Quite often my dreams are very real, but with a twist. Sometimes they mirror real life. Once I had the same dream 44 times in a night, but that was while I was in Peru and in the throes of altitude sickness.

There is this one dream that I have where the University of Guelph informs me I am two credits short of my degree. This is followed by a ridiculous goose chase where I hunt all over campus for some information about the two courses. The only certainty is that the final exams for each are to be written within days and I don’t know the course code, the prof, or the textbook.

Yes, that is odd. My confession to all of you is that I have had this dream for years and really, would it matter one bit that the 10” x 14” piece of paper in the corner in my office suddenly vanished?

Every year a few weeks before the Forum, I have a similar dream. Only this one has a couple of twists.

In one, I sleep through the first day of the Forum. Given my social habits, this one probably doesn’t seem that far fetched. But what is odd is that nobody knows what room I am in to come wake me up. In fact my room, in the dream, feels somewhat like a submerged marine chamber. I feel like I am floating around it weightlessly, while every word I mutter has a decidedly David Hasselhoff-like quality to it. To understand the effect, try uttering these words form the bottom of your intestines while you keep your lips in a jellyfish like formation: “Get. Out. Of. The. Water.” Say it again – “Get. Out. Of. The. Water.”

As my nostrils fill with brine and the countdown to the Forum begins, my staff huddle and determine their game plan. Should they announce that aliens captured Mark? Should they pretend this was all planned and I am making a royal appearance at some mysterious moment? Perhaps rising from beneath the stage like a 70s electro pop star?

Or should they send out a search party… preferably starting with all the Starbucks that are ten-minute walk form the hotel? Or better yet, the last three bars where I was seen doing trays of Jägerbombs?

It wouldn’t be long before Justin from my team would brush off his Leafs gear and take center stage. He would probably introduce a panel of Trojan team members who would issue a courteous apology and then move onto the meat of the conference.

Speaker after speaker; like Andrew Shibata from RBC and Shari Willerton from the Shaw Festival or Chuck Philips from Cocoon Branding; could weave me into their speech, “So did you hear the one about the fat bald guy who missed his most important event of the year?”

Arrogantly I would be hoping that this would happen in every speech that day. Why else would Chris Armstrong, Rick Burton, and Colin Campbell talk about the value of endorsers in sponsorships if they couldn’t make some crack about, “make sure he shows up for the photo shoot!”

Or Dave Thomas, who is going to expertly talk about social media, should clearly tweet about the missing conference chairperson.

And if Adam Garone is going to enthrall and inspire you with his tale on how he created Movember, then surely he must reflect on how much the campaign will miss my Ted Lange impersonation this fall.

But this probably won’t happen. The Forum will role along without me, while I drown in my own ego. Trapped in some Neverland hoping that J.M. Barrie will at least write me into the sequel.

Of course, the alternative to all this self-pity while the rest of you enjoy the Forum, is to tell you about the other panic dream I have. In that one, I take the stage to open the conference having forgotten something very important. My pants… and my gitch!

While it wouldn’t take long for the Sûreté du Québec to take me away on trumped up charges (if you get my drift), I am comforted by the knowledge that I would probably get off (no pun attempted here folks), for lack of evidence.

Of all the sports that my little monsters (ages 8 and 10) play, I think soccer is my favourite. The incredible weather that graced opening weekend of the North Toronto Soccer Club spring league, just added to this sentiment.

The guys play everything that moves, including piano. Squash, tennis, snowboarding (used to be skiing), tackle football (used to be flag), track, boxing, swimming, curling, flag rugby, hockey, basketball and even chess. City leagues, school teams, our local sports club and Northern Ontario ski hills, have all cashed our cheques to allow a wee Harrison to perform as a wanna-be point guard, Olympian, goalie, Grand Master, flyweight, skip, prop, defensive back, quarterback, right wing, left wing and even a standing long jumper. Long jumper?

Thankfully my guys don’t need to be sitting in front of a screen to be entertained. (But let’s be clear; between the iPods, Macbooks, Xbox Kinect, Wii and cell phones; they have plenty of screens).

There have been some great moments. Some exciting chess tournaments with upset victories. An unexpected fourth place in a regional track meet. The topper was probably a runaway victory for the Grade 5 City Flag Rugby title! But most of the time, my guys are just regular kids playing sports, going from one house league to the next. Enjoying the games, not always the practices. Working hard and chasing loose pucks. Talking on the bench and making new friends. Wondering which Mom brought snacks and is she a health nut or did she bring something sweet?

So, why soccer?

I don’t know. Maybe because it coincides with good weather, getting outdoors and reintroducing yourself to neighbors you haven’t seen since the Christmas drop-in six doors down.

Maybe its because you get so close to the game, you can practically touch your kids when they play. Maybe it’s because the parents seem more social than in other sports. Maybe it’s because when we play, there are always eight to 10 games happening at once, making every Saturday morning and Tuesday evening a sort of community festival. Heck, it might even be because my Starbucks somehow tastes better sitting outside in a folding chair.

Like a lot of parents, I also appreciate the volunteer coaches. Who can’t appreciate someone who is going to take care of your little gaffer for an hour and not charge you 10 bucks? But seriously, coaching kids this age is one part babysitter, one part sports instructor and one part parent for an hour.

Admiration aside, I didn’t want to be one – a soccer coach, that is.

I’ve coached my son in flag football for two years and we didn’t do so well. He played great but I over complicated things. It was hard to remember these girls and boys were eight and nine and not the near-men I coach in high school football. But a few weeks ago, the desperate cry for help went out from our soccer association. Not enough coaches. Player registration is up. Volunteerism…not so much.

