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Just got back from France. My only regrets are why did I wait until I was 45 to go and why did I only go for a week?

So if you are out there and under the age of 45… go now!

Spent a couple of days in Cassis and it’s better than the movies. Okay I don’t know if there even is a move set in Cassis, but there should be. This Mediterranean beauty rises from the sea, hugged by mountainous rocks and cliffs on all sides. Spectacular scenery, great food – unbelievable all round.

From there we railed to Paris for four days and it totally consumed me. Every waking moment my mind, heart, and soul were no longer my own. Collectively they were floating through time as the overwhelming history of the city kept my senses in overdrive. Every sight and every sound only wetted my appetite for more.

Speaking of appetite, we had some good meals and some okay meals. Mostly good. Especially the basics. Breakfast was to die for – the eggs alone were worth the flight. Even in the crummiest holes. Lunch was always good because I’m a bread junkie. Most of our dinners were solid, with our first Paris dinner at Ma Bourgogne, a true highlight. Have the bouef for sure!

The service that first night was as good as the food, which essentially ruined me for the rest of my trip. Because for the next few days I got to see a whole new approach to customer service.

We had waiters who yelled at customers in line. Waiters who looked away while flirting with their girlfriends, who were hanging out on the street. Waiters who ignored us so long I sent my seven year old to the hostess stand to get menus. Waiters who wouldn’t stop for my nine year old as he desperately tried to catch their attention with his French-immersion language skills.

It didn’t ruin our trip. But it did provide a few laughs. I guess being a travel neophyte I didn’t realize the secret of French restaurants. The tip is included. In everything.

Café de crème? They get a tip.
Upgrade to pain au choclat. Tip is in.
Order a sandwich. Merci for the gratuity!

How can that be?

I have waitered all my life. I am convinced there is no better way to earn money and have fun at work.

I’ve had great times waitering. The highs of when the staff were partying harder than the patrons and the lows of when I’ve been “in the weeds” so deep it felt like quicksand.

Started when I was fifteen at a lodge on Sparrow Lake. My real job was maintenance man, boat rental, and snack shop operator… but in my spare time I served some tables as well.

In high school I ruled the Orillia wedding circuit from my perch as the head table waiter at the Highwayman Inn. (Make way Adam Sandler!) The Highwayman had two of the nicest (interpret as you wish) banquet rooms in Orillia. Soon after being hired, I won the right to exclusively serve the head tables.

This was a lot of fun for a lot of reasons. First of all, there was always an extra big tip from the bride’s Father. I would always mark him early during the cocktail reception and go up and introduce myself. I was easy to recognize because all the other waiters wore red jackets with their bow ties. Mine was gold. It may not seem like much but the colour coding was a brilliant touch by my manager. The gold jacket made pops feel like we were going all out for his baby girl.

So being the lifelong butt-kisser that I am, the FOB was my first stop. I would let him know I was taking care of the head table and the family table as well. That only my handpicked bussers and I would serve them. And that if they needed anything extra, like a second helping of black forest cake for his “doting” wife, just to give me a nod. This little bit of presell resulted in the pre-tip. FOB usually pressed a twenty in my hand and told me there was more where that came from. I sometimes unfolded the bill and held it out, to be VERY clear I expected a lot more later on. It always worked.

I went from hotel land to resort land for my next stop in servitude. This time to Paignton House on Lake Rousseau. Paignton isn’t there anymore, apparently replaced by a big Marriott resort called the Red Leaf. In its day, Paignton House may have been a poor man’s Cleveland House, but it was an awesome place to work.

At Paignton I switched to bartending, which was as much fun as it looks. We had everything in our bar. Conventioneers who looked at our pretty co-workers and promptly declared we were having the time of our lives. Think of the great line from pimp in Risky Business – “time of your life, eh kid.” We got that at least once a week. Locals who despised us because we kept more Schooner chilled in the beer fridge than their beloved 50. Yes Schooner was a top selling beer in the early 80’s. If you’re too young to remember, Google it. Couples who would come in to see our horrific evening shows; we had the dancers from “Circus” one night and a hypnotist on others. Typically they were up with their families for their regular summer week of vacay, and a night out in our bar meant one of the chambermaids was dutifully babysitting their kids. (Code for entertaining her lifeguard boyfriend and their pal MJ).

