Seven Tenths of a Second, page 8
So when I show up at a racetrack, I’m representing the money. I am the money. I’m everyone’s best friend. So I build my reputation as a deal-maker. Everyone wants to get to know me. I’m Switzerland. I’m neutral. I might bring the money to this team or that team or that series. ‘Hey,’ people say, ‘Zak might be able to get us a deal.’
I’m still racing. A variety of stuff – Toyota Atlantic, IndyLights, IMSA – but now I get my next big deal, Weider Publications. They publish Muscle & Fitness magazine and Men’s Fitness. They give me advertising pages that are worth twenty-five grand each and I sell them through a company called Media Resources International, owned by Peter Benassi. I would never have been able to build the business without his support.
So I’m going after companies and saying, ‘Sponsor me and not only will I give you $250,000 in benefit of racing sponsorship, I’ll also give you ten pages of ads in Men’s Fitness. Around that time, I hire my first employee at Just Marketing, who is a neighbour. By 1996, I have three employees. I like my first employee, but she can’t keep up so I have to fire her.
In 1998, I do my first seven-figure deal, an IndyCar deal. I buy my first nice car, a Porsche. I’m starting to make money. I’m not getting rich, but I’m starting to have a bit of a lifestyle. But I’m still spending more than I have so that I can grow the company. I go to eight employees when I can only afford six. I go to ten employees when I can only afford eight.
People telling me I’m the best person at sponsorship is flattering, but I’m still clinging on to the idea that I’m only doing the business stuff to pay for the racing. I have a couple of good results in endurance races at Sebring and Daytona.
I’m still good in a team environment. I’m a good leader. If I make a mistake, smash up a car, I buy the pit crew dinner. I know how to make people feel good and build a team around me, get them on my side. I still see myself as a racer, but I know when I’m honest with myself that I’m struggling to get by.
My last good season is in 1998, but I’m kind of getting tired. I’m totally losing focus. Everyone’s telling me to stop racing and do the business.
I have two big crashes in my last year of racing. I get knocked out and taken to the hospital. I’m not winning any more. It’s not fun any more. I realize it’s almost time. I tell myself not to burn any bridges when I leave. It’s too small a world in this business to risk anything in the future by pissing people off.
I get a bit more analytical about my driving. I have more weaknesses than strengths. I’m not disciplined enough in my efforts. I have a hard time balancing my work on the track and my responsibilities off it.
I know I have to decide to focus on one discipline. I want to quit in 1999, but I have a year left on my contract. When that runs out, I know I’m not going anywhere in racing. I’ve been racing for ten years and it just isn’t happening for me. I’m not making any money as a racer.
My staff at Just Marketing are telling me I could do more for the company if I was more present with them rather than being absent at the track. It becomes pretty clear that I have to quit. I’m crashing. I’m not having fun. I don’t even want to go to the races any more. Common sense kicks in.
I stop in 2000, and then I do my first NASCAR deal, which is with Columbia House Records. It’s multi-million, and it’s easy. I think, ‘Now I can start making some real money.’
I’m tired of driving to get my ass kicked. I quit. I’m focused on the business. I now have thirty employees. As soon as I break into NASCAR, which is booming, I start killing it. I’m doing more deals than anyone else. Big deals. Seven-figure deals. And now I’m one of the hottest guys in finding sponsorship in motorsports.
The business is growing so fast I move offices three or four times. I’m just going a hundred miles an hour and I’m the leader in the agency business. I want to be in racing and now I’m just relentless and ruthless with the competition and just killing it.
Sometimes, now, I look back and I think about that time, and I think about the stepping out of one dream and climbing into another. I think about knowing when to quit trying to be a race driver; I think about when we know; I think about recognizing the fact that, actually, that thing you thought you wanted, you are actually better at something else.
Don’t be a dreamer. There’s a difference between following your passion and being real with yourself. And so I come to terms with the reality that I’m not good enough in the race car any more.
I’ve raced against Juan Pablo Montoya, Dario Franchitti and Jos Verstappen, and you’re on the track with these guys and it’s like, ‘Man, I can’t do what I’ve just seen him do.’ So you’ve got to recognize your strengths and weaknesses and have a dream. But my dream shifts when I realize I’m just not good enough.
