Good for saving the day in every pitching situation.
It was Tuesday, June 22, 2009. I was sharing a limo ride to the NBC studios in Burbank, California, with Billy Mays and thinking, Do not fuck this up over and over again. I had been preparing myself for weeks for what was about to come, but I was nervous. After spending thousands of hours and most of my adult life pitching products on television, as well as making hundreds of guest appearances on every type of talk and news show you can imagine, I was going to make my first appearance on The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien. I had been training, mentally and physically, as if I were getting ready for a big race. When the moment came for Billy and me to walk toward that famous curtain for our entrance onto the set, I wanted to feel ready. I had a few goals in my head:
1. Don’t fuck it up.
2. Promote Billy’s and my reality show, Pitchmen.
3. Increase my fame a little bit.
4. Look like I know what I’m doing.
5. Again, don’t fuck it up.
One of my favorite lines from Gladiator reverberated in my head: Win the crowd, win your freedom. Right. It became a calming mantra.
You have to be a guest on The Tonight Show to fully understand what it feels like. You spend hours in the bowels of NBC, first in makeup chairs and then in the green room, before finally walking on stage in front of a live audience of millions. The show clock counts down to showtime: tick-tock, tick-tock. Can’t back out now. Is this cold sweat normal?
Billy was already the most famous pitchman in the world, a booming-voiced icon in blue shirt and khakis, with jet-black hair and a jet-black beard, who had appeared on TV more often than Oprah herself. He had already been on with Leno twice, but this was my maiden voyage, and I went for a morning run in Runyon Canyon in the Hollywood Hills to unwind. Nearly twenty years earlier, I had come to America a nobody from England with less than $200 to my name. Yet somehow, I was a multimillionaire, about to appear on The Tonight Show with my friend and partner. I felt great and confident about our journey together.
We met back at the hotel. Billy had arrived late, but he was already in his blue-and-khakis uniform, and we ribbed each other as was customary.
“How many shows you gonna do today, Billy? Aren’t we just doing the one?”
“I just want to give them options, Sul.”
“What options? You always wear the same thing!”
“It’s my suit of armor, Sul. How many times have I been on The Tonight Show?”
“How many times have you been on The Tonight Show? Oh, that’s right, zero.”
This was our normal routine, taking the piss out of each other. We’d had a lot of practice.
Soon after we arrived at NBC and were tucked into the green room, Conan’s producer, Rachel, came into the room and greeted us. Then she said, “Okay, so here’s the plan: Sully’s sitting next to Conan.”
If this had been a reality show, it would’ve been the moment when the camera zoomed in on Billy’s face just as a thudding bass note played. It was like a bomb had gone off. Billy had a healthy ego and loved being a star, and he could go from teddy bear to super-pissed-off grizzly bear in the blink of an eye. Grizzly Billy was out. He glared at Rachel. Then at me. A grumbling “urgh-urgh-urgh” came from deep within the pipes of the loudest pitchman on earth, a baritone assertion that meant, That ain’t gonna happen. You could’ve cut the tension with a knife.
Rachel began laying out the plan for our segment, but Billy interrupted her, pointing at his chest with his right thumb and saying, “I’m sitting next to Conan.”
Without hesitation, Rachel fired back, “No, Sully’s sitting next to Conan.” So began the test of wills. I watched with amusement as the two of them battled like that, back and forth, for the next few minutes. Rachel wasn’t giving any ground, so Billy finally played his trump card: he started putting his stuff back in his satchel like he was packing up, taking his ball, and going home. It was a bluff and I knew it. There was no way that Billy, who adored the limelight, was going to let me, his second banana, go on with Conan alone.
I understood why the producers chose to seat us this way, even if Billy didn’t. They worried that with our healthy egos and Billy’s louder-than-a-747 voice, we would shout over each other and turn the interview into chaos. If Billy sat next to Conan, they figured I would disappear entirely. They thought that if they put me between Billy and Conan, I’d have a fighting chance. What the producers didn’t realize was that Billy and I were professionals. Over our two decades together we had become a well-oiled interview machine. We had our shtick down, and once cameras were rolling we knew how to handle each other.