From there I bumped along to a few serving jobs in Guelph while I attended Moo U. My favourite was at a place called McGinnis Landing. I worked for an absentee owner named Larry, who died all too young a few years ago of a sudden aneurysm and with a bunch of people who loved to party.

It didn’t take long for me to take over the bar and establish a friendship with the queen of the dining room, a young waitress named Emily, who had been working there since she was three…or so she acted. (Her work ethic paid off years later as she is now one of the founding partners of the ad hot shop John Street).

McGinnis was a great place to earn and save. Not only did I gorge on leftovers and mysterious extra orders of chicken wings, but also I quickly perfected using the restaurant equipment as my personal Laundromat. My staff uniform went from war zone to Calgon clean with a few spins through the glass washer in the bar and then a speed dry utilizing our high-temp pizza ovens. Hey, maybe the guests weren’t enthralled by my rags to dishes approach, but they didn’t have to look!

Circling back to modern times (it was the 1980’s when I worked at McGinnis), I have always felt like serving at a bar or donning a tray was my ultimate fall back, if the agency world didn’t work for me.

Unfortunately, a much as I would love to live in Paris, I don’t think it will be as a waiter. I would probably get removed form the “union” for being fast, responsive, and once in a while, even smiley. Then again, with my patented grumpiness… maybe I would fit right in?

I get invited to a lot of stuff. Concerts. Games. Tournaments. Championships. Dinners. Lunches.

I realize I’m pretty spoiled. Rarely am I standing in lines, fighting for a place to pee, or sitting on a bleacher.

Typically my tickets read Chairman’s Lounge, Owner’s Suite, SkyBox, VIP Box, Premium Seat, blah, blah.
Like many of you in this business my monthly schedule becomes highlighted by my collection of used event lanyards in my desk. I really need to throw these away.

Beyond the nice seats, free booze, limited access restrooms, and hit or miss food selections… the best part of these seats are the people. First and foremost my hosts, and then other industry people, and then the random people you meet. I can count dozens of industry colleagues that I originally met at an event.

This year I’ve developed a new habit at these events. I’ve become a groupie. And I am somewhat ashamed.

I didn’t used to be a groupie. Outside of eating dinner next to Courtney Cox and Jennifer Aniston one night in Chicago, so long ago that Courtney was the bigger celebrity than Jennifer. (Remember those days? Hard to believe!). That night I was a major groupie.

But something has happened to me. My groupie gene has suddenly emerged from the depths of my fat cells. Somewhere this 227-pound, balding, middle-aged man has become a groupie.

In 2010 I have leapt over tables, pushed aside children, and cut off hard working volunteers for all sorts of pictures, handshakes, and maybe even soon an autograph request. Although I haven’t gone there yet.

Al Michaels. Richard Branson. Chris Collinsworth. Alexandre Bilodeau. Seth Grodin. Stephen Harper. Donovan Bailey. You name them… I’m posing with them.

What has happened to me? Why am I posing for pictures that I spray out to my family and friends and then forget about in two days? Do I really think my poor Mom wants to see me with a goofy grin on my face, while some famous person recoils from the grip of my arm and the aroma of a man who definitely needed another pass of his Old Spice stick??

I don’t know.

On Sunday at the Honda Indy (Toronto version), I had another opportunity. I was seated in a box right at the Start/Finish line, courtesy of the race owners (Green Savoree), and also right behind the pit of Dario Franchitti. Better known as Mr. Ashley Judd.