I considered it the first time, but then realized: I know nothing about soccer! The only time I coached a game was a dire emergency two years ago when my then six-year-old’s team had all three helmsman away on the same night. While we did break a multiple game-losing streak with an 8-1 slaughter, I think the fact I also played goalie for our guys, may have had something to do with it. (Kidding!)

So I ignored the plea…

Until it went out again the week before the season was to start. “No coaches, no teams folks. Need your help.” So I sent out an email and my virtual hand. Voilà! I am a coach. An assistant on my ten-year-old’s team. But a coach nonetheless.

Needless to say I was nervous. These kids are 10. It wont take them long to figure me out! I barely know a free kick from a pitch. Why do they call it a pitch anyway?

I arrived a bit later than I wanted on Sunday for Day 1, Game 1 of the grand experiment. Feigning confidence I introduced myself to the headman and asked him what I could do. Staring straight at him with all the concentration in the world, I tried to comprehend his comments. He talked about our game plan, what style we should play, and how we should evaluate the players. My focused brow must have had him convinced I was taking it all in.

Truth be told, I was actually staring at his jersey. There it was in front of me, right before my greedy eyes. The real reason I was coaching. The jersey! I didn’t know it until just then. In fact, I felt a bit guilty. I was just like the kids, I wanted the jersey.

Our team is sponsored by Nestle, some brand called Milo. Given they are supporting us and the business I am in, I had better figure out what Milo was. We are Team Germany (most of our divisions use countries as team names). Our opponent was also Milo. I think companies must have bought whole divisions. Funny given my profession, I don’t know. But at the big field there were lots of unsuspecting kids helping Tim Hortons, BMO (disclosure: my client), Pizza Pizza, Public Mobile, Nestle and a host of other national brands and some local outlets market, their brands.

Back to the jersey. After the briefing from my HC we started handing out uniforms. Kids asked for their favourite numbers. One told us he could only play if he wore 14. Well 14 was gone, and last I checked he was doing just fine wearing 2 or 8 or some other number. But who am I to judge? All the while, I kept hoping and praying I too would get a jersey. I was sure that in the past all the coaches got jerseys. I needed this!

How else could I command my young squad of Zidanes and Messis? Authority needed to be bestowed upon me.

At long last the HC must have picked up on my vibe. Or perhaps my sweat-provoking anxiety. He opened up another bag and presented me with my colours. How proud I was. All 230lbs of me swelled (not a pretty sight on a sunny day), as I donned the black jersey. Smack across my hefty left boob were the five letters I so craved. C-O-A-C-H. Oh what pride.

I was now part of the team. Part of the squad. I was now included. I was a part of the team.

This year soccer just got a little more rewarding.

The Sport Events Congress is like a singles event. It matches events with hosts and hosts with events. It creates partnerships and new relationships. It educates. It provides sharing of best practices. It inspires.

One group that it inspired was the town of Brantford. Several years ago they attended the CSTA event and witnessed the success of the World Pond Hockey Championships held in Plaster Rock, New Brunswick every year. The first event of its kind was launched in 2002 hosting 40 competing teams from Canada’s east coast. The WPHC has since grown tremendously, now featuring over 120 teams from across the globe.

The Brantford team, led by Pat Shewchuk, went home energized and motivated to create something they could utilize to shine a light on the Telephone City.

It didn’t take much brainstorming to recognize the opportunity lay at their feet in the city’s role as hometown of one of the greatest sportsmen Canada has produced.

You might be thinking of the GREAT ONE, # 99, and recent birthday boy – Wayne Gretzky! But no, I’m actually referring to the GREATEST, Wayne’s Dad, Walter.

Ask anyone in Brantford and they will tell you that nobody does more for the community than Walter Gretzky. Recipient of the Order of Canada, he is a tireless ambassador for the city. So naturally, creating an event that celebrates Walter was an easy choice. And soon, the Walter Gretzky Street Hockey Tournament was born.

From its humble beginnings as a small-scale, non-profit, charitable event with less than 30 competing teams in 2006, the Walter Gretzky Street Hockey tournament has grown with tremendous force. With help from film director and actor, Kevin Smith (Jay & Silent Bob), who fielded a team and played as a goalie, in 2009 the tournament saw 94 teams.

Its greatest accomplishment, however, was the staggering 205 teams and 2,096 participants who joined forces and steered the City of Brantford to a Guinness World Record for ‘Largest Street Hockey Tournament’ in 2010.

The success of this event resulted in Brantford being awarded a “President’s Award” during the CSTA Prestige Awards luncheon held to recognize the outstanding events, sponsors, and stakeholders in the sport tourism industry. Brantford celebrated their win by inviting Gretzky senior to attend the entire conference.

Walter did more than attend. He stole the show! Literally.

When I first spotted him at the Wednesday social, my birthright flaw of being a chronic skeptic tricked me into not believing it was him. So imagine my surprise and delight when he descended upon me, and several of my clients from Speed Skating Canada and Volleyball Canada, during the Thursday lunch. Didn’t even cross my mind that this was the funniest man on earth.

He probably won’t love me for publicly busting him on this, but Walter Gretzky has more Leaf jokes than the Leafs have wins. A quick sample:

“So I went on tour with General Hiller and the Stanley Cup in Afghanistan. I learnt then, that the Taliban were closer to capturing the cup than the Leafs.”

