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Chris F.

Bravo, Commish. Thanks for sharing. I hope your PP&M story serves to inspire your blogaudience in future endeavors. It's helped me out on more than one occasion in the past, and I'd like to take a few minutes to share one of those times.

Step into the Way-Back Machine with me for a second and travel back in time to when I was a working stiff, chained to a desk, and connected to the phone for 12 hours a day......

From time to time, my generous employer would have little pep rallies to excite the workforce. The rallies would normally include excited high-level managers from one of the other buildings blabbing on a microphone, talking about the numbers for the quarter, and blah, blah, blah. Sometimes they even had prize drawings for zip drives, scanners, or Gameboys (all of which I somehow won). Anyway, at one such rally, each sales team (about 12 people per team) was supposed to come up with some sort of song and dance skit. I never went to summer camp or even an Aggie Fish Camp, but that's the kind of thing I'm talking about. On most teams of twelve, there'd be at least one person who'd get excited about this kind of thing - you know, the kind of girl who may have been a cheerleader in a former life who was good at writing bubble letters and knew how to use a glue stick. Well, my team was different. We were a band of brothers, all dudes, and wanted nothing to do with either coming up with or performing any kind of skit for the pep rally. One of the guys on our team made a half-way attempt at coming up with something, but no one else on the team bought into it at all.

Fast forward to the day of the big rally: our team, along with half of the other sales teams, was about to be set free from our desks for 40 minutes or so to take part in the big fun. The team was in a panic, my teammates were scrambling, trying to come up with last minute solutions to a what looked to be a potentially embarrassing situation for all of us when our team got called to the stage to perform.

Just then, a plan hit me. Years of growing up under Commish were about to pay-off. I realized that our manager, for which our team was named and identified by, was not going to be at the rally. So I gathered the troops and started communicating the plan.....

When the guy with the microphone called for "The Keeney Team" to step up to the stage, what if there was no Keeney Team???? He'd have to move on to the next team, right?

"So, what Chris, we just don't go to the rally?? We just stay at our desks and remain on the phones instead? That's not good."

Oh no, that wouldn't allow us our desired break from the insanity of talking to Bubba all day about 'gettin' one-a-dem compooters' he saw on tv. No, my Commish-inspired plan would require a little more effort on our part, but the payoff would be much richer, allowing for our deserved time-off while also assuring we wouldn't end up on stage doing the chicken dance or some played-out Saturday Night Live skit.

Fast forward a little more, and it's now time for the rally. As planned, my teammates and I all got off the phone and made our way to the rally. After sitting through lame skits of fake game-shows, tv commercial spoofs, and one particularly embarrassing dance involving one of those tacky singing fish, our time had come. There we sat all in a row together, with the game plan in our head. It was time for us to perform, and perform we did.

"Next up, the Keeney Team. Come on up and show us what you've got....."

A deafening silence went over the crowd. That's right, we did nothing, did not move a muscle, made no eye contact with anyone, made no indication as to who were were, and therefore offered no excuse to why we didn't have a skit planned.

"Come on up, Keeney Team, we're all waiting....."

Crickets, I tell ya, crickets.....

We did not budge, didn't look at each other or anyone else, didn't chuckle or even crack smiles.

The silence was getting to be uncomfortable, but we weren't about to blow our cover. Finally, it got to the point that the unfamiliar manager on the mike knew he had to move on before the rally came to a complete halt and lost whatever momentum the signing fish had gotten him in the first place.

"Alright, I guess the Keeney team didn't make it out, let's move on....."

And there you have it. The Keeney Team stuck to the NECCO principles passed on by Commish and won big that day. By refusing to give in to the pressure and sticking to the plan of not making any eye contact, we had prevailed. I like to think our non-performance was actually the performance of the day.

As a postscript, I should mention that the NECCO plan is not suited for all situations. If you ever accidentally step on the back of Marcus Mitchell's shoes in the hallway at Vines, the no eye contact strategy will get you nowhere. In that situation, try to ignore the massive muscles bulging out of his thick neck, look him straight in the eye, man-up to what you did, and apologize profusely.


Big Hurt

This is one of my all-time favorite Commish stories. You're at your best when rushing headlong into awkward social situations while sticking to the "Commish Rules" to survive.

NECCO is vital in other situations:
-Panhandlers/beggars
-Dining at a middle-eastern restaurant (unless you want to get pulled up into an embarassing belly dance)
-When encountering an old high school classmate that you don't want to acknowledge/speak to

If only the Necco strategy worked for dealing with entities like the IRS.

Big Hurt

need more hungers postings. work is slow today.

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