You have to understand the very front row of our suite was VVIP “reserved” for a movie star, according to the catering staff. So when Ms. Judd appeared in her husband’s pit… my mind was racing. Could it be? Would it be? Was I about to snuggle up for a Blackberry close-up, with the number one fan of Kentucky Wildcats basketball? I couldn’t wait to tell her that I was at the 1997 Final Four in Indianapolis. I saw her there too. I was only 280 rows behind her. Do you think 13 years later she would remember?

You’ve probably guessed I have a little Ashley Judd crush going. It probably coloured my thinking on Sunday.

So instead of the race, I got on the Ashley watch. She was wearing a sun hat (remarkably like one my wife has) and a green summer dress that matched her husbands paint scheme for the race.

She entered the pit and grabbed a race control radio. I thought this is perfect, when she meets me, she can tell her husband about it! Or not.

Then she sat on some tires. Two pit guys made small talk with her.

One offered a bottle of water. She declined. Another offered a swig from his energy drink. She had a dry heave.

Then she got up and surveyed the pits. Hmm… was she looking for the stairs up to the suites so she could sit next to me?

She moved three feet under the canopy to check the monitors. What IS the delay?

Then some important people came by. Two got hugs, one got a cheek kiss. I still hadn’t gotten my picture. Frustrating.

The race began. Hey Ashley your husband is moving. You should too. Like up here!

The race had a yellow flag. Hey friend, Dario can’t do anything right now but drive in circles, why don’t we talk about my injured knee if you’re bored?

The drivers got to pit. Ashley didn’t help with anything. Maybe she isn’t as happy with her man she seems. Then again those pit guys move pretty quick.

The race resumed. Hubby was in second. I’m sure she would have a better view from our suite. She has to be hungry, the skinny little thing.

The laps ticked away. Every click of the lap counter excited the race fans looking forward to a big finish. I was scheming new schemes at every lap.

Oh boy. Two laps to go. I give up. Took a picture of her back. I didn’t think screaming “Stella” at this point would have gone over well with my hosts. I emailed it to my best friend. Too ashamed to share with my family. He replied I was a loser.

He’s got it wrong. I’m a groupie.

I’m a dog man.

Love them. Always have. When I was a kid it was our beagles, Duke and Sparky, and then a lab named Baron. He was a black beauty.

So gorgeous he was once kidnapped near our cottage outside of Dorset. As we searched frantically for him at the boat launch on our last day of vacation, all of my family members felt ensuing panic. He never strayed. Finally we spotted him in a boat speeding across the lake, clearly not in a voluntary manner.

As we shouted loudly for him to escape the villains and jump out of the boat (which he eventually did), my then little brother cried to my parents: ” Why couldn’t it have been Mark?!” (No wonder we don’t speak today!)

My first dog as an adult was another beagle. Buddy.

Buddy was legendary. He came to pitches. He helped me launch Trojan in 1994. He ran away all the time. He made me late for weddings and almost late for the birth of my first son.

Bud passed a few years ago. Cancer. He pooped on me while the vet’s needle sucked out his last few breaths. I didn’t even notice the feces until I was walking to my car, blinded by salty tears. It didn’t matter.

Buddy was overlapped for a while with Lucy, my dearly departed father-in-laws mini Schnauzer. Lucy almost made me become a dog hater. But nothing could. Earlier this year she passed and then we went in a pet holiday. Or so we thought.

The idea behind the pet holiday was to be pet free for a year and then get a new puppy.

Until one day a wee tabby showed up on our doorstep. This stray was skinny, noisy, but cute. She just kept coming round. And around. And around.

We didn’t let her in. We didn’t feed her. But we gave her some attention and that seemed to be more than enough.

Then one day I caved. I gave her milk.

Well, the milk was a mistake but we soon started leaving some of Lucy’s old dog kibble. She liked it.

Then we let her in. Then we got her cat food. Then we took her to vet. We thought she was just a kitten. Turns out she was pregnant!

We thought she was healthy. Turns out she had a severe heart murmur.

We thought she had a home. Turns out Craiglist proved her homeless.

