While I was working my South Texas territory in the mid 90's, people at two different feed stores in San Antonio won the Texas Lottery. Damn my bad luck!!!!
The didn't know the first guy personally, but he worked at a feed mill I called on in San Antonio. He worked delivering feed to various farm stores in south and central Texas. Never really heard much about him or how things turned out for him, although he ended up settling in or around Seguin, Texas, which was where Susie and I lived after we were first married. I hear he plays a lot of golf. Poor guy...
The second person was the father of Windy Miller, one of my feed store customers. Windy and his business partner Dale, were two San Antonio policemen that owned a feed store called Vet Services, which was near down town San Antonio. It was a stones throw from the San Antonio Stockyards and at one time was probably a good account with all the cattle that were traded in San Antonio. But times changed and the stockyards closed in the mid 90's. The livestock products they sold soon turned to dog food, mouse bait and fire ant killer.
If you were a bad guy, you probably didn't want to cross Windy and Dale. Don't get me wrong, they were two of the most honest and fair guys I ever called on, but they had been cops for a few years and I think the feed store was an outlet for them to de-compress. Seems like they served in just about every facet of police work from patrol duty to SWAT. I think Dale told me once he had been shot during an altercation while on duty.
One day I walked in the store and an older man was behind the counter. I asked for Windy and he said that he was making a delivery and would be back shortly. We visited for a bit and eventually I figured out he was Windy's dad. I think he had retired from the power company in San Antonio and he was helping Windy out to have a little extra income. He was a great guy and was a real pleasure to visit with when I made my sales calls. A real down to earth person who also happened to be a rooster fighter. Kind of weird when I found out that was what he did in his spare time, especially since I had never met someone that dabbled in that kind of entertainment. More on that later....
When the Texas Lottery was first introduced to Texas, I think I bought one ticket, didn't get a single number, and immediately started looking for other ways to get rich quick.. A few of the stores I called on sold scratch off tickets and even the pick 6 type of tickets, but I never paid much attention to it. One day while I was working in San Antonio, a customer told me that the recent lottery winner was someone in San Antonio. In one ear and out the other. When I got home that evening, I started coding and pricing my orders at the kitchen table like I always do. The 6 o'clock news came on and they were interviewing the man that won the lottery. Still, I paid little attention to it until I heard the winner speak. The voice sounded very familiar and I poked my head around the corner and looked at the television. Holy crap!! The lottery winner being interviewed was Mr. Miller.
It took about 2 or 3 weeks for me to finally run into Mr Miller at the store. I visited with Windy a bit while his dad visited with a customer. Windy grinned and said to me, "Look at what's in dad's pocket". I looked over at Mr. Miller and saw a checkbook poking up out of his shirt pocket and I said to Windy, "A checkbook. Whats the big deal?". Windy laughed and said, "Dad's never carried anything but cash his whole life and that never amounted to more than 10 or 20 dollars!" After Mr Miller was through visiting with the customer he walked over with a big smile on his face and said "What's new Tim?" I laughed and asked him, "I know you've been asked this a million times since you won, but what are you going to do with all that money?". He got real serious-like and told me, "You know that me and the boys like to fight roosters, right? Well, I got to thinkin' that every time we go to out of town to the cock fights we have to spend a bunch of money on motel rooms and eaten' out for dinner. I think I'm going to go buy me a motor home. That way, we can all stay in the motor home and not have to spend all that money on motel rooms and food. The whole crew will eat and sleep in the motor home. It'll save us a fortune" This coming from a guy who had just won 15 million dollars, but wanted to save a few hundred. I kind of stared dumbfounded at him and told him that I thought that was a good idea. I knew right then that money was not going to change Mr Miller.
Windy kept the store for a few more years and Mr Miller left pretty soon after he won the lottery. Windy and I were talking one day and he told me how the money had changed his dad. Mr Miller got into the cow business and when he tried to do some cow trading or buy a tractor or even buy medicine for his cattle, most people's eyes got real big and saw a big payday coming. He couldn't even buy a good deal and literally had to go to the next county to buy anything. Retailers, tractor salesmen or cow traders knew who he was and tried at every chance to hang it in him and break it off. I think what happened was Mr. Miller didn't change, but everyone around him did. Windy told me that his dad had offered to pay for his grandson's college at Texas A&M, but he turned him down. I asked Windy if he had been drinkin' when he told his dad no, but Windy said something like, "I don't need my dad taking care of me. I'm a grown man." Pretty ballsy statement, but I respected Windy for it.
I haven't seen Mr. Miller in 10 or 12 years and I don't know how he's doing, good or bad. I saw Windy a few years ago at a feed store in Central Texas. He had retired from the police force and was selling feed for a local mill. I asked him how his dad was doing and he said he was doing fine. Mr Miller had received quite an education in finance and accounting over the years, but was finally settling in. He could actually buy a pickup at the Ford dealer like everyone else nowadays. We were about to part ways and head out to our next accounts and I stopped and hollered over at Windy, "Hey Windy! Did you ever change your mind and let your dad pay for your son's college?" Windy looked down at the ground, kicked the dust and said,"Hell yeah I did. What do you think I am? Crazy?"
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Great Ones Part 2
My new job in California has me taking over a territory that was once run by Dean Lane. Dean was one of the most respected animal health reps in the country. Can you say pressure.....
I first met Dean in the late 90's at the first Walco National Sales Meeting. I seem to remember he was representing Manna Pro, among others, at his booth. Ken Caffey gathered all the SunWest Desoto reps and told us we needed to hear what Dean had to say. We brought the line in and never looked back.
Since Dean was already living in California, I only saw him from time to time for the next several years. When I went into marketing with Walco in Jan 2002, I started having more contact with him and started to get to know him better. Dean was probably the most easy going, calm person I have ever known. If you pushed back on a product or line he was showing you, he never got flustered or grew impatient with you. He just looked for another angle to present the product to you. And he normally walked out with an order in his pocket.
When I moved to California in 2004, I started dealing with Dean quite a bit. He was living in Stockton at the time and when he made a trip to southern California, he always made sure to call or come by the warehouse in Fresno. I always looked forward to his visits because you could always learn something from him. I asked for a few above and beyond the call of duty favors from Dean and he always came through for us. He never held that over your head or made you feel like you needed to repay him. But you did so anyway....
When I was going through my moment of despair (pretty lame when I think of what Dean went through), Dean helped me find a job at VSI. He would never admit to it, but a friend of mine that worked for Dean, told me he said, "Tim is good for this industry and we need to keep him in it." That is about as good as it gets. After a tradeshow while I was at VSI, Dean took a few of us to eat dinner. Before dinner, we were all talking over a few drinks and Dean said that he was having marital problems. He could have easily blamed everything on his wife and we would have never known any different, but he never said a cross word about her. Dean was a classy dude.
When I heard Dean was having health issues, I thought, "No big deal, Dean will get through this." Later on when I heard how bad it was, I was stunned. How could this happen to him? Why would this happen to such a decent and good person? About 6 or 8 months before Dean passed, I ran into my future boss, Bo Brown, at a tradeshow in Sheridan, Wyoming. I could tell by talking to Bo that it did not look good for Dean. Bo's wife Ruth gave me Dean's contact information and she said he would love to hear from me.
