Governor Mark Sanford may be back on US soil, but clearly he left his sanity behind in Argentina. The other conspicuous absence at today’s news conference was his wife.  Good call Mrs. Sanford.   In what was a truly bizarre and poorly executed news conference, Sanford choked back tears. Only he knows whether they were for his shattered family or his dashed White House hopes.

From the first few words, you knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.  Sanford verbally stumbled and bumbled his way out of the gate (note to self: prepared opening remarks serve a purpose), claiming that he was going to tackle this in “no particular order.”  In fact, a little structure might have minimized the appearance that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.   The whole tawdry thing started rambling when he talked about “God’s Law,” and how “the biggest self of self is self,” whatever the heck that means.  In fact there was a good solid 90 seconds in which he was making no sense at all.

The governor is clearly not a wordsmith.  Disregarding the 200-or-so “um’s” and uh’s,” his word selection was terrible, calling his responsibilities back home to his family “fidcuiary.”   He characterized the escalation of his extramarital affair as “that whole sparking thing,”  and the conversation about his future with the other woman as going “into serious overdrive to figure out where we go from here.”  He favored characterizing everything as if it belonged in a zone: “the zone of privacy” he wanted the media to observe around his family.  There was a “zone of politics” and a “zone of protectiveness.”  The whole appearance belonged in “The Twilight Zone.”

The staging was awful, with the embattled Governor standing inside a tight scrum of reporters, one of whom was flashing the most inappropriate ear-to-ear grin behind his right shoulder throughout the entire event.  She was probably sharing a joke with a colleague, but it looked as though she was delighting in his demise.  Sanford handled the Q&A horribly, letting it get completely out of control.  There was no preset order to questions, so he was frantically looking from side to side as several reporters shouted at him at once.  He came completely unraveled under direct questioning, ultimately leaving abruptly before answering a question.

It’s hard to believe that a politician of his caliber would get up to the podium at such a crucial moment and wing it.  But that’s exactly what he did, and it showed.

Did he tie some bed sheets together and lower them out his bedroom window late one night?  Or perhaps he put on a clever disguise and walked right out the front door of the State Capitol undetected.  Whatever South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford did, he sure did manage to give his security detail the slip.  But when you’re a member of the most exclusive political club in America, you can only vanish for so long.

The Governor’s staff explained his disappearance by telling reporters that Sanford went hiking on the Appalachian Trail, a head-clearing, stress-busting activity that harkens back to his high school days.  But apparently, “at the last minute” he decided to go to Argentina instead for something “exotic.”  Presumably Buenos Aires does NOT harken back to his childhood.

From a communications standpoint, here’s what I can’t figure out.  In this age of instant global communication, why did Sanford and his staff tell different stories?  It seems so simple:  

(ring, ring)

CHIEF OF STAFF: “Hello Governor?  Things are getting a little busy back here in S.C…. what part of the Appalachian Trail are you on and do you have any idea when your nature walk will be wrapped up?”

SANFORD:  ”Well actually I took a little detour.  Right now I’m in Argentina.”

CHIEF OF STAFF: “Argentina?  I told the media you were hiking!”

SANFORD:  ”Well then, I’ll be sure to get in some hiking so you’re technically telling the truth.  But stick with the Appalachian Trail story.  I’ll be back in a few days.  I haven’t quite gotten my fill of exotic yet.”

What kind of numbskulls are running South Carolina that they couldn’t see this crisis communications storm swelling over the horizon?  If they can’t successfully manage a few days of R&R for the big guy, imagine the fiasco that will ensue during hurricane season if one slams into their coast.

This is textbook stuff - political communications 101 material.  Be on the same page.  Get your stories straight.  Tell the truth - it’s non-negotiable.  And for goodness sakes, stop being such an impatient child. There’ll be plenty of time for “exotic” after you leave the Governor’s Mansion, which now may come much sooner than originally planned.

Deep down, I know that thoughts of John Edwards’ implosion should not be occupying me while I’m on vacation.  But so spectacularly stupid was his handling of this fiasco, that it makes me suspect his $400 haircuts were taking off more than “a little on the sides.”  The part of his brain that controls sound judgment clearly wound up on the hair salon floor as well.