So, suckers we are. We adopted her. We named her Murmur. The kids liked that. We thought it was cute. And I fell in love.

Who knew a cat could be so affectionate? Who knew she would sleep on my neck? Who knew that seeing her on my stoop every night when I got home from work would warm my heart?

All of sudden I’m a cat person. For a joyous few weeks….

Then she had a kitten! Just one. But how cool. Right in my closet under my sports coats. The kids went nuts. The neighbors paraded in. And we all said, “Ahhhhhhhh”.

And Murmur went from the night prowler we had first met to a dotting mommy. Sure, she went out twice a day for air. But she came right back and got to the feeding, cleaning and loving.

Until two weeks ago Monday.

We let her out at 9:00 to pee and she didn’t come back. I checked for her five times before I went to bed.

The next day, still no Murmur. But lots of panic as we had one hungry kitty. Emergency run to the vet and some formula secured and suddenly my wife is feeding a newborn again!

Another night. No Murmur.

Cue the search party. Every garage, every pool shed, every backyard for three blocks was scoured. Until the inevitable news.

Giving birth created one life, but ended another. Murmur was found in a neighbour’s yard. Her little heart ran out of gas. And suddenly I realized that my five weeks as a cat lover were over.

I couldn’t believe how sad I was. “Man up,” I said! It was just a few weeks. It was just a cat.

Alas, Murmur left us a lovely gift. The kitty probably only weighs half a pound but she is crazy gorgeous. The kids named her Whisper. Cute. (And I’m pretty excited about their creative skills… so I may assign them to our next new business pitch).

I still want a dog. But he is going to have to like cats. Just like his Master.

The Heat won.

For a week it was so warm that we humans couldn’t function properly.

The Heat beat us down. It took away our desire to be outside. It made sleep impossible for those without AC. It reduced exercise time, dog walking time. It stained armpits. It even made patios less desirable!

Then the Heat beat down the NBA.  And fans in many cities across North America. The Miami Heat that is.

We all know by now the Heat was successful in securing the “Three Kings”…Le Bron, D-Wade, and Cowboy Chris Bosh.

But did the Heat win? Their franchise value jumped $40 million. Their season ticket prices jumped 50%. Their road games instantly became sold out. Maybe.

Did the NBA win? Boffo interest in the league during a typical downtime. Unprecedented media coverage. A prime time special on ESPN.

Did Chris Bosh win? A chance to play in South Florida with two of the best players in the game. Under the slick watch of the legendary Pat Riley. With South Beach and all its attractions right out your front door.

Did D-Wade win? A chance to stay loyal to his team and also have two stars join him on center court.

Did LeBron win? A bigger market to showcase his skills. A chance for him to be part of the cool, South Florida lifestyle. An escape from Cleveland, which seems perpetually cursed to win nothing. Ever. Never.

I don’t think the league won this week. Not because the players exercised their rights and in unprecedented fashion three star free agents all chose the same destination. Not because I think the league was manipulated. With the current CBA about to expire, these players knew what they were doing. It was more than that.

The league lost because some of its biggest names put themselves first. And not the customers. The NBA is an entertainment business. It’s about t-shirts. It’s about tickets. It’s about TV ratings.

Who pays for those souvenirs? Who buys the duckets? Whose eyeballs support the advertisers?

The fans, pure and simple.

Throughout this whole process, not one word was mentioned about the customer. Not one team owner, not one coach, not one player said, “We have to do what’s best for the fan.” Uh-uh. Natta. Nil.

All the talk was about winning championships and sacrifice. Sacrifice… are you kidding me? The fact that Bosh may only made $90 or $100 million on his deal versus $120 million is a sacrifice? Get a grip.

But the good news for the NBA is that there is a bigger loser. LeBron.

He lost an opportunity to be a hero. An icon. Jordan could have left Chicago early on, but he stayed and willed out a champion.