“Why won’t the NHL give Hamilton an NHL team? Because then Toronto will want one!”

“Where is the Red Light District in Toronto? Behind the Leaf’s net.”

Beyond joking about the buds, this is a man who motivates, entertains, and engages people at a mile a minute. One of my staffers asked for an autograph and wound up with a half-dozen. Walter volunteered one for her parents, one for her boyfriend, one for her sibling…well you get the idea. It was clear that every time he pens his John Hancock a burst of pride erupts from his twinkling eyeballs!

Clearly being Wayne’s Dad brings its benefits. But as Canadians, we have all heard and readily accept the tremendous role that Walter had in the development of the Great One. But unlike the stereotype parent of a prodigy, this is a man who feels like Canada has done well by him and not the other way around. In his acceptance remarks for the Prestige Awards, Walter talked about how much he wished his parents could have been there to see them.

Walter’s Dad was an immigrant from Grodno, Belarus and his mother from the Ukraine. When they came to Canada they were classified as “DPs” – Displaced Persons. Through their hard work and the acceptance of a strong community, they built the foundation for a strong family life. Clearly the fruits of their hard work can be seen in the genealogy of Walter and his offspring.

Today Walter Gretzky is 72 years old. He was recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s. He talked about it openly, showing me how sometimes his left hand shakes uncontrollably. But he doesn’t share this news for pity or remorse. He tells you these things because he loves to report on the magical, mystery tour of life as Walter Gretzky.

My opportunity to meet him in Ottawa was incredibly serendipitous and a memory I will have forever. Walter Gretzky is truly THE GREATEST.

Somehow, we focus solely on the imagined glamour of proclaiming that the next round is on the house, or telling your friends you’ll hold a preferred table for them, or lining your walls with photos of you and celebrity diners.

It’s easy to forget about the fickleness of consumers, the challenges of getting liquor permits, the fragile support of bankers, the surprise visits by food critics and the unknown impact of weather. Let alone dealing with prima donna chefs, frustrated actresses-cum-waitresses and the dearth of people willing to wash dishes.

But still that dream persists. I think of it often when I pass an empty storefront that I think would make for a great pub. I would call it “Herschels,” as in Walker, my nickname. Or when I see a restaurant close for lack of service, I imagine investing in an up-and-coming maître d’ and unleashing his caring ways on my neighbours. Many a time when I taste a unique creation, my mind wanders to what spin I may put on it. Like a peanut butter and tomato sandwich. Seriously, try it. Sounds gross, but few things blend as well as a sweet red tamale and some salty Kraft PB.

So it was with more than a small tweak of envy last weekend that I realized the hottest new diner in my ‘hood, Uncle Betty’s (will explain the name later!), is the brainchild of Toronto advertising maven Robert Lewocz and his wife Samara Melanson.

If you don’t know Robert, he’s a former partner in Aldo Cundari’s hot marketing shop and is now guiding the growth of Cheil, the former Samsung in-house agency, to new heights.

Robert and Samara got their inspiration from a simple, yet personal, need. They were tired of the lack of a great ice cream shop near their North Toronto home. Frustrated by the necessity of trucking blocks away to treat their kids… a solution in the form of an epiphany emerged to open their own shop.

But they didn’t stop there. They quickly realized that floating a full restaurant solely on dairy delights wasn’t going to be viable. So they sprung from cups and cones to hot dogs and grilled cheese.

Inspired by Robert’s mother-in-law – a single mother named Elizabeth, who was such a rock in her family at performing dual parent roles that over time, her kids, nieces and nephews nicknamed her “Uncle Betty” – a diner was born.

Uncle Betty’s is not your usual diner. It features a doughnut machine. All-beef hot dogs. A meatloaf to die for. Sunday brunch. All-day breakfast. And a licence to serve beer.

As well, it has an ownership duo who are living the dream. Robert isn’t about to leave advertising, but he was bussing tables, motivating the kitchen staff and doing the night deposits when I saw him on opening weekend. I couldn’t imagine keeping that pace up while also servicing clients.

There weren’t any celebrities when I was there. Although I heard that Johann Koss was there minutes before we arrived. Too bad we missed him; I could have gotten some advice for how to help build the brand of our new client at Speed Skating Canada.

But I don’t think Robert opened the place for the celebs or to buy a round for the crowd. Though I do think he opened it to hold a table for friends.

More precisely, those friends are his kids.

Unless you are from Clarenville, Newfoundland, you have probably been too immersed in the Stanley Cup playoffs to realize that one of the most important titles in hockey was recently contested in Kenora. Clarenville is only the second team from the Rock to win the Allan Cup, emblematic of Senior AAA hockey supremacy in this country.

First awarded jointly (it’s a long story as to why) to the Ottawa Cliffsides and Queen’s University in 1909, the Allan Cup has since become the prized possession of many a team from small town Canada. Surely you have heard of the Trail Smoke Eaters, the Toronto Granites, the Drumheller Miners, the Galt Hornets, or the Calgary Stampeders… of the hockey variety! How about the Ottawa Senators, who last won in 1949? The Truro Bearcats? Or the Lloydminster Border Kings? From Quebec, there have been powerhouses like the Saint-Georges Garaga, the Drummondville Eagles and the legendary Quebec Aces.

Ironically, the Allan Cup, donated by Sir H. Montagu Allan, Q.C., was created because of issues with teams cheating to win the Stanley Cup. While Lord Stanley’s mug was originally created to reward the best amateur teams in the country, rising gate receipts and team winnings created an environment where teams started paying players under the table. Thus, as the Stanley Cup drifted towards being the de facto professional crown, a void existed to reward truly amateur teams. Hence Sir Montagu’s donation filled an important void in Canadian hockey history.