When I realized that I was going to get the top seat, I turned my head to keep Billy from seeing my smile. Billy was pissed, and I wanted to stay out of the shit storm. But I was thinking, I got him… for once! My goals—my acceptable outcomes—for the evening, shifted instantly:
1. Don’t fuck it up.
2. Get my brand and notoriety more on a par with Billy’s.
3. Don’t let Billy murder me.
4. Be charming and celebrity-like.
Then came the second blow to the man who built the house of OxiClean: Rachel told us that I would walk out first. Billy stared at her for several long beats and then just shook his head. After she left, I said, “Billy, you told me you wanted this for me. Well, here’s my moment, and I’m taking it.” That, I’m certain, is when Billy hatched his plan.
Billy did want me to have everything he had—money, fame, opportunity—with one exception: he absolutely did not want me or anyone else to overshadow him, ever. We settled into an awkward silence in the green room as he started doing his makeup. Billy did his own makeup, ironed his own clothes, did everything himself. It was part of his process. We watched Lisa Kudrow’s interview and we knew Conan’s team had us up next because, as the executive producer of Pitchmen told us, we had become a “world-class comedy team.” We had the patter, the insults, and the laugh lines down to perfection. We would be doing a mock infomercial with a hundred products lined up on a table, and we didn’t know ahead of time which ones Conan would ask us about. We had to be ready with our key lines and one-liners, and we were. We knew how to win over even the toughest audience and we weren’t about to bomb on The Tonight Show.
Then Conan was done with Lisa and he threw to commercial. That’s when the usher came to escort us to the curtained entrance that led to the stage. We got there and Billy gave me his big, warm Billy smile, a huge grin that seemed to stretch from one side of his big bearded face to the other. We fist-bumped. Then we were ready to go on and I could feel my heart beating out of my chest.
Once you’re standing behind that curtain, you’re in the belly of the beast. You’re alone in the dark and can hear only the band. You see the images of bright lights through the curtain and feel the energy of the live audience. It’s enough to take your breath away. Just the people who had appeared before us took my breath away. Barack Obama had appeared three nights after Billy’s last appearance. We would share the stage with Elvis Costello, a rock legend in my house growing up. I couldn’t help but think, Holy shit, I’ve made it! I’m a lowly mop salesman from the boondocks of western England and I’m about to be on The Tonight Show with Elvis Costello.
The band wound down and we could hear Conan take over. Billy and I exchanged one more look. And that’s when it happened. Just as I heard “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome”—I felt a tremendous shove from behind and immediately thought, You asshole!—“Anthony Sullivan and Billy Mays!” All 250-pounds-plus of Pittsburgh brawler Billy had pushed me aside and stormed onto the stage in front of me. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it coming, but it was no shock that Billy had done it. There was simply no way he was going to let me steal his thunder. I had to hand it to him. He knew exactly when to strike so that no one, including Conan, his staff, or me, could do anything about it. It was masterful timing.
The move actually put me in flight-or-fight mode. Being body-checked by a former football player just as you’re about to go on national TV will do that. All my pre-show jitters evaporated. I smiled at Billy’s back and thought, Good one as we made our way across the stage to meet Conan. Then I saw Billy eye the seat next to Conan: the hot seat!
Oh no, I thought, he’s going for it. Billy wanted that seat. I saw him hesitate for half a beat, and I was sure he was going to keep up his silverback gorilla act. He is going to hijack the seat next to Conan and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him! My heart sank a bit but it also felt inevitable. But then at the last second, he veered left. Maybe he felt taking that seat would’ve been one bridge too far, or he was just messing with my head all along. I don’t know.
All I do know is that Billy took his seat next to Lisa Kudrow, I sat down next to Conan, and we all settled in for the segment. Things went smoothly, we were our usual funny, horseplaying selves, and it was brilliant.
