It’s now officially duck and cover time for the GOP.  Failing to CYA could mean getting slimed with a good dose of the blame that’s getting liberally hurled in these final days.  Sarah Palin’s dreams of West Wing privilege quite possibly have been replaced by worry over how much collateral damage her political future will suffer if the Democrats pull off a landslide.  Speculation is running rampant that the white guys with neckties will close ranks and drop the blame for failure at Caribou Barbie’s doorstep, like an ignited back of you-know-what on Halloween.  But if we’ve learned anything about the Alaskan governor over the past seven weeks (besides the fact that she needed a lot more time than she had to cram for this exam) it’s that she’s shrewd and ruthlessly ambitious - qualities taught in beauty pageant training I’m sure.  That’s what increases the likelihood that Sarah Palin’s next job will be hosting a prime time show on Fox News.  

C’mon, it makes perfect sense.  Fox get what it wants, a foaming-at-the-mouth neocon who looks great in Valentino and Blahniks (which you’ll have full view of thanks to a clear, lucite anchor desk) and Palin gets a pulpit for the next four years from which to slowly remove the stain she’s acquired.  In short, she gets to be Katie Couric instead of Sarah Palin.  Fox is already measuring for the window treatments to go in her corner office because she has the perfect credentials: national notoriety (thanks to The Maverick’s reckless roll of the dice), on-air experience (she was a sports reporter after all) and the ability to wink at the judges….uh… I mean the camera with the best of them.

This will be the opposite path Reagan and Schwartzenegger took - Hollywood first, governor’s mansion second.  I can already see the promos - “The O’Reilly Factor at 8pm followed by the premiere of The Palin Principle at 9pm.”  Go ahead, laugh.  But four years from now after she’s finished her first debate with incumbent Barack Obama, she’ll exit the stage and slide right into her anchor chair to host her own post-debate analysis show.  Don’t think the idea hasn’t crossed their minds.

Tom Coughlin has a bone to pick with Leo Durocher.  

Coughlin, the head coach of the New York Giants, should have been wildly successful in New York if Durocher’s famous “Nice Guys Finish Last” philosophy had any merit.  But Coughlin had the worst of both worlds: he was perceived by most as a grumpy old stickler for discipline and military-like order,  AND his team was quickly turning into perennial underachievers - a brutal combo in this town, where impatient fans like to chew up and spit out head coaches when they don’t bring home Vince Lombardi Trophies every now and then.   Incurring the wrath of the fans is one thing, but Coughlin wasn’t winning any popularity contests with his players either.  Many of them viewed their head coach as a humorless drill sargeant who imposed gratuitously strict team rules punishable with stiff fines.  

Give Tom credit.  He acknowledged that if he maintained the status quo his days in New York would be numbered.  Just about everyone in the organization urged him to soften his ways, from the Mara’s and Tisch’s (franchise owners) on down.  The implication was pretty obvious: you change as a head coach, or we’ll change head coaches.  No more twisted grimaces from the sidelines or screaming at players coming off the field fresh from a blunder.  No more hostile combative exchanges with the media, who didn’t have to work very hard at getting under Tom’s skin to the point where he would show it.

So Coughlin embarked on a quest more challenging than a 3rd and 25 deep in your own end: he decided to change his personality.  Part of that process involved a session with yours truly.  In May of 2007 I huddled with Coughlin deep within Giants Stadium in a room where players study game films.  The man I worked with that day was a class act, a real gentleman, who through his own fault was coming across as anything but.  Coughlin’s biggest character flaw was that he didn’t suffer fools gladly, so if you acted like a jerk or buffoon he wasn’t shy about letting you know it.  When that dynamic exists with a member of the media it usually makes for unfavorable press. 