Originally contested on a “challenge” basis, the Allan Cup championship reached its heyday in the middle of the century as Senior A hockey boomed across Canada. Many of you are probably too young to remember how good Senior A hockey was. But as a kid growing up in Simcoe County, the Orillia Terriers and their epic battles against the Barrie Flyers, the Galt Hornets and the Brantford Alexanders were a close second to me to the Leafs versus the Habs.

Back in the era of three stations on our black and white TV, the Orillia Terriers vividly kept a boy’s love for the sport alive. Originally known as the Orillia Pepsis (yep, we had a big bottling plant in town), they became the Terriers in ’69 and rose to become a powerhouse!

Between 1969 and 1973, the Terriers were a North American powerhouse and finally captured the Allan Cup in 1973. Our home side was led by Claire “The Milkman” Alexander. Alexander was not only our star defenceman, but he was also a local milkman. True story. He performed home delivery of cow products in the daytime and went to practice and played at night! He piled up 46 points in 41 games, which caught the attention of the Leafs. After a year in the minors, Alexander played 42 games with the Leafs in ’74-75, as a 29-year-old rookie.

Alongside Alexander was Jimmy Keon, brother of the Leafs’ Dave, and Blake Ball, who went on to be a star in the movie Slap Shot. Behind Alexander was Louis Levasseur, our star goalie. Levasseur was my first goaltending hero – being a puck dodger myself – and he too went on to professional glory, winning WHA All-Star status with stops in Minnesota (with the Fighting Saints), Edmonton, Hartford and Quebec. He too has a Slap Shot connection, as he was apparently the inspiration for the Lemieux character.

But what I loved most about the Terriers was their uniforms. Their crest featured a beagle flying on a puck, his ears twisting in the wind! The Terriers had an identity that was both fun and feisty. If you have ever owned a beagle, you will know what I mean.

In the late ‘70s, the Terriers as I knew them folded. Much of Senior hockey suffered as Junior hockey rose in popularity, the NHL expanded again and again, the WHA grew, and more and more great amateurs were sucked off to play pro hockey. But for me, the decline of the Orillia Terriers was more symbolic. Somehow the team ownership agreed to outfit the club in discarded Maple Leafs uniforms. Well, you can imagine what happened to our fortune when we did that.

Bye bye Snoopy. Bye bye championships!

So proclaimed Scott McCune, vice president of global partnerships and experiential marketing for The Coca-Cola Company at the SportAccord Convention in London recently.

Hearing those words from the leading TOP (The Olympic Partner) sponsor may send shivers down the throats of sponsorship-thirsty properties, but McCune wasn’t suggesting for a second that Big Red was getting out of the sports or entertainment marketing games. In fact, quite the opposite.

Within minutes of announcing the bank teller window was closed, McCune made it clear to the audience that they have plenty of money for great ideas. However, how that money is going to be spent is changing dramatically.

If you think of Coke as a sponsor, you think ubiquity. Their products are consumed by 1/4 of the world’s population and they do business in more countries than the U.N. Sponsorship helped fuel that global expansion. For the 1928 Games in Amsterdam, Coke shipped over 1,000 cases on a ship for the U.S. team members. They also set up refreshment shacks, which witnessed the first sale of Coca-Cola on foreign soil.

By 1934, Coke signed Johnny Weissmuller as their first Olympic spokesperson. “Tarzan,” as Weissmuller became known in his post-Olympic acting career, was a swimming gold medalist, and the rest is history.

Over time, as Coke became more and more involved with sponsorship, McCune characterized their approach quite bluntly: “If it MOVED, we would sponsor it, and if it STOOD STILL, we would paint it red!” At a minimum, this is a company that understands itself.

Fast forward to 2011 and Coca-Cola has a very clear picture of what they want.

YOUTH. CREATIVITY. FLAIR.

Yes, McCune talked to more strategic principles such as shared vision, innovation and common values. But he was quite clear: they are open to big ideas.

As they move into the music business, they found amazing synergies with their 2010 World Cup sponsorship and integration of the anthem “Wavin’ Flag” by K’Naan. Recently they conducted the world’s first live, consumer-driven song creation featuring Maroon 5 in a studio in London. The band took input from consumers around the world for a crowdsourced song they created on the fly in 24 hours. The outcome, “Is Anybody Out There,” is now available on the Coca-Cola website.

Big ideas indeed. Not necessarily fueled by big rights fees. As McCune made clear, they have the most powerful marketing machinery in the world. They have the resources to make stuff happen. What they need is a steady of diet of better and better ideas.

Coke has also recognized the incredible power of doing good with their marketing dollars. He showed a video of their 2010 torch participant selection process, which was largely driven by Sogo Active (full disclosure: this was in partnership with our clients at ParticipACTION and we were the agency behind it). Sogo Active rewarded 1,500 youth who became more physically active with a chance to carry the torch.

McCune noted that they now have a global mandate to get MORE YOUTH INVOLVED IN SPORTS. Wow. Read that over carefully.

It has become crystal clear that social marketing can generate profits for corporations. The cliché providers will tell you it has to be genuine. Oh thanks, why don’t you tell me to breathe while you are at it?

What I will tell you is this. If it “feels good” to you as a human being, it will feel good to a consumer. And if it feels good to a consumer, it is going to generate sales for you.