The thing is, even if Billy had taken the hot seat and I’d been stuck in the role of sidekick again, it would’ve been okay, because I had more than one outcome in mind for the day. The best outcome was what happened: I wound up in the star’s chair next to Conan and got a boost for my brand and career. But if Billy had in fact pirated the right-hand seat and pushed me to the side man’s spot, I still would’ve been on The Tonight Show and Pitchmen still would’ve received fantastic press. Even if the appearance hadn’t gone well, I had a third outcome in mind: don’t fuck it up. As long as I kept my cool and sense of humor, I would still have benefitted from the national exposure.
That kind of thinking is reflected in this Pitch Power.
What are your goals for the situation where you’re bringing your superpowers to bear? Do you know what you want to accomplish before you step into the office for the job interview? Before you sidle over to the bar to charm the attractive stranger? Before you walk to the podium to deliver a speech to your shareholders? And do you know how you’ll react if one or more of those options is taken off the table?
Experience from English markets to US national TV has taught me that few things go according to plan. It’s also taught me that the people who come out on top when things go sideways are the ones who don’t have to get everything they want, just some of it. In other words, pitching stars don’t let perfect get in the way of good.
Here’s how.
I’ve started the book with this Pitch Power because it should be the first thing you look at when you’re thinking about how to persuade someone to give you what you want. Before you research and prepare and learn about what the other guy wants, know what you want. Know everything that can come of the opportunity that you can consider a win. Each of those is an acceptable outcome.
True, some outcomes are more acceptable than others. You want to land the job, not get the cold comfort of being a finalist. But sometimes you won’t get your first-tier outcome, and a lot of times it won’t be because of anything you did or didn’t do. If you’re focused only on your first-choice goal, you could blow a solid secondary opportunity while you’re busy being disappointed and pissed off. I’ve learned that there are few situations where you can’t extract something of value—as long as you’re prepared to do it ahead of time.
Using this Pitch Power involves a simple three-step process:
Step 1: Ask “What are my acceptable outcomes?” You saw that one coming, I know. But it’s essential. What do you want to get from this encounter, date, speech, or sales meeting? What’s the best outcome? Second best? Third best? Is there a second or third? Now and then, it’s win or go home.
Let’s take an easy example. Say you’re knocking back a helping of Dutch courage before going over to speak to the lovely young woman seated alone at a corner table in a nightclub. She’s already sent three stallions packing tonight, so you’re nervous. But before you walk over, you sort through acceptable outcomes (or AOs):
a. Getting her number? Definitely. This is AO #1. We call this the jackpot outcome.
b. Getting your face slapped? No (unless you’re into that sort of thing).
c. Having her agree to meet you here again later in the week? Sure. This is AO #2, the runner-up outcome.
d. Having a nice conversation and working on your game even though she’s not interested? Yeah, that’s not the worst thing that could happen. This is AO #3, the honorable mention outcome.
e. Getting your face punched by her boyfriend? That is the worst thing that could happen. Let’s not go there.
So now you know what you’re after, and having these outcomes in mind leads right to the next step:
Step 2: What do you need to do to reach each outcome? This is where locking in your AOs is such a smart move. If the object of your affection says, “I never give my number to guys in bars,” most guys will wilt and slink away like kicked dogs. Not you. You have AO #2, and you say something like “That’s all right, how about if we chat for a few minutes?” Odds are decent that you’ll get a yes.
This step is about mapping out your responses should something come between you and each goal. It’s a really simple formula:
a. Go for AO #1.
b. If blocked, ask, “Is AO #1 salvageable?”
c. If yes, switch tactics and keep trying.
d. If not, go to AO #2.
e. Et cetera.
If I take my date into a popular restaurant and they say they don’t have a table, maybe I’ll say that it’s my girlfriend’s birthday and I was planning on treating her to a $200 bottle of wine, or pull out an American Express Black Card. There’s always a table somewhere, maybe reserved in case someone important shows up. Well, that’s me. I just need to refuse to take no for an answer. If there really isn’t a table to be had, what about a seat in the bar? Is that an acceptable outcome? Can I get a rain check and a voucher for a free bottle of wine when I come back? That’s acceptable to me.