For whatever stupid ass, dumb reason, I never called Dean. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it together when we talked and I didn't want to embarrass myself. Pretty lame excuse. I did post a few messages on the CaringBridge website that was set up for him, but I wish I had called. Take note kind reader, don't make the same mistake I did. Pick up the damn phone. I just know in my heart that Dean wanted to talk to as many people as he could in those last months. A lot of co-workers and friends did call Dean, but I didn't. I sure wish I could get a do-over.
When I first interviewed with Bo, for whatever reason, I didn't correlate the fact that I was taking over a territory that Dean used to run. At our first meeting after I was hired, Dean's name kept coming up again and again. A sales report I was given showed him as the rep for the same territory as I was in. Same stores. Same distributors. Same people. The magnitude of it all hit me finally. I made up my mind that I was going to make Dean proud. I have put this weight on my own shoulders; no one is pouring it to me.
I hope that some day, when I'm old and lame, people will smile when my name is mentioned. Kind of like they do now when Dean's name comes up.
I first met Dean in the late 90's at the first Walco National Sales Meeting. I seem to remember he was representing Manna Pro, among others, at his booth. Ken Caffey gathered all the SunWest Desoto reps and told us we needed to hear what Dean had to say. We brought the line in and never looked back.
Since Dean was already living in California, I only saw him from time to time for the next several years. When I went into marketing with Walco in Jan 2002, I started having more contact with him and started to get to know him better. Dean was probably the most easy going, calm person I have ever known. If you pushed back on a product or line he was showing you, he never got flustered or grew impatient with you. He just looked for another angle to present the product to you. And he normally walked out with an order in his pocket.
When I moved to California in 2004, I started dealing with Dean quite a bit. He was living in Stockton at the time and when he made a trip to southern California, he always made sure to call or come by the warehouse in Fresno. I always looked forward to his visits because you could always learn something from him. I asked for a few above and beyond the call of duty favors from Dean and he always came through for us. He never held that over your head or made you feel like you needed to repay him. But you did so anyway....
When I was going through my moment of despair (pretty lame when I think of what Dean went through), Dean helped me find a job at VSI. He would never admit to it, but a friend of mine that worked for Dean, told me he said, "Tim is good for this industry and we need to keep him in it." That is about as good as it gets. After a tradeshow while I was at VSI, Dean took a few of us to eat dinner. Before dinner, we were all talking over a few drinks and Dean said that he was having marital problems. He could have easily blamed everything on his wife and we would have never known any different, but he never said a cross word about her. Dean was a classy dude.
When I heard Dean was having health issues, I thought, "No big deal, Dean will get through this." Later on when I heard how bad it was, I was stunned. How could this happen to him? Why would this happen to such a decent and good person? About 6 or 8 months before Dean passed, I ran into my future boss, Bo Brown, at a tradeshow in Sheridan, Wyoming. I could tell by talking to Bo that it did not look good for Dean. Bo's wife Ruth gave me Dean's contact information and she said he would love to hear from me.
For whatever stupid ass, dumb reason, I never called Dean. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it together when we talked and I didn't want to embarrass myself. Pretty lame excuse. I did post a few messages on the CaringBridge website that was set up for him, but I wish I had called. Take note kind reader, don't make the same mistake I did. Pick up the damn phone. I just know in my heart that Dean wanted to talk to as many people as he could in those last months. A lot of co-workers and friends did call Dean, but I didn't. I sure wish I could get a do-over.
When I first interviewed with Bo, for whatever reason, I didn't correlate the fact that I was taking over a territory that Dean used to run. At our first meeting after I was hired, Dean's name kept coming up again and again. A sales report I was given showed him as the rep for the same territory as I was in. Same stores. Same distributors. Same people. The magnitude of it all hit me finally. I made up my mind that I was going to make Dean proud. I have put this weight on my own shoulders; no one is pouring it to me.
I hope that some day, when I'm old and lame, people will smile when my name is mentioned. Kind of like they do now when Dean's name comes up.
Monday, November 28, 2011
A New Day
They (they being the all knowing crowd) say that "Today is the first day of the rest of your life". This week felt like it for me.
I began working last week for a new employer. I decided to make another big move and re-re-locate back to California. I will be working for the Bo Brown Company, a manufacture repping agency, in central and southern California, plus Arizona. We represent various animal health and equipment companies like Miller Manufacturing, Vetericyn, Straight Arrow and Desert Equestrian.
Talk about a big decision to make. My former company, Motomco, was going great and all was well, but then this opportunity came up. A little smaller territory (1 1/2 states compared to 10 states) and a product mix (livestock products) I know very well were big selling points for me. Susie and I talked about it for a long time and we finally realized after my interview that it was a great opportunity. I told her that I would not sell her on the idea, but that she had to want to make this move. Lucky for me she got on board.
Now we have to start the process again of selling the house and planning another cross country move. A good friend and former co-worker Lyn Werner called me after he heard the news. He told me,"You know Tim, you don't have to keep moving around to keep the moving companies in business. There's a lot of other people out there that can throw business at those guys." You can always count on Lyn to give you the straight scoop and make you think at the same time. Even though I'll still talk to Lyn from time to time after I move, I'll miss him dearly. Lyn is probably the most honest person I have ever known.
I pray and hope this is the last move for a long time for Susie and me. She has been a trooper for the last 10 years with all my relocations and moves. She told me once that she would follow me anywhere I went and I have really tested her on that notion. We look forward to moving back to California and also returning to Oakhurst. This town is probably the best place we have ever lived. We will be within 20 minutes of Yosemite National Park, above the fog of the Central Valley of California, only a few hours from San Francisco and the coast and close enough to Fresno for convenience.
We will miss our Texas friends and family deeply. Like I said before, this was not an easy decision to make. We hope to get back to Texas at least once a year, and I hope I will get to see some of you on those trips.
The one thing that remains constant will be these monthly essays. I enjoy telling people about all the interesting and unusual people I have had the pleasure to meet and to work with. I just hope you enjoy reading about them too.....
I began working last week for a new employer. I decided to make another big move and re-re-locate back to California. I will be working for the Bo Brown Company, a manufacture repping agency, in central and southern California, plus Arizona. We represent various animal health and equipment companies like Miller Manufacturing, Vetericyn, Straight Arrow and Desert Equestrian.
Talk about a big decision to make. My former company, Motomco, was going great and all was well, but then this opportunity came up. A little smaller territory (1 1/2 states compared to 10 states) and a product mix (livestock products) I know very well were big selling points for me. Susie and I talked about it for a long time and we finally realized after my interview that it was a great opportunity. I told her that I would not sell her on the idea, but that she had to want to make this move. Lucky for me she got on board.
Now we have to start the process again of selling the house and planning another cross country move. A good friend and former co-worker Lyn Werner called me after he heard the news. He told me,"You know Tim, you don't have to keep moving around to keep the moving companies in business. There's a lot of other people out there that can throw business at those guys." You can always count on Lyn to give you the straight scoop and make you think at the same time. Even though I'll still talk to Lyn from time to time after I move, I'll miss him dearly. Lyn is probably the most honest person I have ever known.
I pray and hope this is the last move for a long time for Susie and me. She has been a trooper for the last 10 years with all my relocations and moves. She told me once that she would follow me anywhere I went and I have really tested her on that notion. We look forward to moving back to California and also returning to Oakhurst. This town is probably the best place we have ever lived. We will be within 20 minutes of Yosemite National Park, above the fog of the Central Valley of California, only a few hours from San Francisco and the coast and close enough to Fresno for convenience.