The Big Red Bank is closed.

But the Big Red Social Marketer, Music Label, Sports Advocate, Idea Kitchen, Promotional Innovator, Environmental Leader is ready and waiting 24/7.

Is your brand?

Witt is currently heading the Munich 2018 bid team for the Winter Olympics, and was at SportAccord in London, England, this week to conduct a public presentation of their bid, along with key members of her bid team. Munich is up against Annecy (France) and Pyeongchang (Korea). Pyeongchang is bidding for a third time and were defeated by Vancouver for the 2010 games.

The SportAccord International Convention is the most important gathering in the world for sports federations. It’s a grueling six-day affair featuring 104 annual meetings of Olympic and non-Olympic federations, along with the spring Executive Board meetings for the IOC, networking sessions and panel discussions. It’s more geared to the business side of sports events than the marketing side, but where it really shines is the networking.

If you are a community that wishes to host a major sporting event, a firm that wants to help build or manage said event, or a federation looking for more government and hosting support… this is the place to be.

Fortunately for Canadian organizations, the 2012 SportAccord will be hosted in Quebec City. Although I have to tell you, being in London this week was pretty bloody fun.

The buzz in London, as you can imagine, is all about the 2012 Games. The regeneration of the impoverished east side of London through Games infrastructure is a guarantee of lasting legacy.

The Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, welcomed all SportAccord delegates by announcing that because they are almost done all the venues, he feels it is important to call a “snap Olympics.” So guess what? The 2012 games could actually be happening in a few weeks! Of course he was kidding. But given what Harper has done to us… it’s not really that funny.

Mayor Johnson is beyond funny. He suggested that if we couldn’t do a snap Olympics, there should be a politics Olympics. He thought Dick Cheney would be a star in the shooting events and Colonel Gaddafi should try the “high jump.”

The SportAccord Chair, a politician by the name of Lord Digby Jones Kt (yes, we are in England), was no bore himself, recounting the time he gave a political speech to an audience of one. When he asked the chap if he could skip the Q&A and just go home, the fellow begged him not to leave, because he, in fact, was the next speaker up on the dais!

But Lord Jones said something that struck me to the core. He talked about how in his business life and political life, he has been privileged to be in positions to make a difference in people’s lives. But in sport, he felt we had an opportunity to make the difference in people’s lives. He beseeched us all, members of the business, sport and political communities, to do whatever we could to provide that difference to young people. His words were to the effect that it is our duty to give every young athlete the opportunity to try their best, to train their hardest, to lay it all on the line to win. And that, win or lose, victory would be found through that opportunity to compete. Not just participate, but compete with all the resources imaginable.

This message has been incorporated in the theme for this year’s conference, which is Sport Matters.

It is clear to me that this message has not been lost on the Chair of the 2012 Games, Lord Sebastian Coe, holder of two Olympic golds and two Olympic silvers. He emphasized that these London Games would be a failure if they in fact were not England’s Games. That may be familiar messaging to Canadians, but Coe cited that he isn’t just talking about “cheering.” He talked about how the London Games have been striving to create youth sports programs. So school children that have never been in a boat are now competing at the highest levels of rowing. He talked of their “20-12” program that is striving to engage 12 million youth in sports, in 20 impoverished countries around the world by Games time. To date, they have reached 10.6 million, and will easily surpass their goal. This global legacy program is so exciting that the Rio 2016 OCOG have now picked up this program and the IOC is considering embedding it through future Games.

The efforts of these organizations should not be lost upon us as lessons for our projects and marketing programs. Yes, selling cases and generating media are critical. But we cannot forget. Sport Matters. In fact Music Matters, Saving Lives Matters, Volunteering Matters. If we create programs that are all about the marketing and forget what matters, our credibility will be shot.

Embed that expression into your next brief: (Blank) Matters. Engrain it into your next client recommendation. Express it in your next sponsorship pitch. Encourage your stakeholders to discover it.

Sport Matters.

Behind the gates of Pelican Sound are 1,300 condos, townhomes, coach houses and carriage homes nestled around two golf courses, a half-dozen pools, a cluster of tennis courts and a boat launch. However, what they don’t put on the brochure is the real treasure of the place. The barbecue stations.

Every pool has one. Six high-powered butane miracle machines. They may appear pedestrian as they stand in neat rows, shaded by brush, with a patio table in between. But their power is undeniable. No forewarning could have had me prepared for their might.

It was Day 1 of our stay (if you count arrival day as Day 0. If not, call it Day 2. Please use whatever holiday vernacular best suits you). On Day 1, we did our annual Target pilgrimage in the morning. The boys love that store, almost filling a shopping cart with Shaun White clothing and other bargains.

Dad’s not immune either, picking up a few things, and my parents (Target novices) were over the moon with the place. As great as it will be that Target will soon put Zellers out of its misery, the Canadian arrival of this retailing nirvana will eliminate one commercial treat of our Florida travels.

But I sentimentalize!

After Target, we decided to grab a quick lunch at some place called Hemingway’s in the Coconut Mall. In no way to be confused with Hemis in Yorkville. Disaster did not take long to strike.

My 10 year old slammed the bathroom door on my eight year old’s hand, by accident, but we soon had a busted thumb to deal with.

Rest assured the rest of the day was filled with pharmacy visits, icing of the hand, painkillers and a much-too-delayed trip to the walk-in clinic the next day.

The good news: it wasn’t broken. The bad news: he couldn’t go swimming, play tennis, go biking for a week. Great start to the vacay!