First of all, Edwards seemingly has broken the #1 rule media trainers dispense (or at least should) at the beginning of every session:  The truth is non-negotiable.  Now, that doesn’t mean you have to ring out your soul like a sponge of every unsavory detail on national TV.  It does mean that the main “takeaways” from the interview have to be built on a foundation of truth.  To claim that his intimate encounter with Rielle Hunter was a “one-time thing,” smacks of the kind of idiotic brainstorming that must go on in these crisis comm strategy sessions.  Just for the sheer entertainment value,  wouldn’t you love to have a seat at that table?  Those are the sessions where bunker mentality sets in and an entirely new web of deceit is created to minimize the damage caused by their man getting tangled in his previous web.  This is not math here fellas - multiplying two negatives will not bring you a positive.  Some of what these public image czars hatch is downright comical. For instance, to have Edwards say he’s been “99% honest” reminds me of the Elaine character from Seinfeld insisting in a job interview that she had “a little bit of grace.”  To me, honesty and grace are the same type of quality, you either have it or you don’t.

As for his offer to submit to a DNA test- how disingenuous can you get? Apparently Edwards is so inwardly obsessed that he can’t see what fools he’s taking his audience for - a violation of another basic tenet of communications coaching: don’t assume your audience is a bunch of naive idiots    Who out there doesn’t at least strongly suspect that Hunter’s “arrangement” with the Edwards camp doesn’t include an agreement not to play out this ordeal in a genetic court of law?  Edwards is a skilled trial lawyer.  The first rule of litigation is not to ask a question to which you don’t already know the witness’ answer.  It would stand to reason that Edwards would not offer to submit to a paternity test unless he already knew that the other party would absolutely refuse to participate.

But the smarmiest is still to come.  What genius thought to try to minimize the tackiness of Edwards’ infidelity by insisting it occurred while his wife’s cancer was in remission?  Maureen Dowd expressed her incredulity over this brilliantly when she wrote that Edwards’ was trying to characterize his philandering as  ”oncologically correct.”  This kind of qualified mea culpa leaves the viewer with a somewhat queasy feeling.  If you’re going to own up to a failure of character, take full responsibility without any excuses.  Trying to soften the blow in some desperate attempt to salvage a career in which having the public’s trust is essential is not only narcissistic…. it’s pathetic.  Face it.  Edwards is done.    

I was most intrigued to read Andrew Martin’s article this past weekend in The New York Times Business Section on Whole Foods, entitled, “A Fresh Image in Lean Times.”  The piece looked at how the company’s once-meteoric growth has given way, in these tough economic times, to an image problem.  Whole Foods is now saddled with a growing consumer perception that shoppers are about as likely to find bargain items in their stores as cans of Spam and Cheez Whiz.  

Clearly Whole Foods cooperated with the reporting of the piece, making available one of the company’s co-presidents, as well as a store manager who was providing tours to shoppers to enlighten them on ways not to drop their “Whole Paycheck” for a week’s worth of groceries.  I’m sure both spoke with Andrew Martin at length, providing numerous facts and data to support their claim that shopping at Whole Foods and staying on a tighter grocery budget are not mutually exclusive.  Like any exchange with a journalist, there are no guarantees that the quotes you want to see in print will make it into the final piece.  In media training we constantly work on transforming a client’s most important points into quotes and sound bites that are too good for a reporter to pass up.  But in this piece, what proved irresistible to The Times reporter were two off-message remarks.  The Whole Foods interviewees made two critical errors that sealed their fate and ensured that what ended up in print was exactly what they didn’t want to see published.

During the tour of the store, Whole Foods rep Shawn Hebb held up a $1.99 package of tofu and said, “It looks gross but it’s delicious.”  If you’re in the food industry, “gross” is one of those words that should never cross your lips, just like someone marketing shampoo should never utter “greasy” or “stringy.” Those pejorative terms conjure up images that are better left unimagined.  Perhaps he didn’t realize that he needed to be pitch perfect from start to finish with the reporter tagging along on the tour. But that’s what makes hosting a print reporter so challenging.  There may be no reporter’s notebook visible or micro-cassette tape rolling, but a good reporter is always mentally recording what you say.   From the moment you shake their hand hello to the moment you shake it goodbye, everything you say is fair game.

Then it was co-president Walter Robb’s turn to provide the wrong kind of quote.  This one broke the old Henry Ford philosophy of “don’t complain and don’t explain.”   When asked about the popularity of the nickname “Whole Paycheck,” Robb responded with, “I’m getting a little tired of that tag around our neck….” Oh stop it!   Nobody wants to hear your self-pitying whining.  That kind of bellyaching just makes an executive sound like a sore loser and reinforces that he’s struggling with getting knocked off his pedestal. What he should have said was something more along the lines of: “We’re well aware of that label, and even though it’s not an accurate one, our job is to prove that Whole Foods is where you can find the very best quality and have it work within your budget.” 

If the mission for Whole Foods in agreeing to be interviewed was to reverse the perception that their extravagance is beyond the means of the average shopper, they fell far short of their goal.  Instead, they offered up two quotes that did more harm than good.  

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.