Step 3: How will I make the most of each outcome? Let’s say my date and I end up in the bar, eating at a hightop table. Okay, I’m going to make that bar the spot to be in that restaurant, so that every guest hears how much fun we’re having and wants to be where we are. I’ll buy a round for the house, tip the bartender to let me go behind the bar and mix drinks, and maybe start doing a fake pitch of a Magic Martini Shaker or something. I have fun, make some friends, and let the restaurant manager know that next time, he needs to find me a table.
Every so often, there won’t be a second acceptable outcome. Skydiving, for instance. I’m kidding. But seriously, when you’re going after your dream job, not getting it but knowing that you made some great contacts is like being told “Great game” after you just struck out with the bases loaded in the last inning of the World Series. Sometimes the classic line is true: second place really means the first loser.
It’s okay if you don’t always have a backup outcome. Sometimes you’re in a “go big or go home” situation, and that’s cool. Give it everything you have and don’t be ashamed of feeling angry or hurt if things don’t work out. That happens to everyone. Sometimes it’s enough to know you bled for what you wanted and left everything on the field.
This Pitch Power helps you extract the most value from any situation where you’re trying to persuade someone, but it has another benefit that might be even bigger. When you’re not completely attached to your jackpot outcome, you’re less worried about results, so you’re more relaxed. Being relaxed makes everything, from sports to sex, easier. When it’s not life or death that you get the client, you’re free to focus on doing your best and just “grip it and rip it.”
I can’t think of a better example of this than Donald Trump. I can’t read his mind and know what he was thinking when he decided to run for president, but I’d guess his thought process went something like this: I probably won’t win, but the worst thing that could happen is that I gain huge national publicity for my brand and my companies, so I make more money. If I win, even better!
Of course, he did win, and I think he won in large part because of that “screw the outcome” attitude. In the beginning, he obviously didn’t care. He was out to say what he wanted and have fun, outcome be damned, and that made his campaign fun to watch even when he was imploding. Trump was never boring, unlike every other Republican candidate. He called people out more than once and it was entertaining.
At the time, I thought, There’s no way the Donald is going to get away with this. But he did, because he didn’t care about what anybody thought and he didn’t care about the outcome. That freed him to be the opposite of politically correct at a time when conservative voters were furious about political correctness. You felt like at any time, Trump could’ve said, “You know, I’ve decided I don’t want to continue my campaign. I’m going to focus on making America great again by building golf courses. Thank you.” He would have stepped back after getting about a billion dollars in free publicity and gone back to his empire.
If you’ve spent your life white-knuckling outcomes in job interviews, sales meetings, or the dating scene, you’ve probably been limiting yourself and your results. It’s human nature: when you obsess over an outcome, you act out of the fear that you won’t get it. You don’t act like a superhero. You’re not aggressive or confident. You don’t take smart risks. You play not to lose, and that’s a great way to lose. Nobody punches above their weight in the dating scene, commission sales, or employment by going in afraid of failing.
Now, imagine if you had three or even four possible outcomes of a situation that were positive. Sure, you’d still love to hit the jackpot, but the world won’t end if you don’t. You can loosen up and play to win: gamble with bold statements or big promises, walk in super confident, tell jokes, or drop an f-bomb—whatever you need to do to own the room and control the tempo. Who knows? You might become president.
When I talk about this Pitch Power, one of the objections I hear is that I’m teaching people to plan on failing when they pitch. Totally not true. Like I just said, knowing your acceptable outcomes is an antidote for failure because it expands your definition of success and takes away your fear. However, in some people’s minds, the only legitimate version of success is one where you’re crushing the world under the heel of your boot. They feel like admitting the possibility of failure is the same as failing.
It’s not. That’s self-help, motivational speaker propaganda. In the grown-up world, things don’t always go your way. You don’t always get the account. A wise pitching hero admits that sometimes, despite all your hard work, preparation, and ability, the decision does not come down in your favor. If you stick with an inflexible “win it all or take my ball and go home” approach, you’re going to miss out on a lot of opportunities.
In a way, this is the old “expect the best but prepare for the worst” strategy:
• Do the work and bring your “A” game every time.