We will miss our Texas friends and family deeply. Like I said before, this was not an easy decision to make. We hope to get back to Texas at least once a year, and I hope I will get to see some of you on those trips.
The one thing that remains constant will be these monthly essays. I enjoy telling people about all the interesting and unusual people I have had the pleasure to meet and to work with. I just hope you enjoy reading about them too.....
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Woo Hoo!! We made a first down. Let's have a parade
When are coaches, either junior high, high school or college, planning on growing a pair? The behavior, jewelry and body art of athletes these days is down right embarrassing and their coaches seem to foster that same behavior.
I believe it all started with Mark Gastineau of the New York Jets. He seemed to be the one who started the art of the over the top tackle/tirade. Any time he made the most minuscule play, he jumped around like he had Bengay in his jock. It soon became acceptable for everyone from the special teams flunkey's to the quarterback to jump for joy when it was first and ten and a whopping two yard run was accomplished. I will never forget the antics of Major Applewhite (Texas QB in the late 90's) running down the sidelines during the Big 12 Championship finger-pistol shooting the Colorado sideline. Give me a break. It's amusing enough watching Howdy Doody play quarterback, but Major showing his ass is pathetic. I suppose Mack Brown didn't want to to hold back Major from his expressionism.
What happened to the days of making a play and then getting up off the ground, dusting your self off and jogging back to the huddle? Every time a basketball player scores these days, they seem to have to scream like their hemorrhoids just got snipped. Hockey players do their share of over-cheering, but they have a way of policing their own. At least in baseball, if you spout off to much, you get to feel what a 90 mph fastball feels like lodged in your armpit. You can still posture in baseball, but careful now.....
The reason I question coaches gonadal growth, is that they have the ability to influence these kids. Coaches and mentors need to drop the hammer on yoots (Joe Pesci reference) of today and their behavior. All they have to do is say "no". You show up your opponent, sit down for a quarter. Pay a visit to a tattoo parlor and you either have it removed or you don't play. Ear rings and other jewelry doesn't belong on the field or court. I think I really have to question men and ear rings. I am so tired of the excuse that we need to let young people express themselves. Kids need to show individuality. Excuse me while I puke. This era of out-of- control kids has produced the likes of Michael Irvin, A-Rod and Roger Clemens. Great athletes, but with the mindset of, "I can do whatever I want, whenever I want and to whoever I want." Tiger Woods and his fist pumping was cute at first, but the last sport, golf, that had any graciousness and dignity is falling fast.
I used to have a customer in Sherman, Texas who coached a youth baseball team. Chris Garner was an old school, competitive guy who laid down the law with the kids he coached. No ear rings , no necklaces and no body art. This was also dictated to the parents and strictly enforced. He told me he sat kids down if they broke the rules. It might cost a game, but the kids learned a lesson that would go through life with them. Although he was still one of the best, how much greater would Dennis Rodman and the teams he played on would have been if a coach in his youth would have said, "enough is enough"?
The win at all costs attitude is a disgrace. Coaches, managers and others will never admit it, but it is prevalent at most levels. Turning your head to bad behavior is like speeding in your car. "If the cops don't catch me doing 65 in a 45 mph zone, nobody gets hurt. Right?" Talk to Barry Switzer about that. Talk to Dennis Erickson of the Miami Hurricanes about it. You reckon Joe Paterno would like a do-over? It looks like I am picking on football, but it all started there.
I know you're saying, "Tim. Relax and take a powder." I say to you, look at kids these days. Entitlement is now expected. How does a 6-5 team go to a bowl game? Moral values are in the toilet. I listen to our neighborhood kids playing basketball, and they be-little their opponents and talk trash. I'm talking about 10-year olds. Things as trivial as music, is now obscene and what was viewed as shocking and distasteful, is pretty much par for the course nowadays. Even country music is a little on the rude side. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy". Give me strength.
I realize that I have not been appointed as the behavior police of athletes, but I also know I'm not the only one that gets tired-head from the antics seen these days. Hey, I don't mind high-fivin' your teammates after a touchdown or giving the finger point to the guy who just gave you the perfect pass to hit that three pointer. I guess I long for the days of Lou Gehrig, David Robinson and Earl Campbell. Classy people to start with, but they also played the game because they loved it and they respected it. Those three would have been successful doing anything in life from digging ditches to leading a Fortune 500 company.
I remember two cutting horse trainers I worked for back a few years ago. Okay, about 25 years ago. One of them never corrected me or showed me right from wrong. He let me be influenced by the wrong people and I did not learn much at all from him. It caused me to teach a colt bad habits and bad behavior. The other trainer I worked for rode me constantly and made me think about my actions and the end result of those actions. He hollered at me when it was necessary and made me feel two feet tall on some occasions. He taught me that my actions would affect how that horse acted and in turn, how the cow reacted. There were times when I hated him for what he said to me. Typical 20-something behavior on my part. It took a few years, but I soon found out that what he was trying to show me was spot on, 100% correct.
C'mon now Kevin Durant and Dez Bryant. Jeremy Shockey, give it a rest. Jose Valverde, pay a little attention to how Mariano Rivera carries himself. The way you act and react today, will affect Little Leaguer's and Pop Warner kids tomorrow.
I believe it all started with Mark Gastineau of the New York Jets. He seemed to be the one who started the art of the over the top tackle/tirade. Any time he made the most minuscule play, he jumped around like he had Bengay in his jock. It soon became acceptable for everyone from the special teams flunkey's to the quarterback to jump for joy when it was first and ten and a whopping two yard run was accomplished. I will never forget the antics of Major Applewhite (Texas QB in the late 90's) running down the sidelines during the Big 12 Championship finger-pistol shooting the Colorado sideline. Give me a break. It's amusing enough watching Howdy Doody play quarterback, but Major showing his ass is pathetic. I suppose Mack Brown didn't want to to hold back Major from his expressionism.
What happened to the days of making a play and then getting up off the ground, dusting your self off and jogging back to the huddle? Every time a basketball player scores these days, they seem to have to scream like their hemorrhoids just got snipped. Hockey players do their share of over-cheering, but they have a way of policing their own. At least in baseball, if you spout off to much, you get to feel what a 90 mph fastball feels like lodged in your armpit. You can still posture in baseball, but careful now.....
The reason I question coaches gonadal growth, is that they have the ability to influence these kids. Coaches and mentors need to drop the hammer on yoots (Joe Pesci reference) of today and their behavior. All they have to do is say "no". You show up your opponent, sit down for a quarter. Pay a visit to a tattoo parlor and you either have it removed or you don't play. Ear rings and other jewelry doesn't belong on the field or court. I think I really have to question men and ear rings. I am so tired of the excuse that we need to let young people express themselves. Kids need to show individuality. Excuse me while I puke. This era of out-of- control kids has produced the likes of Michael Irvin, A-Rod and Roger Clemens. Great athletes, but with the mindset of, "I can do whatever I want, whenever I want and to whoever I want." Tiger Woods and his fist pumping was cute at first, but the last sport, golf, that had any graciousness and dignity is falling fast.
I used to have a customer in Sherman, Texas who coached a youth baseball team. Chris Garner was an old school, competitive guy who laid down the law with the kids he coached. No ear rings , no necklaces and no body art. This was also dictated to the parents and strictly enforced. He told me he sat kids down if they broke the rules. It might cost a game, but the kids learned a lesson that would go through life with them. Although he was still one of the best, how much greater would Dennis Rodman and the teams he played on would have been if a coach in his youth would have said, "enough is enough"?