Faced with an uncertain game plan, I trundled off to the BBQs that eve to grill up some ingredients for a little Mexican din din.

Finding an empty grill, I noticed the other two chefs-in-residence understood some of the nuances I didn’t. First, I had no beer. What type of spatulant was I? Further, I had no snacks. No nachos. No dip. No chips. No pretzels. It was very clear to the others that I was either:

A. A BBQ virgin.
B. A Pelican Sound virgin.
C. Hired help for the white woman who kept showing up and telling me what to do.
D. All of the above and too stupid to tell my wife that I could manage the meat.

Embarrassed, I tried to avoid eye contact until I could slip back up to the condo and return with a cold one.

Feeling much more at ease, I was able to make eye contact with the other grillers. Taking a swig, my confidence was restored, especially when I unveiled my tortilla chips and salsa. Before long, I was deeply immersed in a pattern of conversation that repeated itself the other five nights that I hung out with the other BBQ boys.

“Where are you from?” Chicago, Toronto, Ottawa, Oakville, St. Louis, Detroit…

“How long you down for?” We are for a week…until the beginning of April…we have to go home tomorrow…we live here year round now.

“Do you have a place here?” We borrowed from friends…we are renting from a neighbour…we leased from a guy trying to sell.

It never lasted long, we rarely got past first names, but it was a 20-minute ritual that became the highlight of my day. If I headed to the pit and no smoke was billowing, I would be sad to the point of considering a kitchen delay. But invariably someone would show up and off we would go down the get-to-know-you-in-a-hurry expressway.

The conversations took a couple of unique twists. I met a guy who had just had a knee replacement and was lined up for another. His scar made me realize, I’m a wimp. Met some Ohio State fans who were convinced they were going to win the NCAA men’s basketball crown. I even met the father of one my employees. Now that’s a small world.

The best person I met was “Ohio.” When I first saw Ohio, I knew there was something different about him. I didn’t notice the halo at first, but there it was, glistening and bright just a few inches above his bald 60-something noggin of a head.

Yes, I met an angel at the BBQ pit. It’s true!

When Ohio saw my youngster’s thumb (he came to visit Dad in the BBQ pit to see why I was so happy), his sympathy resulted in a suggestion that made our trip. Ohio the angel said, “Take him to Flippers, that will cheer him up.”

So we did.

Flippers is at Lovers Key Resort, a non-descript tower next to a bridge just off Hickory Island. It’s a wisp of a restaurant, all outdoors, holding only 60 people. It’s probably like a thousand other places in the south. A charming, bleached blond, rapidly aging bartender. Who makes a mean Hurricane. A harried bald host, who probably came down from Syracuse for spring break in 1975 and forgot to leave. Chatty patrons gathered at the few bar stools all patiently waiting for their name to be called. A sunset that suggested we’d see dolphins dancing in the surf.

Flippers was everything the angel said it would be. I can still smell the Mahi off my pate mixed with the salt of the sea.

On your next vacation, look for the hallowed grounds of the BBQ. It is heaven. I’ve met an angel to prove it.

Boarding the plane at Chicago Midway, I’m definitely sleep deprived from attending the 2011 IEG Sponsorship Conference. While one could point the finger squarely at MH3 for my condition, I’m going to blame you instead.

You see, I had a simple goal in attending this year’s conference. Having been to something ridiculous like 15 or 16 of them, I was starting to feel like a bit of a lifer. This wasn’t a recent development. It had been creeping up on me for years. It would result in a little game I would play with myself on an annual basis. Seems every year I would tell myself that I didn’t need to attend and every year I would be fearful of “missing something,” like not going to every party on a high school weekend. So register I would. Then wish I hadn’t.

Candidly, I became a lazy conference goer. That’s an easy path to being disgruntled.

For this year’s conference I took some early clues from my Canadian colleagues. E-mails began to surface weeks ago about a Canada Night dinner from Leigh at Ivanhoe. Susan from the SMCC suggested a cocktail reception. Before long the events were merged, the location reserved and the invitations flowing.

As momentum picked up for the dinner, I began to realize how many of us Canadians would be invading American sponsorship turf. Even better, a ton of names began to surface of people I didn’t know. I was flabbergasted. Someone in sponsorship in Canada I didn’t know. Egads, I’m getting stale.

So, highly motivated, I departed to Chicago last Sunday dead set on expanding my network. Squarely intent on understanding the pulse of the Canadian marketplace. Fiercely determined to know what I didn’t know.

You know what? There was a lot I didn’t know. And a lot of people.

But of course there were a few I knew well. Like Stephane from Just for Laughs, who didn’t really laugh when I introduced him as the least funny person who worked at JFL. Sorry dude! Of course he did try to educate me on the 11 types of humour that apparently exist. I say apparently because he only got to six.

Then there was Stephen from BMW Canada. He led a roundtable on doing more with less that made it clear this is a revenue-focused sponsor with his examples of how he leverages global assets, internal departments and long-term planning to maximize his spend.

I also know Rico from the NCC. Real name Richard. He’s one of the key money men behind Winterlude and Canada Day in Ottawa. I didn’t know he wasn’t my brother from a different mother. All these years he’s had me convinced!

I also know Pat and Christie from the Stampede. But I didn’t know that the best event in Canada had just signed a JV with Cowboys to operate their casino. Yes folks, after a two-year absence, the big tent, big beers and big… you-know-what’s will be back in Calgary in time for the Stampede. If you’ve never been to this bar, five minutes inside Cowboys will make you understand why the locals proclaim, “It’s not cheating… It’s Stampeding!”

