quickly we put it together to form a “superman” effect.
When all the girls had gotten home from school we began singing “Norwegian wood” through the wall at first. After singing for an hour we realized that the wall was dampening our sound and it was possible that they were not able to clearly hear our plaintive message. So, we moved to the balcony. Presto. In just another 15 minutes there was a loud rap on our door.
Breathlessly we opened the door. “ Well,” the tall dark haired one said, “we will give you two choices! Either come over for coffee or we will call the police.” Bingo.
So there it is. The whole story. On persistence. On determination. On what it takes to succeed.
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