Dan Marino could have fled the Dolphins, but he stayed and never won a title. He was loyal. He fought.

Steve Y could have left the Wings, but instead he built a dynasty.

Stay and deliver. When Gretzky got traded, he was bitter and it was a business thing. But he poured his heart out for Edmonton.

When LeBron said FUC… (as in FU Cleveland!)… he turned his back on his home state and the team that had done cartwheels to build a champion around him.

LeBron has yet to put in a courtesy call to “Cleveland” to give thanks. He is off preening with Bosh and Wade.

Let him.

He has damaged his brand. He has lost his chance to be immortal. He is chasing some hardware, when he should be chasing immortality.

I hope he never wins a championship. I hope he and Wade fight over the ball. I hope the Heat piss teams off so much they rise up and clobber them. Every game of the year.

All the guy had to do was do it with class. Take out full-page newspaper ads. Thank the fans. Admit that he knows they will be pissed off with him. Say he is sorry and yes he is being a bit selfish and maybe he is making a mistake.

But be a man.

The NBA under David Stern has become a marvelous league. It has amazing talents and long standing rivalries like the Lakers and Celtics. Most of its teams are on solid footing, and unlike hockey, many of its expansion markets are thriving.

The NBA deserved better from its alleged biggest star.

It’s not what happened. It’s how it happened.

Many many people should have known better. Treat your customers with respect!

9 players betrayed their teammates.

9 players betrayed their school.

9 players betrayed their coaches.

9 players betrayed themselves.

9 players betrayed the spirit of sport.

Yes it’s 3rd down and 9 at the University of Waterloo. If you haven’t been following the story, there is no first down for the Warriors in 2010.

Sadly. The result of a team-wide doping test, triggered by an unrelated police investigation, resulted in nine players being guilty of infractions. With nine of sixty-two found to be cheating, the university has suspended the football team for the season.

I personally don’t agree that the other fifty odd players, plus countless coaches and supporters, should be punished for the wrong doing of nine. But like all stories, I am sure there is more here than meets the eye. So let’s give the administration the benefit of the doubt.
What makes me more concerned is that these young men betrayed the values of the sport. They betrayed the values of being a student-athelete.

I am a football guy, first and foremost. Its my sport. I coach high school as a volunteer. I watch every game I can. I’ve been to a dozen Grey Cups.

Personally, I believe it’s the greatest team sport in the world. No other sport requires every member on the field to be so involved in every play. If you don’t have your teammates back, they could get hurt.

Clearly, in Waterloo, the teammates let each other down. Someone had to know. Someone had to have seen it.

Yet, it went on.

As teammates we owe it to warn one another of the health, legal, and moral risks of crossing the line. In the case of the Waterloo story, the risks also included losing a chance to play the game they love.

University sport in this country is a precious jewel. Every sport, male and female, features world-class athletes and coaches. Many of whom outshine their none intercollegiate classmates on the academic front as well.

University sport doesn’t deserve the potential black eye this could cause. There isn’t enough money to test every football player.

But the real question is should we have to? Should we test for other legal transgressions?

As a high school coach, I have never warned my players about steroids. That’s going to change this fall. I need to do my part. Ever so small. To ensure that what has happened to the Warriors doesn’t happen again.

Charlie Francis may have died this year, but doping issues haven’t gone away.

It was February. 1997.

There was no way I belonged where I was. Toes on the baseline. Butt on a first row floor seat. Right next to the visitor’s basket. Eyes on the palace known as Pauley Pavilion.

Before me, the likes of Charles O’Bannon, Jelani McCoy and Toby Bailey warmed up for the UCLA Bruins, while Trajan Langdon, Jeff Capel, Steve Wojciechowski and Canadian Greg Netwon did the same for the Duke Blue Devils

13,477 souls waited in anticipation for the tip-off between these two storied college basketball powers. The throng otherwise known as the Bruins student section levitated as one. Thousands of bear-pawed faces exulted in unison, as the crowd whipped into a frenzied anticipation for what would become a UCLA victory.