Granted, Coughlin’s media coaching session with me was just one piece of the puzzle, but by training camp in July article’s started springing up in the papers about Coughlin’s softer side.  Gone was his adversarial tone with reporters and they rewarded him with some genuinely positive pieces.  The rest, as they say, is history.  Coughlin led his team to a magical championship season against steep odds.  He has now written a book about how a positive mindset and key adjustments in one’s management style can create more effective leadership.  I’m not sure if I’m mentioned in the book - it doesn’t really matter.  My advice to him was so basic it’s almost embarrassing: the media sometimes can act like a swarm of flies, so stock up on the honey and chuck the vinegar.

What a farewell it was to Yankee Stadium Sunday night.  I feel very fortunate to have been there.  Except for the fact that Joe Torre’s name was not among the dozens of ex-Yankees mentioned as key historical figures, it was a well-choreographed night.  But not surprisingly, the most memorable moment was seemingly more impromptu.  Spontaneity, or the appearance of it, is always connects with us on a deeper level.

After the end of the game, Derek Jeter showed why he’s the captain and heart and soul of this team.  He took the microphone and addressed the crowd.  

Jeter Addresses Fans

He didn’t read from prepared remarks.  He didn’t make it all about him.  He made it all about the fans.  He turned his eloquent, yet conversational remarks into a tribute to all of us in the stands whom he described as “the greatest fans in the world.”  He credited all of us with being the crucial component in transforming a mere building into a legendary cathedral of baseball.

Professionals from every industry can learn a lot from his speech.

• It was concise and to the point (leaving you wanting more)
• It was not self-serving or inwardly focused.  He made it about his audience
• It was well planned and well thought out but not scripted
• It was from the heart and made every fan there feel as if he was speaking directly to them
• It was frank and honest yet optimistic
• It contained an inspirational call to action (”hand these memories down to the next generation.”)

The Major League Baseball All-Star Game is a treasure trove of amazing and emotional moments.  The only downside is that virtually all of them are scripted: A feeble George Steinbrenner transported via golf cart to the center of the field during opening ceremonies, Hall of Fame legends giving pep talks to current players in the locker rooms, and the incongruous image of peacenik Cheryl Crow singing the final few lines of the Star Spangled Banner while an ever-so-ominous B-2 Bomber flew over Yankee Stadium.  I’m not really sure what multi billion dollar birds of prey from the Pentagon have to do with our national pastime, but that discussion is for another time.

The moment that will stay with me for many years to come (as I sat there with my 15 year old son soaking in every drop from this extravaganza) was completely unplanned.  The fact that it is now forever emblazened in my consciousness is not good news for Boston Red Sox pitcher Jonathan Papelbon.  The unforgettable nature of the moment is also testament to the power of a controversial public comment made on the biggest of stages.  

The day before the game, Papelbon told the media that if the game was close, and the American League was leading in the 9th inning, he would expect to be the pitcher (known as a closer) called in to save the game.  Papelbon is an excellent closer, there’s no denying that.  But by saying that, he insinuated (rather overtly) that he is a better relief pitcher than the Yankees’ Mariano Rivera, who is undeniably the greatest closer in the history of baseball.  That’s probably not the smartest claim to make in New York City, where more than a few shrines have been built to pay homage to the great Mariano.  Yankee fans are insanely protective of their legends, as Papelbon would soon discover.

So sure enough, the game is close with the AL leading in the 8th.  In comes Papelbon (presumably the manager is saving Mariano for the more prestigious job of closing in the 9th).  Now I’ve been going to Yankee Stadium since I was eight years old, and never have I heard booing rain down on a player like I did that night.   When it came time for Papelbon to throw his first pitch, 55,000+ fans suddenly started chanting in perfect unison “M-A-R-I-A-N-O.”   When the crowd felt it was time to change it up, they started chanting “O-V-E-R-R-A-T-E-D.”  

Papelbon has learned two very tough lessons that are always covered in media training.  The bigger the stage, the more cautious you need to be with your remarks.  When the media covers an event that has little spontaneity (Super Bowl, political conventions, etc.) they’re looking to create a story out of the thinnest of openings.  Papelbon cracked open the door of controversy and the sports writers kicked it in.  The other lesson deals with brevity.  Papelbon’s ill-advised remark came towards the tail end of a lengthy Q & A sessions with reporters.  In media training there’s a very simple principle: the longer you talk, the more trouble you’re likely to get into.  In this instance, it was Papelbon who needed someone to come in and “save” him.