The win at all costs attitude is a disgrace. Coaches, managers and others will never admit it, but it is prevalent at most levels. Turning your head to bad behavior is like speeding in your car. "If the cops don't catch me doing 65 in a 45 mph zone, nobody gets hurt. Right?" Talk to Barry Switzer about that. Talk to Dennis Erickson of the Miami Hurricanes about it. You reckon Joe Paterno would like a do-over? It looks like I am picking on football, but it all started there.
I know you're saying, "Tim. Relax and take a powder." I say to you, look at kids these days. Entitlement is now expected. How does a 6-5 team go to a bowl game? Moral values are in the toilet. I listen to our neighborhood kids playing basketball, and they be-little their opponents and talk trash. I'm talking about 10-year olds. Things as trivial as music, is now obscene and what was viewed as shocking and distasteful, is pretty much par for the course nowadays. Even country music is a little on the rude side. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy". Give me strength.
I realize that I have not been appointed as the behavior police of athletes, but I also know I'm not the only one that gets tired-head from the antics seen these days. Hey, I don't mind high-fivin' your teammates after a touchdown or giving the finger point to the guy who just gave you the perfect pass to hit that three pointer. I guess I long for the days of Lou Gehrig, David Robinson and Earl Campbell. Classy people to start with, but they also played the game because they loved it and they respected it. Those three would have been successful doing anything in life from digging ditches to leading a Fortune 500 company.
I remember two cutting horse trainers I worked for back a few years ago. Okay, about 25 years ago. One of them never corrected me or showed me right from wrong. He let me be influenced by the wrong people and I did not learn much at all from him. It caused me to teach a colt bad habits and bad behavior. The other trainer I worked for rode me constantly and made me think about my actions and the end result of those actions. He hollered at me when it was necessary and made me feel two feet tall on some occasions. He taught me that my actions would affect how that horse acted and in turn, how the cow reacted. There were times when I hated him for what he said to me. Typical 20-something behavior on my part. It took a few years, but I soon found out that what he was trying to show me was spot on, 100% correct.
C'mon now Kevin Durant and Dez Bryant. Jeremy Shockey, give it a rest. Jose Valverde, pay a little attention to how Mariano Rivera carries himself. The way you act and react today, will affect Little Leaguer's and Pop Warner kids tomorrow.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Technology Gone Wild
Has the world gone looney tunes with technology? There seems to be a gadget now for every instant of our lives. Cell phones are now permanently attached to our eyes, ears and mouths. We use them for everything from email to tracking the stock market to sending the universal text message, “What’s up?” Geeeeeezzzzz…
Everywhere I travel these days, whether it’s Dallas, TX or Bismark, North Dakota, the general population seems to have to be entertained 24/7. People stare at their phones constantly while eating dinner in a restaurant, waiting to board their plane, or waiting for their gas tank to fill. I see kids, (yes, I can call them kids now) constantly walking around with their earphones plugged in to both head and I-Pod. What happened to the days of kids looking out the window at cows grazing in a pasture while being driven to soccer practice? Now mom and dad have to plug in the DVR player to entertain Junior. You would think the little tyke would get sick of The Lion King after 100 viewings. A 30-minute drive and nothing to do but look out the window? The horror…
I think what bothers me the most is watching a baseball game and seeing someone sitting behind home plate yakking on their phone or staring at their smart phone screen while the game is being played. Come on! Do you really need to text Buffy and tell her to look for you on television? Why would you spend the money on choice seats like that (or greedily accept the tickets from someone else) and not watch the game? Give your seat to a real fan and you can go sit in the bleacher seats and do the same damn thing for a lot less money.
The new I-Pads are becoming standard fashion accessories for all walks of life. I see people carrying them around wherever they roam and treating them like a security blanket. I was waiting in line at a McDonalds the other day, feeding my junk food habit and the tattooed Generation X’er in front of me held his finger up in the “Please wait, I’m occupied by something I perceive as more important than you" gesture while perusing something on his I-Pad. It was all I could do to keep from throttling this punk. I’m getting too old too fast.
The worst seem to be adults on planes. Why do you insist on leaving your phone on during the flight? I think it’s a secret game for Johnny Generic Businessman to see if they can leave the phone on the whole flight and not get scolded by the flight attendant. “I’m pretty damn important and rules don’t apply to me” seems to be their mantra. It’s a game for me to count the seconds between when the planes wheels hit the ground and the first person to call someone and say, “I just landed”. Give me an effin’ break
I may seem to be getting much more impatient in my years, but I miss the old days. What happened to the days when you called in a couple of times a day for your messages? Don’t you miss the times when you pulled into a Stop N Go to call the office on a pay phone and after you wiped the sweat and God knows what else was off the earpiece and mouthpiece, Ricky Rodeo and his diesel pickup pulls in next to you and leaves the motor running while he goes inside to buy a lottery ticket, a cherry Slurpee and some snuff? How about the times when you needed to call an order in because your customers fax machine was on the fritz? You stood in the freezing rain trying to give the order over the phone and the rain smears the writing on the page. You end up sending your customer 10 cases of Blue 4” Vet Rap instead of 1 case because you can’t read the writing. Good times.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
The Great Ones
Two of the most important peers in my sales career have been Andre Hartness and Kenneth Caffey. They probably influenced me in more good and bad ways than any other people have ever done.
When Kelly Wilkie and I went to work for SunWest in the spring of 1993, Andre and Kenneth probably had 20 years as animal health reps under their belts. They had been around since Christ was a cowboy and were two well-seasoned veterans. Andre was a little, short guy who was easier to jump over than to run around him. He was the king of the Dallas Fort Worth metroplex. Kenneth was a suave, dapper and well-dressed man with a full head of silver hair. He told us he had been silver haired for twenty years and Kelly said, “I bet you used to look just like Charlie Rich did in the 70’s.” Charlie Rich was a country singer back in the Conway Twitty, good lookin’ older man days of country music. Kenneth just grinned and said, “You know, he did look a bit like me.” Kenneth was just too cool. I wanted to be just like he and Andre. I learned very quickly the greatness of these two guys.
I tried to do everything that I thought they would do and I looked up to them as idols. They both carried cigar boxes in their car to store everything from loose change to breath mints to calculators. Andre is a prolific cigar smoker and kept he and Kenneth well supplied with empty boxes. Kenneth gave me a cigar box one day and I felt like he had just handed down to me something that belonged in the Louvre Museum. A phone call from the two of them was a pretty big deal. The first time Kenneth called me at home, I felt like I was getting a call from the president. I talked to Andre on the phone once and he asked me my opinion on a particular type of horse wormer. He wanted to know what I thought.
In the attempt to be just like these guys, I went as far as to copy the same things these two guys did. Kelly and I once (emphasis on once) stayed in the same motel as they did. The Royal Inn in Desoto, TX was probably nice about 20 years before we stayed there, but it had turned into a bit of a dive. The rooms were $35.00 or $40.00 a night and that was about $20.00 too much. First strike. When we pulled into the parking lot, Kenneth was already there drinking beer in his room and pricing his orders. We sat and visited a bit until Andre pulled in. Andre was driving a late 70’s model Ford LTD that looked like a homeless guy was living in the back seat. Boxes of literature, a TV and VCR, trash and his suitcase were all that could fit in the car. After he pulled in and parked, he pulls out his Club to lock up the steering wheel on the car. I asked him what he was doing and he said he didn’t want his car to get stole again. Again? He was worried about someone stealing a 25-year-old car? Second strike. After we went to eat, we sat in Kenneth’s room (Andre snored and smoked cigars, so they had separate rooms) and we sat around and watched dirty movies on the TV. Made you wonder what kind of clientele this place catered to. Third strike.