But suddenly, it stopped. Not gradually. Not due to a referees whistle. Not because of an event crew rolling out some props. For 13,476 of those souls that day in Pauley, the cue was automatic. The cue was expected, yet unsure. The cue was climatic, yet quiet.

For the 13,477th (me)… it wasn’t so natural. I was the only person in the entire building left cheering when I realized the rest of the mob had stopped issuing guttural sounds, every cheerleader had loosened her Vaseline inspired smile, every band member had exhaled as one at that precise moment.

It was all in honour of spectator 13,478.

I don’t recall if the players stopped warming up, but if they had kept running and dribbling the hardwood had become a silencer. What I do recall is my colleague (who worked at UCLA) gently nudging me to attention.

It wasn’t a moment of silence. It was a lifetime moment.  John Wooden. The Wizard of Westwood. The creator of the Pyramid. The John Wooden was making his way to his seat.

Down the stairs he came and I am sure I detected an angelic ray of light off his left shoulder.

Eighty-six years after he was born in Martinsville Indiana, Wooden looked as spry and fit as a man half his age. The architect of ten NCAA men’s basketball championships, including an unbelievable of seven in a row, didn’t so much walk to his seat as he did float.

Students one-fifth his age demonstrated unprecedented respect, as not a word was spoken. Not a breath taken. Until Coach had taken his seat.

On May 26th, 2010 John Wooden took his last breath, dying just months before his 100th birthday.  On his deathbed he had his son shave him and find his glasses, just minutes before he died, so he would be ready to greet his late wife Nellie. Despite her death some twenty-five years previous, Wooden continued a lifelong habit of writing the only woman he had ever dated, a love letter on the 21st of each month.

I never got any closer to Wooden than that February day over a decade ago. But his greatness made him one of the coaching giants I have studied throughout my life.

Wooden died the way he lived. Meticulous. Prepared. Committed.

Angelic to the end.

On Victoria Day weekend there were all sorts of fireworks displays, special events, and parades across much of Canada.

But the best celebration I attended wasn’t to be found on any online event calendar… in any newspaper listing… or promoted on any local radio station. Largely because it was a neighbourhood street party that has been happening for over fifteen years at undisclosed location in North Toronto.

Friends, neighbours, former neighbours, near-neighbours, and friends of all of the above gathered en masse for this annual tradition of making fun… even if all the appropriate forms and paperwork hadn’t been filled out. (Perhaps I was jeopardizing my career by attending?!)

The party was held on a little street that benefits from being a cross between two streets that really provide little in the way of a shortcut for daily commuters, Because of that setup…the folks who live here benefit from having a relatively safe arena for their kids to skateboard, bike, play street hockey, or just stand around and chat. It made for the perfect environment for this party.

Any doubts I possessed that the festivities would be low key were squashed as I tried to find parking on one the adjoining crescents. Fist off the place was jammed. I am a bit of an exaggerator, so lets go with 400 people. But if you told me it was 700 I would believe you. At both ends of the street, makeshift signage blocked vehicle entrance as the street was filled with lawn chairs, food stands, and screaming children. A local family restaurant had donated hot dogs and while the lineup for the freebies was long, at least six people mentioned the “donation” to me on an unsolicited basis. Talk about great brand building.

Various parent volunteers had put ice cream, drinks, and face painting in place. The six dads behind the pyrotechnics had designed a staging area for the fireworks. Mother Nature cooperated with an incredible evening.

Someone brought me a beer… who knew we could drink on the street? It was probably the best tasting beer I had all week. Oh the liberty of not confirming to our ridiculous liquor laws for just a few moments!

After a couple of hours of mayhem, the crowd settled in for the show. A powerful home stereo, and some speakers on the lawn, provided the perfect symphonic backdrop. A barrage of roman candles, comets, and bombshells filled the dark evening sky. For a bunch of amateurs it was pretty impressive.