Speaking of the Stampede, Sue from BMO was also in Chicago. BMO has been the Stampede’s bank since 1912. That’s not a typo. That’s one heck of a long sponsorship renewal!

But on to some new people. Let’s start with Sophie and Catherine from Tennis Canada. The first thing they told me was that their colleagues had warned them that I was a big partier! Ouchy!

Speaking of Tennis Canada, check out Sarah from Esteemed Events’ new branding. She runs the TC sponsor summits.

Also from Montréal was Paul from Festival Divers/Cité. This annual event is, in his words, not run by gay people, nor does it feature only gay performers. But in its 26th year, it’s a world-class event created to celebrate the LBGT community.

Kevin from Parc Jean-Drapeau was in attendance and his property will be the site of the F1 race that is our hostevent for CSF 2011. Kevin’s attended CSF a few times, so make sure you meet him in June.

One of the funnest duos I met were Shaun from the Princess Margaret Hospital and Nick from his agency SDI. They, along with SDI team member Leah, are managing the cool new Road Hockey to Conquer Cancer event. (Full disclosure: we finished second in the pitch. Grr!) The boys and I had a few chuckles, about which I have promised them to disclose no clues… you will need to contact them directly and sign a waiver for details!

Met some American who didn’t believe we won the War of 1812, because the White House doesn’t fly a Canadian flag. Oh and they also said the Civil War wasn’t about slavery. To my face. Have you seen a picture of me?

Shari from the Shaw Festival was in attendance and by all accounts they seem to be cooking with gas. A recent deal included a big increase in support from a major bank. Congrats! I will let you issue the announcement Shari… but let us know so we can share it with our CSF newsletter readers.

Had to share a few fear of heights stories with Pat and Liz from the CN Tower. They have only worked at the tower for a combined 42 years, so I’m not sure how unique my tales really were.

Stumbled upon Ian from OOMPH! Events. In a bar called Howling at the Moon. Hence the stumbling. If you like duelling pianos, this is your place. Ian is speaking at CSF this year. I didn’t intend to meet him for the first time when I was gunned. Hope he still wants to speak… he is going to do an ROI Session on B2B properties.

I departed the Moon with Paolo from the NBA. Good call pulling the chute mate! He and Leah are hopeful their league doesn’t follow the lead of the NFL this summer into labour strife.

Good to see Jason from NFL Canada… no I mean Insight Sports… sorry I mean Capital C. By the time you finish this blog, he’ll have a new job.

Met Betty from North Vancouver and Lori from 3 Guineas in Toronto. If you need some help in the film world, these two are experts!

Brett from Canada Place was there with her new colleague Matti. Took me until the cab ride to remember Matti had been a client at Astral years ago!

Met Daryl from U of T. He was supposed to come to our dinner, but was under the weather. Perhaps it was from the germs on his shower curtain at this alleged hotel we stayed in called the Sheraton. Someone hoist the Motel 6 sign back up… the wind knocked it off the building.

Speaking of buildings, ever wonder if anyone works in that crazy big Foresters building near the DVP? Well I met a real live one. She knows my buddy George from Ontario Lung. Problem is I forgot her name. I’m sorry!

Lalitha and Pam from Elections Ontario shared with me their plans for testing a school-based program with kids in Grade 5 and Grade 10, to teach them about the importance of our democratic society and electoral system. Soon they will be looking for channel partners for this vital outreach.

Rashmi from Yorkdale had fond memories of working with my team on our Philips Sonicare toothbrush program last year. That made me relieved! (-:

Said hello to Todd from the ROM. They are looking for a new CEO if you want to be his boss.

Met Steve from Telus. He was one crazy Canuck. (If this joke is too subtle, humour type #4, Google “Podborski”.)

Speaking of the NFL, Dan and George were hunkering down for business unusual because of the lockout. Hang in there gents.

One of Scotiabank’s new sponsorship whizzes, Melanie, was there along with her agency S&E Sponsorship and account lead Matt. I once tried to hire Melanie. She said no. Doesn’t she know I hold grudges? (-:

There was a rumour Don and Dwayne from IMI were at IEG… but I didn’t see them in any sessions. A closer check of the lobby bar security videotapes, however, does validate their presence in the state of Illinois. That goes for you too, Jennifer from DIM!

Speaking of ghosts, did anyone see Alison from Rethink Breast Cancer? Oh I’m just kidding. I really should apologize for missing her workshop. Not only is she a great presenter, but the relationship she has created with Telus is UNBELIEVABLE, given the size of her organization. Beautiful!

Met Cathy and Elvira from Devan. They are good friends with Colin (ex-employee) and Megan from Toronto General & Western. Hey Megan, were you really the agent for Sloan from Entourage? Too cool. Shane from Rogers wants to know if you get him a walk-on role!

Bumped into Jim from Kraft. Leaked to him that the winner from Hockeyville last year is going to do a workshop at CSF 2011 on how to get entrants in voting structured programs engaged.

Also met Kiran from UCLA. He’s a former volleyball coach at North Carolina and Kansas. Which is cool ‘cause he was born in Toronto and raised in Calgary. Sports took him south. Now he does marketing for UCLA Recreation and is opening opportunities up for companies to connect with his campus community of 70,000 students, faculty and staff.