Andre had a nickname amongst his co-workers of Andre “One More” Hartness. We found out why at a sales meeting in Desoto one year. We had finished dinner and were at a Holiday Inn bar in Desoto. Kenneth, Andre, Kelly and me were supposed to be having a night cap and then off to sleep. One beer led to another and Andre kept saying, “Come on. One more and we’ll go”. Well, I had to keep up. I don’t think I paid much attention at the meeting the next day.
Kenneth never met a stranger. He could carry on a conversation with a two year old if it could talk. One time on a plane to a SunWest Tradeshow in Oklahoma City, he was seated next to a middle-aged woman and Kelly and I were sitting behind them. Kenneth started out asking the lady where she was from. Then he asked her, “How much rain do you reckon you get there?” and he was off to the races. I told Kelly that he would be eating Sunday supper with her by the time we landed. Sure enough, I nudged Kelly and told him to look over at Kenneth. He was taking pictures out of his wallet and showing her his grandkids and she giving him a recipe to a pot roast. Kenneth was the smoothest.
I made a sales call with Kenneth once and he was asked what the cost was on a stock tank. He opened his price book and showed the buyer what the cost was and said to her, “Let me make 20% on top of the cost.” Over and done. The store bought 5 tanks. The “show ‘em yours” technique became one of my favorite sales strategies. Later in my career, Andre and Kenneth changed companies and I had to compete head to head with Andre. I looked at it as a challenge, but it still sucked. Here I was, having to butt heads with one of my heroes. Guess whose ass got kicked. I got scraps and back-orders and constantly felt defeated. One time I saw, or at least thought I saw, an opening to where I could beat him. I was asked a cost on an item and I thought to myself, “Now I’ll get him!”. I cut the price to the bone and the dealer looked at me and said “I think I’ll stick with Andre and get it from him.” I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong and asked why he did not want me to ship the order. The buyer said I had a great price, but he told me what Andre would say. Andre would say, “Buy it from Tim. That’s a little too close to cost for me.” Wow. What a lesson to learn. I learned that integrity is sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. Especially when you’re learning about someone else’s integrity. I learned a lot about Andre that day.
Kelly and I used to have quite a few giggles at their expense. One time one of the telemarketers at SunWest said that she knew why Andre wrote so much business. She said,” They look at him and see him dressed in double knit slacks and driving a run down car (remember the Ford LTD) and they feel sorry for him and buy from him!” We used to laugh at how long it took Kenneth to eat. He would chew his food for what seemed like an eternity and he would eat for what seemed like days. Talk about a hollow leg. He once told a fellow rep, “If someone is going to pay for my dinner, I’m going to enjoy it”. When we first received our laptops at SunWest, Kenneth and Andre couldn’t even turn them on, but they wanted us to show them how to look at the “girly pages”. Priorities always come first.
Kenneth would have smiled at that.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Fun With Customers Part 2
Where a person ends up living is always anybody's guess. Just ask me; I've lived in 6 states and around 15 different cities since I graduated high school. Obviously, I don't mind moving and starting over.
I had a customer (Ferguson was his name; Fergie for short) in Brownsville, Texas who was part owner in a pet store there. He was originally from Scotland and was a great guy who had a serious Scottish accent. I enjoyed talking with him and learning a little about Scotland in my bi-monthly sales calls. How in the hell he ended up in Brownsville, Texas is a good question.
Fergie partnered up with a lady, Irazema, in Brownsville and opened this pet store in a Brownsville mall and confounded everyone with his accent. You have to remember that the majority of the customers were Mexican citizens who crossed over to shop in Brownsville. I laughed to myself every time a customer who spoke little to no English would try to converse with him. Picture a Scotsman with rolling r's trying to figure out what a Mexican with as many rolling r's is trying to purchase. It got better when the customer tried to bargain with him and get a better price.
Fergie's partner spoke Spanish and bailed him out from time to time when matters got tense. He would get red-faced and his accent became thicker as he tried to close the sale. I would be walking the shelves writing the order and would get nervous myself. Finally Irazema would come over and bail him out. She got a bit of a kick out of it and would grin and Fergie would fume. I learned to not look at him speak and just listen to what he was saying and I could understand him better. I think that made him madder.
One day while I was finishing up their order and Fergie told me he had a special order to add. He said, " I need you to odd (add) some moose traps to the order." I looked at him kind of funny-like and asked him to repeat himself. He in turn, looked at me a little bewildered and said " You sent them to us before laddy." He pronounced it "loddy". I said to him about as confused as a hillbilly looking at a washing machine, "Fergie, are you sure that's what you need? We don't have traps that big." The look on his face was priceless. He started to get red-faced again and he said "Moose traps! For the little brown furry buggers!". I stood there for a couple of seconds and thought about what this pissed-off Scotsman was saying to me and it hit me. I laughed and said "Mouse traps? You mean mouse traps!". He rolled his eyes and sputtered back at me, "Yes that's what I said! Send me soom (some) damn moose traps! What the bloody hall (hell) did ya think I was sayin?"
Good times.
I had a customer (Ferguson was his name; Fergie for short) in Brownsville, Texas who was part owner in a pet store there. He was originally from Scotland and was a great guy who had a serious Scottish accent. I enjoyed talking with him and learning a little about Scotland in my bi-monthly sales calls. How in the hell he ended up in Brownsville, Texas is a good question.
Fergie partnered up with a lady, Irazema, in Brownsville and opened this pet store in a Brownsville mall and confounded everyone with his accent. You have to remember that the majority of the customers were Mexican citizens who crossed over to shop in Brownsville. I laughed to myself every time a customer who spoke little to no English would try to converse with him. Picture a Scotsman with rolling r's trying to figure out what a Mexican with as many rolling r's is trying to purchase. It got better when the customer tried to bargain with him and get a better price.
Fergie's partner spoke Spanish and bailed him out from time to time when matters got tense. He would get red-faced and his accent became thicker as he tried to close the sale. I would be walking the shelves writing the order and would get nervous myself. Finally Irazema would come over and bail him out. She got a bit of a kick out of it and would grin and Fergie would fume. I learned to not look at him speak and just listen to what he was saying and I could understand him better. I think that made him madder.
One day while I was finishing up their order and Fergie told me he had a special order to add. He said, " I need you to odd (add) some moose traps to the order." I looked at him kind of funny-like and asked him to repeat himself. He in turn, looked at me a little bewildered and said " You sent them to us before laddy." He pronounced it "loddy". I said to him about as confused as a hillbilly looking at a washing machine, "Fergie, are you sure that's what you need? We don't have traps that big." The look on his face was priceless. He started to get red-faced again and he said "Moose traps! For the little brown furry buggers!". I stood there for a couple of seconds and thought about what this pissed-off Scotsman was saying to me and it hit me. I laughed and said "Mouse traps? You mean mouse traps!". He rolled his eyes and sputtered back at me, "Yes that's what I said! Send me soom (some) damn moose traps! What the bloody hall (hell) did ya think I was sayin?"