Parents kept one eye on the sky and another on their children. These dads knew what they were doing, for nothing landed out of the safety zone. Outside of a few burning embers on a pair of houses. This hint of arson was attributed to a local roofing company trying to drum up business.

As the main show ended, the kids were encouraged to get sparklers. Soon the street was aglow with dozens and dozens of sparkers. This was probably the only time I was truly nervous.

It seemed every tween boy somehow felt that lighting a girl on fire was an approved mating ritual. Needless to say, the young women didn’t agree and caught between this mindless form of fencing were a few terrified tots. Thankfully none were mine.

In the end nobody died or fried, so I guess all is fair in love and war. Even when you are twelve.

As the sparklers petered out and the firework smoke cleared, a dozen neighbours grabbed brooms and garbage pails, cleaning up the street faster than it had been (illegally) closed. I hustled my kid’s home for a now overdue bedtime. But I would not have been upset if the event had lasted a few more hours.

The agency geek in me of course kicked in as I started thinking… why don’t more marketers get involved in “unorganized” events? If I brought this to your desk tomorrow, would you chase me away? Does everything we do have to line up to a cost per sample measurement?

In this social media crazed world… where an unbranded viral video (or video that went viral) which reaches X thousand consumers is deemed a “success”… why can’t a viral event be worthy of consideration?

Think of how much more cost effective your sampling would be. How much more authenticate the brand experience would be. How much more word of mouth you could create, by letting your events go viral.

So I am not advocating we all break civic ordinances and ignore appropriate permitting and safety procedures, I do think a little spontaneity in our event world could generate significant ROI.

The Celtics & Lakers may very well meet in this year’s NBA finals, but don’t wait for the conference championships to finish before you watch HBO’s Magic & Bird: A Courtship of Rivals, now on The Movie Network in Canada.  If you’re my age (45) or thereabouts, you’ll remember the days of Dr. J and Kareem playing in less than full arenas and to minimal TV crowds. But then along came Magic & Bird, fresh off their NCAA title clash. Their skill, magnetism, and charisma took the league to places it could never have imagined. With respect to D. Stern, his golden tenure was truly cast by these two players. Rivals is a beautiful retrospective on Larry Bird and Magic Johnson and their on-court and off-court relationship. I of course was a Magic fan back in the day, with little enthusiasm for Bird. But watching this show, I have a new found respect for Bird. I wont spoil it, but you have to watch it to see how much his hometown, his teammates, his mother, and Magic really meant to him.

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I was at the CFL Sponsorship Summit last week in Collingwood. Another sign that life is back to economic normality… properties are rekindling their sponsor summits! In addition to the mandatory booze up which can only be described as best in class… the summit delivered some powerful insights and sponsor best practices. The theme of the summit was all about the league’s commitment to their fans and how this has paid off for them in terms of ticketing, TV viewership, and sponsor activation. It sounds simple but its brilliant. A dedicated focus on the “client” (as the CFL is a ticket league first and foremost) across all marketing functions is paying off.

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Speaking of fans, how come Torontonians (myself included) aren’t giving the Blue Jays a fair shake these days? They have a competitive team that beats the crap out of the ball. Forget Doc Halladay, this year’s birds are on their way to MLB records for runs, hits, and homers. Can Vernon Wells keep up his newfound steadiness? They won 12-4 yesterday, seems like a team we should be supporting. Hey I’m guilty, my kids find baseball boring (sorry AB!), and I haven’t taken them down once this year. But seriously these guys deserve our support.

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Speaking of the CFL, seems like a building boom has hit. May have to rename the league, the Cohon Facilities Lesson as the commish seems to be batting a thousand at convincing owners and government to invest in capital infrastructure. A groundbreaking in Winnipeg last week, refurbishment underway in BC for 2011, new seats in Montreal to be ready for June. Plus plans on the blocks for new venues in Ottawa and Regina. Could Moncton be far behind? One place that could use Cohon’s deft touch is this mess in Hamilton. Time for everyone to get along before the money disappears.