I can’t tell you how many times clients book me for a media training and ask that I put their trainee through a “Mike Wallace – 60 Minutes-style interview.”  I understand the rationale.  They want to make sure their people can hold up under the most aggressive grilling in a hostile environment.  They want reassurance that if they’re cast as “The Black Hat” in a classic TV confrontation, that they will emerge with their public image still intact.  If they do decide to wander into this media minefield, my job as their media trainer is to show them the map, where not to step to avoid imploding.  Chances are, though, most of us will never find ourselves sitting in that type of hot seat across from a crusading journalist.

Truth is, there’s a far more dangerous and common scenario lurking out there than the frothing-at-the-mouth, pit-bull reporter.  Much more perilous is the disarming journalist with the calming and reassuring social skills and empathetic tone.  The really good reporters are charming and establish a connection with you.  They do not discredit your position; in fact, they may even voice the various ways in which they agree with you. Skilled reporters can make you feel important, interesting, even well-liked and, in return, you reward them with your trust. It’s basic human nature to share more of what you shouldn’t be sharing with someone you feel is on your side.  But beware!  This could be a trap.  Two different public figures have the recent scars to prove my point.

Recently, Bill Clinton was red-in-the-face furious over Todd Purdum’s article about him in Vanity Fair, a piece that questioned the former president’s judgment and the personal company he keeps.  Had he stayed on message, Mr. Clinton would have focused on the outrageous unfairness of the story, the complete lack of attributable sources and how deeply upsetting he found the inaccuracies.  He could have turned the dialogue back where it needed to be (yes, that would be Hillary’s last-ditch effort to stay in the race) by boldly insinuating that the timing of the article seemed to serve as a distraction from the real story of Hillary pushing to the finish line stronger than Obama.  But that’s not what happened.  Along came a journalist with a sympathetic ear and Bubba took the bait.  The unidentified reporter asked for his thoughts on the “hatchet job” story.  Emboldened, Bill, sensing a kindred spirit, proceeded to call Purdum “sleazy,” “slimy” and “dishonest,” characterizations he later had to admit were inappropriate and regretful.  It wasn’t exactly the best moment for the Clintons to be back on their heels.

As I tell my clients, reporters are not your friends.  They are there to do a job and giving you carte blanche to regurgitate your scripted key messages is not their idea of a story.  Getting you off-message… now, there’s fertile ground for a story.  Just because there’s not a reporter’s notebook or video camera in plain sight doesn’t mean you can get careless and chummy.  My experience as both a reporter and a media trainer has taught me a very simple equation:  The more you like the reporter, the more careless you’re likely to be.

Willie Randolph, the former manager of the New York Mets might have been equally lax earlier this season when he told Ian O’Connor (a highly regarded sports reporter for The Record of Hackensack NJ that perhaps the negative scrutiny of his job performance by fans and the media was motivated by the fact that he is black.  This controversial, “off-message” remark dominated the back page headlines of New York newspapers for days and seemingly served as a distraction in the Mets clubhouse.  A meeting with team ownership followed.  It was acknowledged that Randolph’s suddenly questionable job security had more to do with his comments than his team’s poor on-field performance.  Within a month, he was fired.  What caused the slip?  Respected New York Times sports columnist Harvey Araton suspects that Randolph misled himself into “thinking out loud to someone he mistakenly believed was more supporter and friend than the excellent journalist… O’Connor… has long been.”

Yes, it’s good to prepare for all the possibilities: the ambush, the hatchet job, the sandbagging.  Those are all legitimate challenges.  But when you feel a chemistry and connection forming with a journalist you met for the first time less than an hour ago, remember this: You’re there to serve your purpose and make yourself happy with the outcome, not them.