• Have additional AOs in mind in case you don’t get what you want.
• Treat them as insurance. Even if things don’t go perfectly, you have alternate means to extract value from the situation.
• You’re protected, so go all out, be yourself, and don’t worry about the result.
This is an odd example, but it works. Last year, I went to Burning Man for the first time. It was something I’d always wanted to do. But when I got dropped off at my camp in Black Rock in this sick, Mad Max–esque car called the Valyrian Steel (google it; it’s insane), I was intimidated. Yeah, me. Mr. Pitchman, the Persuader. The camp had been going for three days and there were forty or fifty people there. I felt pretty out of place, but going in I had several acceptable outcomes:
1. Make lifelong friends and have an incredible time. This was my jackpot AO.
2. Meet some cool people and have an incredible time.
3. Not really meet anyone but have some awesome downtime from work.
None of those outcomes are bad, and the last was totally in my control. Even if I didn’t hit it off with the people in camp and fellow Burners, I could still chill, relax, and have experiences. So I had nothing to lose. I walked into the camp and everyone was looking at me, so I went, “Hey everyone, I’m Sully!” and just stood there like an idiot. Everyone shouted, “Hi, Sully!” because that’s the etiquette. Then someone came up and hugged me and said, “Welcome home,” because everyone does that. Then (because I didn’t already feel like a tool), I said, “Does anyone know where my RV is?”
Well, within five minutes I had two new friends, Niko and Ursula, and we were making drinks and meeting people and telling stories. I had an incredible time, in part because I went into the encounter with no fear about the outcome. No matter what happened, it would be good.
You don’t need to go to Burning Man for this Pitch Power to save the day.
• Negotiation. This is the perfect match of Pitch Power and scenario. Whether you’re negotiating for a car, a sales contract, or a book deal, having multiple AOs means you can be flexible, think on your feet, and outmaneuver the other party.
• Any service situation. Whether you’re after a hotel room upgrade or a first-class airline seat, sometimes you won’t get your first choice. So have a backup. Can’t get moved to a suite? Fine. What about a free breakfast or massage instead? No first-class seats available? All right. What about a bulkhead seat in economy so you have more legroom, or, if you have time, a first-class bump on a later flight? Don’t walk away without getting something.
• Selling. The only thing people despise more than being sold to is a salesperson who won’t take no for an answer. The solution is to play the long game. If you can’t get the sale today, what can you get? If you’re building a relationship (which, if you’re a sales superhero, is what you should be doing), then maybe a second meeting would be an acceptable outcome. What about the prospect agreeing to let you send a written report on how you can solve his problems? What about a game of golf, no strings attached? You both know your long-term goal is to get the signature, so don’t be clever. Go for the AO and build trust.
Scott Fairchild’s living depends on having a lot of acceptable outcomes. He’s a sports agent, representing world-class endurance athletes like triathlon legend and two-time Ironman world champion Chris “Macca” McCormack. And when he goes in to make a deal, he’s been known to have as many as ten possible scenarios in his back pocket.
“My client might be the athlete, the event or the sponsor,” he says. “I have to have multiple objectives in mind. First, you have to know what your goals are, what you’ll accept. I’m the middleman, so I have to ask Macca or whoever, ‘What will you take?’ Then I have my scenarios. It can get complicated, because if I’m negotiating a sponsorship deal, there are a lot of ways my client can be compensated: salary, product, bonuses, years in the deal, exposure. I have to weigh all of that, plus the status of the athlete. Is he up and coming, in his prime, or heading for retirement?”
Scott cut his teeth working for Callaway golf, and he has a piece of advice that I really like. “Always say yes,” he continues. “I might come in and say, ‘We want four years for $1 million each,’ and they might come back with, ‘One year for $500,000,’ but if I just say no and walk away, it’s over. Always start with yes. I might say, ‘Yes, we’ll do that, but…’ And then I’ll propose that if my athlete wins X races, we get a $2 million bonus. I’ve got the if-then options memorized and we go back and forth until we get the deal done.”