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Credit Marketing Magazine for their first Sports Marketing conference and integrating with corporate assets the Rogers Centre. Holding the conference in the stands/on the field was a great idea. Surprisingly the A/V worked quite well.

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Interesting article in the May 17th issue of Marketing Magazine. Leger Marketing unveils its most admired companies in Canada list and also shows who won and lost based on their Olympic sponsorships. Hbc for all its success with the red mitts and awesome clothing may have sold a ton of gear. But they did nothing to burnish their image unlike when Roots had the sponsorship. Interesting lesson here for the oldest company in Canada (now owned by Americans). They did a great job at recovering from the Beijing design fiasco. It will be interesting to see if they can figure out how to generate brand love utilizing the Olympics heading into 2012.

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The best place I have ever been for a sporting event was old Chicago Stadium. If they could raise it from the dust for the Stanley Cup finals, I don’t know if Philly or Montreal wouldn’t be better off forfeiting. The fans in the old Stadium were loud, proud, and downright ugly. In a good way! Today’s Hawkey Nation seems to feature a different crowd.

A very Happy Anniversary to the Canadian Sport Tourism Alliance! The CSTA celebrated its 10th anniversary in style hosting their Sports Event Congress in Toronto last week.

TrojanOne programmed the Sports Marketing Stream content for the Congress’ third day. This include keynotes from Keith Pelley, President of the Canadian Olympic Broadcast Media Consortium, Stacey Allaster, Chairwoman and CEO of the WTA.

It also included panelists: Andrea Shaw, VP of Sponsorship Sales and Marketing of VANOC; Dan Ouimet, Principal, Event Director of the Calgary Triathlon; Scott McWilliam, Director of Corporate Partnerships of the Abbotsford Heat Hockey Club; Scott Giannou, VP of Targa Newfoundland; John Paul (JP) Cody Cox, Executive Director for Volleyball Canada; Chris Morrissey, CEO for the 2011 Halifax Canada Games; and David Hopkinson, Senior Vice President, Business Partnerships for Maple Leafs Sports & Entertainment.

The focus of discussion included the key sports marketing influences in the past decade as well as reflection of what will emerge over the next ten years.

Here are some tidbits I thought I would share out of the presentations and panels:

• China is the hot new market for women’s tennis and the WTA has opened an office there to capitalize on the opportunity for the next decade!
• The Canadian Olympic Broadcast Media Consortium was the first Games broadcaster to show every minute of competition live.
• There is considerable disagreement surrounding the sophistication of sponsors. Some panelists feel the expertise has advanced significantly in the last ten years. Others feel there has been very little advancement.
• Online streaming of events is great for smaller properties seeking exposure but for major properties with existing TV exposure, its not a significant opportunity.
• Social media doesn’t directly benefit a large property nearly as significant as it could hurt the same property.
• Volunteers are a part of your brand, they are the frontline participant and customer experience.
• One hockey property who has WestJet as a sponsor changes their rinkboards every game to feature a key destination.
• Cause, charity, social responsibility are significant themes for properties and sponsors alike. The integration of charitable groups is a critical element of marketing, PR, and sponsorship initiatives for many events.
• Doing a TV deal is not for the inexperienced, don’t ruin your chances if you’re a rookie. Contract an expert or learn best practices from an organization that has done it.
• Vancouver was the first Olympics where senior staff wore the same uniform as volunteers. It was done on purpose to send a message that all involved were a member of the “Blue Jackets”, hosting visitors from around the world.
• Small properties must emphasize their reach beyond their event borders to engage sponsor prospects.
• The Abbotsford Heat sold the sponsorship of their “penalty box” to the municipal police force!
• The Olympics educated Canadian companies on how to leverage sports marketing opportunities.
• Often times Canadian organizations do a great job of putting the “amateur” in “amateur sport”.

Now, I’d love to hear your thoughts on what will drive our industry in the coming years!