Good times.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Fun With Customers Part 1
Sometimes as a salesperson, (take that, Gloria Steinem) the spoken word can be a bit difficult at times. For that matter, even the written word can be tough to interpret. As I travel in the central western plains states, I constantly have to ask for forgiveness for my Texas accent. I don't think a conversation I have had in the last three years with anyone living north of Oklahoma, has not been interrupted by, "What did you say?" and followed up with "Ohhhh". I get tickled when someone from North Dakota has a hard time understanding me......
Sometimes the language barriers in your own state has its own share of miscommunication. I called on a particular store in Rio Grande City, Texas for most of the 90's. Rio Grande City is in the western portion of the Rio Grande Valley about one hour west of McAllen, Texas and about 2 hours east of Laredo, Texas. The Rio Grande Valley is a huge farming and ranching area in deep south Texas. The weather is fairly even for most of the year. One customer of mine in Hidalgo,Texas said "In the valley we have very warm weather. It is either hot or it's not so hot." Words never spoken better. It is smack dab, right on the border of Texas and Mexico and the population is about 95% Hispanic. Spanish is the primary language spoken and English is actually a second language in some cases. When I first started calling on these farm stores in the Valley, I was lost about half the time when I was in the store. Most of the customers spoke Spanish and I couldn't tell good from bad or high from low. I would listen to the conversations and try to pick up a word or two as the conversation progressed. After about 2 or 3 years, I was partly able to tell what was being said, but I still didn't know sic 'em from come here.
One particular customer was Gus Perez, who owned Border Enterprises in Rio Grande City. Gus was about my age and the guys that worked for him about the same. I think we all became pretty good friends over the years and I still look forward to stopping in to see them once or twice a year. They even started calling me "Timo", which is pronounce "Temo" with the e being short. Kind of like "Timmy" in Spanish. But in the beginning, I was just another new gringo from El Norte calling on their store and I had to prove myself to them both personally and professionally. If I were in their shoes, I'd be doing the same. Susie had taught me a few words in Spanish, but the only words I really knew were the cuss words. Typical.
One day a guy came in to the store while I was there and started up a conversation with the buyer. Of course it was all in Spanish and I had no clue about what was being said. Since this store was the local meeting place for everyone from tick riders(tick riders are USDA government employees who patrol the border on horseback looking for parasite infested cattle) to local ranchers to Border Patrol and Customs Agents. This one particular guy came in from time to time and I recognized him right off the bat. We had never really spoken (obviously), but he generally gave me the expressionless, male raise of the chin to acknowledge me. This is the universally adopted male, unspoken method of saying, "Hi! How are you! Everything okay with the family?". This time he gave the male high sign and finally spoke to me.
As he walked past me, he smiled and said "Hey wedo." Pronounce wedo like weather, but instead of "er", say "oh". I must admit I was taken a-back a little. First because someone had finally acknowledged me, and secondly, I am thinking "What the hell did that SOB just call me?!" This went on for several months. I would see this guy every now and then and he kept calling me "wedo". One day I had all I could stand. I walked up to the buyer, George, all bowed up and tough (sound familiar to you?) and told him what the guy had said. He threw his head back and laughed like I had told him a dirty joke. He laughed some more and said in his very thick Spanish accent, "Timo! He not saying anything bad to you! What he is say is bueno." I looked at him with a puzzled and with a very doubtful look on my face and said, "Yeahhhh, sure it is." George told me, "Wedo means white guy or blondie in English. Nothing bad." George went on to say, " We call Gus the same since he is so light skinned, so don't worry about it." Talk about letting the air out of a balloon.
From then on, I would see this guy (I never did know his name) and he would smile and say "What's happening, wedo?". He would give me the valley hand shake, kind of a 60's soul, hand clasp, with thumbs turned back toward you, and I would say "Como esta, mi amigo!". I'm sure my grasp of the Spanish language really impressed him. After a few years of calling on this area of Texas, I felt very much at home and very relaxed. I felt like I had made some very good friends and I am sure my customers felt the same about me.
When I tell people where I used to travel, they get this look on there face like, " Oh man that must have sucked pretty bad.". I tell them that it wasn't as bad as they think it must have been. The only bad part was that it was so far away (4 hours) from my home at the time of Seguin, Texas. Getting up every other Tuesday morning at three o'clock in the AM and driving four hours to my first account was a beating. I did it for about seven years and it makes one appreciate five o'clock very much.
Story morale's are a little over-rated, but this one definitely has one. Don't be too judgemental of another culture or language until you drink coffee or break bread with them. Ask questions or just listen a bit before you get too cocky or sure of yourself. If someone calls you "wedo", smile and say to them,
"Comer caca, vato." No seriously, don't say that. You better be fleet of foot or a cage fighter if you utter that inflammatory phrase.
Sometimes the language barriers in your own state has its own share of miscommunication. I called on a particular store in Rio Grande City, Texas for most of the 90's. Rio Grande City is in the western portion of the Rio Grande Valley about one hour west of McAllen, Texas and about 2 hours east of Laredo, Texas. The Rio Grande Valley is a huge farming and ranching area in deep south Texas. The weather is fairly even for most of the year. One customer of mine in Hidalgo,Texas said "In the valley we have very warm weather. It is either hot or it's not so hot." Words never spoken better. It is smack dab, right on the border of Texas and Mexico and the population is about 95% Hispanic. Spanish is the primary language spoken and English is actually a second language in some cases. When I first started calling on these farm stores in the Valley, I was lost about half the time when I was in the store. Most of the customers spoke Spanish and I couldn't tell good from bad or high from low. I would listen to the conversations and try to pick up a word or two as the conversation progressed. After about 2 or 3 years, I was partly able to tell what was being said, but I still didn't know sic 'em from come here.
One particular customer was Gus Perez, who owned Border Enterprises in Rio Grande City. Gus was about my age and the guys that worked for him about the same. I think we all became pretty good friends over the years and I still look forward to stopping in to see them once or twice a year. They even started calling me "Timo", which is pronounce "Temo" with the e being short. Kind of like "Timmy" in Spanish. But in the beginning, I was just another new gringo from El Norte calling on their store and I had to prove myself to them both personally and professionally. If I were in their shoes, I'd be doing the same. Susie had taught me a few words in Spanish, but the only words I really knew were the cuss words. Typical.
One day a guy came in to the store while I was there and started up a conversation with the buyer. Of course it was all in Spanish and I had no clue about what was being said. Since this store was the local meeting place for everyone from tick riders(tick riders are USDA government employees who patrol the border on horseback looking for parasite infested cattle) to local ranchers to Border Patrol and Customs Agents. This one particular guy came in from time to time and I recognized him right off the bat. We had never really spoken (obviously), but he generally gave me the expressionless, male raise of the chin to acknowledge me. This is the universally adopted male, unspoken method of saying, "Hi! How are you! Everything okay with the family?". This time he gave the male high sign and finally spoke to me.
As he walked past me, he smiled and said "Hey wedo." Pronounce wedo like weather, but instead of "er", say "oh". I must admit I was taken a-back a little. First because someone had finally acknowledged me, and secondly, I am thinking "What the hell did that SOB just call me?!" This went on for several months. I would see this guy every now and then and he kept calling me "wedo". One day I had all I could stand. I walked up to the buyer, George, all bowed up and tough (sound familiar to you?) and told him what the guy had said. He threw his head back and laughed like I had told him a dirty joke. He laughed some more and said in his very thick Spanish accent, "Timo! He not saying anything bad to you! What he is say is bueno." I looked at him with a puzzled and with a very doubtful look on my face and said, "Yeahhhh, sure it is." George told me, "Wedo means white guy or blondie in English. Nothing bad." George went on to say, " We call Gus the same since he is so light skinned, so don't worry about it." Talk about letting the air out of a balloon.