Scott has one more tip: aim high. “Always start higher in what you’re asking for so you have room to come down,” he says. “I always shoot high, and the people on the other side know my first number isn’t what I expect to get. That’s the game—and it is a game.”
Naturally, no matter what you do, there will be times when every acceptable outcome falls off the table and you’re left with nothing. Technically, these are called shit storms. In all seriousness, this kind of thing doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, it’s enough to shake the confidence of even a seasoned pitching champion. How do you handle it when you can’t see a path to getting anything you want?
First, don’t panic. Desperation never plays, and freaking out in an attempt to walk away with something—anything—will just lead you to make reckless offers and bad decisions. Look at the failure of all your AOs as a clear indicator that the opportunity, whatever it is, was a poor fit from the start.
Second, you can always salvage your dignity and professionalism no matter what happens. Even if the other party was uncooperative or hostile, you take the high road. Keep your cool, be gracious and polite, decline any offers that you find demeaning, and make your exit. Don’t help the other party save face or avoid feeling guilty; that’s not your problem.
Finally, if the situation is such a poor fit that you can’t salvage anything, then maybe not hitting any of your goals is a blessing in disguise. If you really want a job, but at your interview you find out that your personality is a terrible fit for the company’s culture, why would you want to work there? You’d be miserable.
It’s rare to find a pitching scenario where you can’t walk away with something worthwhile, like a key contact, a second appointment, or a referral. But it happens and it’ll happen to you. When it does, don’t be afraid to pull the ripcord. Remember, the opportunities that don’t work out just clear space for the ones that will.
Learning to consider your AOs is relatively easy, because you just need to take some time before you enter the pitching arena and think about what you want. What’s your ideal outcome? What would be okay if that didn’t work out? If that runner-up fell through, is there a third option that could make the time pay off?
It’s also smart to think about (a) possible obstacles and (b) your responses to those obstacles. For example, let’s say you’re shopping for a car and getting ready to pitch the salesman.
• Possible obstacle: the salesman trots out the old “What kind of payment are you looking for?” line.
• Response: “I’m not looking for a payment. I’m looking for a 3-Series at this price. Can we do that?”
• Possible obstacle: The salesman makes it clear the dealership cannot sell you the car according to the terms you want.
• Response: AO #3. You say thank you and go somewhere else. Don’t waste any more time dickering.
• Possible obstacle: You agree to let the dealer’s internal finance company compete for your loan but their terms stink.
• Response: You’ve already got approval from another lender and have the info on your phone. You say, “Give me the price I want and your finance company is not an issue.”
Plan on what you will do under pressure. There’s nothing more powerful than standing firm on your price or terms in any situation, whether it’s a price on a car or a salary. What’s your floor and are you ready to defend it? Have everything planned out, including the point at which you walk away. And forget memorization; put notes on your phone. Everybody looks at their phone constantly these days, so no one will think twice if you glance at your cheat sheet. That way, you’ll be ready to pitch for the best possible outcome.
SCENARIOS FOR USING THE “KNOW YOUR ACCEPTABLE OUTCOMES” PITCH POWER
Q: Your refusal to budge from a price or terms provokes the other party to become hostile. Do you react, sit silently, or leave?
A: You wait, stay cool, and be the ball. That’s a reaction to not being the one with the power, and if you wait, he or she will cool off and you can get back to business. Now you’re in a position to say, “Okay, I really want to do this deal, so what if we did this…?” And you turn to your next acceptable outcome.
Q: You’re negotiating in a field where you have little or no experience. Time to call on a good sidekick, like an attorney or agent?
Q: You’ve been thrown into a pitching opportunity with no time to plan or determine acceptable outcomes. Wing it and trust your X-ray vision to perceive the AOs, or just swing for the fences (and mix some metaphors)?
A: This is a time to follow Scott Fairchild’s advice about always saying, “Yes, but…” Be affirmative about wanting to do a deal, but aim high. Hesitation or appearing not to know your own value in situations like sales or salary negotiations will kill you. So do both: swing for the homer (aim high with your first request) but be ready to improvise a “yes, but” counteroffer when they push back, which they will.