[Parting shots] It's not just a job ...

Years ago, the legendary Howard Cosell wrote a book called, “I Never Played the Game.” The title basically referred to the fact that he was one of the few sports commentators of his day who wasn’t a former jock. Cosell, love him or hate him, was simply someone who observed what was going on in the sports world from the perspective of a nonathlete.

Well, I confess here and now that I’ve never played your game, either. I’ve never been a golf course superintendent, course owner or – God forbid – a golf professional. I couldn’t grow grass if my life depended on it. I majored in English and stumbled into this business by pure, dumb luck. The last thing I’d want to own in these tough times is a golf course. And, I stink at hitting that nasty, little white ball. I can’t even fold shirts well or stack range balls into those cool pyramids.

All I can do – and all I’ve ever done – is to talk with you guys, listen to what’s going on and try to put some perspective on things. That’s worked out pretty damn well for 20 years in this crazy business.

It’s gotten to the point where I hear the same things every time I go out to a chapter meeting to give a speech, visit a course or hang out at a trade show. Here’s a short list of the few no-brainer themes I hear consistently when traveling throughout the country:
• Growing grass is the easiest part of the job;
• There’s a lot of pressure to manage costs;
• Players don’t understand what we do;
• It’s not as much fun as it used to be;
• Golfers have unrealistic expectations;
• Employers make stupid, short-sighted decisions; and
• I’m thinking about a new career path ... maybe selling turf products!

It’s the last point that seems to be most intriguing for superintendents. I hear it all the time: “Hey, I can jump over to the sales side and make more money. I can have weekends off. It’ll be a life of luxury compared to having a gun to my head here at Shady Acres Country Club! I’ll just be calling on all my buddies, getting their business and things will be great!”

Sounds wonderful, right?

Before you jump to that conclusion, I strongly suggest you talk privately with a few of your friends who have made that transition. They might have a different story to tell.

Throughout the past few months, I’ve talked with dozens of distributor sales reps at trade shows, conferences and events sponsored by industry suppliers. If they’re living the life of luxury or just calling all their buddies and grabbing the easy pickings from the market, it’s not apparent to me. In most cases, they quietly express many of the same thoughts superintendents have but in a different context.

“It’s a bitch, because you have a number (total sales dollar amount) you have to hit,” one said. “I get paid for selling about $600,000 of product per year. It’s not easy. I work about 65 hours a week. The competition, particularly with the generic products out there and other guys who are willing to do anything to undersell me, makes it crappy. It’s not something that’s a lot of fun, but I have to feed my family.”

Does that sound like easy pickings? Is that the lap of luxury?

Another rep told me: “I miss growing grass every day, but I don’t want to go back to it … just yet.” This is a guy who makes $75,000 a year selling chemicals, and he’s still not convinced it was the right decision. He likes helping his customers and being a friend to them, but hates having to push them hard to close the deal. “It feels kind of dirty sometimes.”

But, after hearing all the dispirited comments from salespeople, I talked to one other guy who put things in perspective for me. He’s a pretty big player with one of the larger independent distributors in the nation. We were relaxing at a corporate event a couple of weeks ago and chatting about the hard-knocks life of the sales rep when he told me something insightful.

We were talking about all those early-morning calls from customers to bring out a case of some product or a replacement part for some vehicle at 5 a.m. and all those times he gets beat up by a superintendent over a few bucks on price. I kept pushing for him to spill out his guts about how hard it was and how much he hated some parts of it. But, he wouldn’t do it. He insisted that – even though it’s a pain in the butt – he absolutely loves his work. Why? Here are his words: “It’s not a job,” he said. “It’s a lifestyle.”

Gee, does that sound familiar?

For all of the hardships and difficulties superintendents face, the vast majority stick with it. The lifestyle, despite all the detritus (Latin for “crap”) that accompanies it, offers many very alluring rewards:
• Seeing the sun rise on a dew-covered course;
• Hearing the occasional compliment from a player;
• Helping young people learn the business; and
• Constantly improving a piece of property that might not be yours ... but it’s yours.

And, for all of the challenges good salespeople face, the vast majority of them stick with it as well. That lifestyle is one of problem-solving. Yes, they have to sell things and “make the number,” but the vast majority I meet take their greatest satisfaction from being a partner to the superintendent. Preventing or fixing problems is what turns them on.

So, how can it be that a profession – and the people who serve the profession by selling needed products – holds such a compelling, moth-to-the-flame attraction?

I don’t know, to be honest. Like Cosell, I never played your game. But, I have my suspicions. The lifestyle, not the job, is what matters. Whether you’re growing grass or selling to people who do, you buy into something bigger than a 9-to-5 vocation. You buy into the truth and beauty of creating and preserving these wonderful playing fields. You buy into an idea, not a job description. You buy into the downside as much as you buy into the upside.

It’s a package deal, whichever side of the business you end up on. Either you love it, or you leave. And, you know what? Nobody ever seems to leave. GCN