From then on, I would see this guy (I never did know his name) and he would smile and say "What's happening, wedo?". He would give me the valley hand shake, kind of a 60's soul, hand clasp, with thumbs turned back toward you, and I would say "Como esta, mi amigo!". I'm sure my grasp of the Spanish language really impressed him. After a few years of calling on this area of Texas, I felt very much at home and very relaxed. I felt like I had made some very good friends and I am sure my customers felt the same about me.
When I tell people where I used to travel, they get this look on there face like, " Oh man that must have sucked pretty bad.". I tell them that it wasn't as bad as they think it must have been. The only bad part was that it was so far away (4 hours) from my home at the time of Seguin, Texas. Getting up every other Tuesday morning at three o'clock in the AM and driving four hours to my first account was a beating. I did it for about seven years and it makes one appreciate five o'clock very much.
Story morale's are a little over-rated, but this one definitely has one. Don't be too judgemental of another culture or language until you drink coffee or break bread with them. Ask questions or just listen a bit before you get too cocky or sure of yourself. If someone calls you "wedo", smile and say to them,
"Comer caca, vato." No seriously, don't say that. You better be fleet of foot or a cage fighter if you utter that inflammatory phrase.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The Great Game
I love baseball. Funny, I didn't realize I did until around about 10 or 12 years ago. I think it took me that long to realize how much I wish I could make a living playing a boys game.
I played the game as a kid and was an average player. Had a good curve ball as a pitcher, but I couldn't hit. If I had access to Jobu from "Major League", maybe my bat would not have been so afraid. I switched to tennis in junior high and high school, but I still wished I had stayed with baseball. A little more sexy than tennis is because, "chicks dig the long ball". Thank you for clarifying that Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux. Softball came in to play during high school and that allowed us to live the dream once again. We played 12 months a year, went to tournaments on weekends and even won our league a few times. Those were some of my best days. During high school, we played a group of football meatheads that were in our class. They had put together a team after they learned we had formed one and that was it. Game on. Smack talk was intense and the inevitable game between the two of us finally happened. The competion was pretty tense and guess who got into a fight with one of the football jocks. Just think of Jim Rome talking about Softball Guy and this butthead comes to mind. He ran me over while I was playing catcher and blew kisses at me while we strolled back to the dugout. I in turn, put copious amounts of fear in him with my awesome put downs. "You suck" or "F you" always worked for me. Next inning, I laced a single to left center and he stood on first base and would not move. I proceeded to attempt to run him over like a freight train. Didn't work. At all. After a few swings, I had him right where I wanted.Then someone pulled him off of the top of me and seperated us. Well actually they pulled him from me. I'm screaming at him saying, "Let me go!" and "Let me at him!", while at the same time I'm whispering to the person holding me "Don't you dare let me go". Thank you so much for not letting me go. He would have killed me. Good times.
I tried to watch the Astro's, but they were always so crappy. The Lastros name fit them pretty much to a "t". Sure they had a few good years and even went to the Series, but they left me wanting more. I now can understand what it was like to be a Cubs fan or until recently, a Red Sox fan. When Susie and I moved to North Texas in 2000, I fell hard for the Rangers. I can't tell you why I did. I never followed them much in the 80's when I was in Stephenville going to college. They won the American League West in 1999, but never quite got back there while we lived in Sherman. When we moved to California, the Giants stole my heart. Although the A's were just across the bay, the Giants were on television a lot more and had the best play-by-play and color team in the game. Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow are the absolute best. I still crack up when I remember Mike Krukow saying what an ass Kurt Schilling is. His best one liner was when a hot bat would strike out and Krukow would say,"Grab some pine, meat". And to top it off, Jon Miller was the Giants radio voice. Sometimes the Giants would let little kids announce the batters. Susie and I still laugh about the high pitched voice of a 10 year old introducing " And now batting, Randy Winnnnnnnn". San Francisco baseball was the bomb. When we moved back to Texas, I hooked up with the Rangers again, but the Giants still tug at my heart strings. Imagine what my world was was like in the World Series last year. Bittersweet to say the least.
I had a boss who played during college, and I think that is where the envy really began. I had never personally known anyone who played at a higher level than a beer league, and I thought that was so great to be able to play for your school. Sure, I had a few associates or friends who had a brother that played or knew someone who knew someone that played more than once a week on Thursday nights. But to play at the college level? Damn, but that was too cool. I even had another boss that was drafted by the Phillies, but decided to go to college on a football scholarship. Pass up a chance to play with Mike Schmidt so you can get a payed in full, college education at a Big East school. What a dumb-ass.
Now I watch as many Rangers games on TV as I can. I try to watch the Astros when the Rangers are not on, but they make my head hurt. Susie bought us tickets to see a Rangers game last year, but we had to take out a second mortgage and I had to work evenings as a night club bouncer to pay for the outing. Very expensive, but it was worth it. I got to see Ian Kinsler hit a bomb to the right field seats and I had to be within at least 500 feet of Michael Young and Vladimar Guerrero. I imagined what it was like to be Jimmy Morris (Dennis Quade played him in "The Rookie") running on to the field in his first big league game. I still get a little tear in the eye thnking about that. I even bought a scoring book to keep score of the games when I watch them on the tube. Pretty baseball nerdy.
I still don't know what to think of the steroid era. The players that have gotten caught with a needle in their ass deserve to be caught. Roger Clemens and A-Rod are both arogant ass holes. Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire not so much, but still pretty stupid. I still can't believe that Rafael Palmeiro took them, but a random test doesn't lie. Andy Pettite faced up to his accusers and took his medicine, so to speak, but he still should have known what he was doing was wrong. I suppose some people say that these guys are just competitive, but if it gives you an unfair advantage, it's wrong. Pretty simple. How many dingers would Roger Maris have hit if he were on the juice? Hank Aaron? Harmon Killebrew? Am I wowing you yet with my baseball name dropping ability? Just play the game.
Susie reminded me little rant is not about life on the road as a salesman. The problem is that I do spend a lot of time in hotel rooms and bars watching the great game, so this does fall into my blog description. Mike Rhyner of The Ticket, 1310 AM in Dallas once said "Baseball is a talking game" and it cannot be communicated any better than that. I'm just talkin' baseball.
Tim
I played the game as a kid and was an average player. Had a good curve ball as a pitcher, but I couldn't hit. If I had access to Jobu from "Major League", maybe my bat would not have been so afraid. I switched to tennis in junior high and high school, but I still wished I had stayed with baseball. A little more sexy than tennis is because, "chicks dig the long ball". Thank you for clarifying that Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux. Softball came in to play during high school and that allowed us to live the dream once again. We played 12 months a year, went to tournaments on weekends and even won our league a few times. Those were some of my best days. During high school, we played a group of football meatheads that were in our class. They had put together a team after they learned we had formed one and that was it. Game on. Smack talk was intense and the inevitable game between the two of us finally happened. The competion was pretty tense and guess who got into a fight with one of the football jocks. Just think of Jim Rome talking about Softball Guy and this butthead comes to mind. He ran me over while I was playing catcher and blew kisses at me while we strolled back to the dugout. I in turn, put copious amounts of fear in him with my awesome put downs. "You suck" or "F you" always worked for me. Next inning, I laced a single to left center and he stood on first base and would not move. I proceeded to attempt to run him over like a freight train. Didn't work. At all. After a few swings, I had him right where I wanted.Then someone pulled him off of the top of me and seperated us. Well actually they pulled him from me. I'm screaming at him saying, "Let me go!" and "Let me at him!", while at the same time I'm whispering to the person holding me "Don't you dare let me go". Thank you so much for not letting me go. He would have killed me. Good times.