I am going to finish this entry by awarding the DELEGATE OF THE YEAR AWARD to “Little Jules,” the man who puts the jewel in Diamond Integrated Marketing. My boy Dave. To combat the HORRIBLE service and attitude of the Sheraton Chicago, Double D concocted a brilliant plan to defeat their ridiculous midnight last call. He ordered a two-four. How Canadian! A freaking “two-four” of Stella. (Full disclosure: I received an awesome Stella pouring kit at my office two weeks ago. It was the most beautiful promo piece I have ever seen!)

So back to Dave. After he got confirmation on the two-four, he puts his BlackBerry to work and ordered in six large pizzas from one of Chicago’s finest pie makers. Let me tell you one thing. You make a lot of friends when you control a two-four and 72 slices of pizza in a hotel bar at 1 a.m.

Brilliant work Diamond.

You have my respect. Harrison.

(Inside joke, ask Dave about it)

This week the circle has almost become fully linked. As part of our ongoing staff training program, we’ve decided to hire some consultants to teach an introductory IMC (Integrated Marketing Communications) course to our most junior staff. We’ve really pumped our training the past few years and have found that besides conference attendance, we’ve invested in an intensive combination of in-house courses, tutorials, executive coaches and ICA programs.

One gap we saw was in marketing fundamentals. It was really a simple conclusion. We have a very smart staff base. The typical profile is a Queens or Laurentian grad who then added a post-grad PR or sports marketing program to their degree. Or, in the case of the SPAD kids, a kick-ass internship at a place like IMG. However, as our agency becomes less about events and more about campaigns, the need to hone our marketing knowledge and really understand the language of our clients has become critical.

The answer? To custom develop an IMC course with some consultants to be taught to our up-and-comers. Here is where the Mark Harrison flashback comes in… The consultants we hired were my old marketing prof from the University of Guelph and his son. (Here comes that age thing again.)

We hired him over some of the other bidders for the simple reason that Professor (Tom) Funk was one of three profs I had in my university and grad school days that left me with lasting lessons.

Tom Funk

Professor Funk and his wife Jane were both profs of mine at the U of Goo, where he taught for over three decades. His impact on me came in two distinct channels, although if you looked at my grades in his class you may not know it. What struck me about him as a prof, and I had him for two, maybe three semester courses, was his passion. I had a lot of smart professors in university. One might argue that all professors are smart… but don’t confuse the ability to read and regurgitate with smarts. But I felt that more than half of the time I was being guided by smart folks.

What separated Professor Funk from the others was a quality near and dear to me. Passion. I can’t remember one lecture that didn’t feel like he was so consumed by the material it was bursting to get out of him. He led by example and expected his class to be equally enthralled with what we were learning. Given that many students were not interested in the material, his ability to create that environment was impressive.

The other thing about Funk I loved was his clarity. He created a soft copy Marketing Management manual that I candidly used for many, many years in my work life. It was orange and cerlox bound, decorated with my in-class notes… and I am sure many a staffer thought I was a geek… but it was one useful guide to marketing!

The other prof at Guelph who really left a lasting impression was Dr. Richard Phidd, my thesis advisor. Phidd was just as happy to conduct class in the local pub as he was in an auditorium, but don’t think of him as the stereotypical prof from Animal House. (Especially not the Donald Sutherland character!) He was a deep thinker, constantly consumed by his craft and always egging me on that what I was doing wasn’t good enough. But in a way that kept me motivated, hungry and productive.

Richard Phidd

Phidd’s contribution to my life was teaching me the ability to problem-solve. For he was a systems theory expert and he got me captivated by policy, systems and the machine. Because he also allowed me to integrate sport into my thesis (I wrote about how the federal government used sport in the 1970s as a policy instrument), my fascination was complete. As a young adult, I went from reading the many books he coauthored with Bruce Doern to the likes of Peter Senge.

If you’re having difficulty understanding how your organization truly works, read The Fifth Discipline and you will uncover the answers. Thanks Professor Phidd.

My third influencer was from my MBA days at York. Emphasis on York for all you young Schulich grads applying for jobs with TrojanOne. When I went there it was still York. So don’t open with the line, “Oh you went to Schulich as well?” Yes, this grumpy old man went to York!

York University

I can’t say I loved my MBA program. Maybe it was because to graduate you had to do a group project called the “601”. As part of the process, you didn’t get an individual grade. The profs gave us a pile of grades which we had to divvy up among our group members. One slacker in our group didn’t love the low grade we gave her. Candidly, it cost her, her MBA. So she left death threats on the answering machine of our group leader. (Google “answering machine,” youngsters, if you don’t know what I mean.) Yes, this is a true story!

But while at York, I had a great prof called Larry Ginsberg. Don’t know if he is still there but he taught some excellent courses on entrepreneurship and consulting. In his own consulting life, he worked a lot with dysfunctional family businesses. Not that the businesses were dysfunctional, but the families were and he had to repair their working relationships. Made for some great classroom stories.

Ginsberg taught an awesome course where not only did you have to get a real-world consulting client, they had to PAY the university for you to pass. This was the best real-world class I have ever had in academia. I watched several of my classmates fail; to land clients, and some land clients who wouldn’t pay up. Let me tell you folks, it’s the first order of a running a business. Creating a customer. (Thank you Professor Ginsberg and Peter Drucker!)

I often get asked by people whether they have what it takes to start their own business. I suggest to them that if they go to the busiest intersection in their city in their “birthday suit,” they will quickly find out. Those who can get someone to buy them some new clothes before they are arrested will definitely be able to start their own business and they would have passed Ginsberg’s course.

Don’t worry; while this is a flashback to my school days, I am not going streaking through the quad!