I tried to watch the Astro's, but they were always so crappy. The Lastros name fit them pretty much to a "t". Sure they had a few good years and even went to the Series, but they left me wanting more. I now can understand what it was like to be a Cubs fan or until recently, a Red Sox fan. When Susie and I moved to North Texas in 2000, I fell hard for the Rangers. I can't tell you why I did. I never followed them much in the 80's when I was in Stephenville going to college. They won the American League West in 1999, but never quite got back there while we lived in Sherman. When we moved to California, the Giants stole my heart. Although the A's were just across the bay, the Giants were on television a lot more and had the best play-by-play and color team in the game. Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow are the absolute best. I still crack up when I remember Mike Krukow saying what an ass Kurt Schilling is. His best one liner was when a hot bat would strike out and Krukow would say,"Grab some pine, meat". And to top it off, Jon Miller was the Giants radio voice. Sometimes the Giants would let little kids announce the batters. Susie and I still laugh about the high pitched voice of a 10 year old introducing " And now batting, Randy Winnnnnnnn". San Francisco baseball was the bomb. When we moved back to Texas, I hooked up with the Rangers again, but the Giants still tug at my heart strings. Imagine what my world was was like in the World Series last year. Bittersweet to say the least.
I had a boss who played during college, and I think that is where the envy really began. I had never personally known anyone who played at a higher level than a beer league, and I thought that was so great to be able to play for your school. Sure, I had a few associates or friends who had a brother that played or knew someone who knew someone that played more than once a week on Thursday nights. But to play at the college level? Damn, but that was too cool. I even had another boss that was drafted by the Phillies, but decided to go to college on a football scholarship. Pass up a chance to play with Mike Schmidt so you can get a payed in full, college education at a Big East school. What a dumb-ass.
Now I watch as many Rangers games on TV as I can. I try to watch the Astros when the Rangers are not on, but they make my head hurt. Susie bought us tickets to see a Rangers game last year, but we had to take out a second mortgage and I had to work evenings as a night club bouncer to pay for the outing. Very expensive, but it was worth it. I got to see Ian Kinsler hit a bomb to the right field seats and I had to be within at least 500 feet of Michael Young and Vladimar Guerrero. I imagined what it was like to be Jimmy Morris (Dennis Quade played him in "The Rookie") running on to the field in his first big league game. I still get a little tear in the eye thnking about that. I even bought a scoring book to keep score of the games when I watch them on the tube. Pretty baseball nerdy.
I still don't know what to think of the steroid era. The players that have gotten caught with a needle in their ass deserve to be caught. Roger Clemens and A-Rod are both arogant ass holes. Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire not so much, but still pretty stupid. I still can't believe that Rafael Palmeiro took them, but a random test doesn't lie. Andy Pettite faced up to his accusers and took his medicine, so to speak, but he still should have known what he was doing was wrong. I suppose some people say that these guys are just competitive, but if it gives you an unfair advantage, it's wrong. Pretty simple. How many dingers would Roger Maris have hit if he were on the juice? Hank Aaron? Harmon Killebrew? Am I wowing you yet with my baseball name dropping ability? Just play the game.
Susie reminded me little rant is not about life on the road as a salesman. The problem is that I do spend a lot of time in hotel rooms and bars watching the great game, so this does fall into my blog description. Mike Rhyner of The Ticket, 1310 AM in Dallas once said "Baseball is a talking game" and it cannot be communicated any better than that. I'm just talkin' baseball.
Tim
Monday, July 25, 2011
The First Foray
I guess I have wanted to write for several years now. I either never had the gumption to do it or I was telling myself I didn't have time. Also, I write a hell of a lot better than I speak. Sorry Stutterers Anonymous. Well, I found a few moments and away we go.
Susie and I have a friend that posts a blog (aviewfromtheporchrocker.blogspot.com) and I guess I got hooked. What a great way to show your friends and others what you do and how you feel! As long as I don't cuss the boss, piss off Susie or tell off on someone I should be fine. We shall see.....
You are probably wondering just who is this guy and what is he all about. I'll start off by telling you a little about me. A little. There, that didn't take long. But seriously though, (Monty Python reference. Thanks Dink). I am a manufacture rep for a worldwide agricultural company and work 10 states in the central plains and mountain states. I have been an animal health sales rep for most of my adult career and have spent a lot of time on the road. Most of the time spent selling and working, but a good bit of time observing. I have met a bunch of great people over the years and I love listening to a good story. Boy,I have heard some whopppers over the years. I think I initially started this blog thing to tell those stories and a lot of it will be just that. But I also think observations, opinions and some such will be included in the mix.
I have a colorful family to say the least, and they give me endless subject matter. Nothing like stories about the last gathering to spice things up. I have also had the good fortune to work in several regions of Texas as a distributor rep and as a manufacture rep. Both ares have distinct cultures and attitudes. Susie and I were blessed to live in California for several years and that adventure gave me mucho fodder to observe and pass on to you good folks. My current occupation gives me ten states to visit and a vast cultural stew to digest. Oh I almost forgot. Dogs. We have two absolute darlings (tongue firmly planted in cheek) that are our pride and joy. Sam, the misunderstood pit bull and Maizie, the queen bitch who still thinks she is bull of the woods. More on them later.
Thanks for beginning this journey with me. I hope I can amuse you like a clown, (Joe Pesci reference) and also force you to think about the little things in life. See you down the road.
Tim
July 24 2011
Susie and I have a friend that posts a blog (aviewfromtheporchrocker.blogsp
You are probably wondering just who is this guy and what is he all about. I'll start off by telling you a little about me. A little. There, that didn't take long. But seriously though, (Monty Python reference. Thanks Dink). I am a manufacture rep for a worldwide agricultural company and work 10 states in the central plains and mountain states. I have been an animal health sales rep for most of my adult career and have spent a lot of time on the road. Most of the time spent selling and working, but a good bit of time observing. I have met a bunch of great people over the years and I love listening to a good story. Boy,I have heard some whopppers over the years. I think I initially started this blog thing to tell those stories and a lot of it will be just that. But I also think observations, opinions and some such will be included in the mix.
I have a colorful family to say the least, and they give me endless subject matter. Nothing like stories about the last gathering to spice things up. I have also had the good fortune to work in several regions of Texas as a distributor rep and as a manufacture rep. Both ares have distinct cultures and attitudes. Susie and I were blessed to live in California for several years and that adventure gave me mucho fodder to observe and pass on to you good folks. My current occupation gives me ten states to visit and a vast cultural stew to digest. Oh I almost forgot. Dogs. We have two absolute darlings (tongue firmly planted in cheek) that are our pride and joy. Sam, the misunderstood pit bull and Maizie, the queen bitch who still thinks she is bull of the woods. More on them later.
Thanks for beginning this journey with me. I hope I can amuse you like a clown, (Joe Pesci reference) and also force you to think about the little things in life. See you down the road.
Tim
July 24 2011
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