And I also realize I’m really good at the sponsorship side of things. I mean, really good. I start enjoying the success, the money, the accolades, the write-ups, the praise, the notoriety. Now I’m getting the attention that I think I always craved in my childhood. Now I’m all-in on the business.
Time flies by. It’s 2004. Business is booming. I’m big in NASCAR now, and I’ve landed Diageo. One of their products is Smirnoff Ice, which is allowed to appear on cars because it’s not considered hard liquor. We win the championship in the previous season with Matt Kenseth and Roush Racing with Smirnoff Ice on the car.
But spirits aren’t allowed to advertise in sports in the US. There’s a television ban. That ban is seen as an obstacle that will never be removed. But Diageo is the biggest adult beverage company in the world and they want to change it.
So I’m sitting down with Diageo’s CEO of North America, Ivan Menezes, Rob Malcolm, the global CMO, who now sits on McLaren’s advisory team, and US CMO Mark Waller. And they go, ‘Zak, great job. Can you get Crown Royal into NASCAR?’ Crown Royal is a spirit. It’s whisky. I tell them it’s a fifty-eight-year-long ban. No sport allows it. NASCAR’s the biggest corporate sponsor sport and it’s very conservative. I think we have no chance, and many have tried and failed in the past.
But I take on the challenge. This is a big thing. This is about politics and big business and the battle between Diageo and beer brands like Budweiser, Miller and Coors, who are all big in NASCAR and do not want to see their market invaded by spirits, and who wield huge influence and power.
NASCAR struggles with it. Diageo backs me all the way. They know that if they can get into NASCAR, it will change the dynamics of how spirits can advertise in North America.
The deal takes a year. It’s intense. It’s NASCAR, it’s TV networks, it’s beer companies, it’s the government, and it’s various pressure groups.
This is on a platform unlike anything I’ve ever done before. I go about it kind of how I do everything: where are the problems, where are the hurdles and how do you fix them?
I know that beer does not want spirits advertising in NASCAR and that I can’t solve that problem. So I have to park that. I have to be strategic. I have to accept I’m not going to get five votes out of five so I have to concentrate on getting four votes out of five.
You have got to be aware of where the landmines are. Sometimes you can disarm them. Other times, you figure you can’t disarm them and you’ve got to learn how to walk around them or jump over them.
In this instance, we run a huge social responsibility campaign. We hammer home the message about not drinking and driving. And don’t forget, NASCAR is a commercial enterprise. It wants a good deal, and we are offering a good deal. A very good deal.
The deal with Crown Royal is worth a quarter of a billion dollars to NASCAR. That is what Diageo is authorizing me to put on the table. That is a massive investment for any sport.
I have the total support of Diageo in making this deal. It is close to a level where Diageo is saying to me, ‘Do whatever it takes.’ That doesn’t happen very often, but it is happening with this.
They know this deal is going to change the whole advertising landscape for the industry in North America if I can get it done, so they are going to throw money at it. They are thinking big picture.
I get it done. It’s headline news. I make millions. NASCAR relaxes the rule. It’s highly contentious. They put me up on television, on Fox News. This is big. I get attacked on Fox News. I’m in the Wall Street Journal.
It’s probably the deal I’m most proud of. It’s one thing to do a deal. It’s another to get legislation overturned to do a deal. This is industry game-changing. As soon as Crown Royal gets in, Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam follow soon after. People were telling me I was wasting my time, but today, spirits advertising is in the NFL, NBA and MLB.
The media is all over it. ‘NASCAR said the decision to end its hard-liquor sponsorship ban was agreed upon after an internal review, which included outreach to advocacy groups such as the National Commission Against Drunk Driving and other experts in the field of alcohol-related issues,’ one report says.
More things build from there. You get into loyalty and relationships. Paul Walsh is the CEO of Diageo when we do the Crown Royal deal, and now he’s the chairman of McLaren. He’s my boss. That relationship has been maintained the entire time. It goes back more than twenty years.
All of this puts me on the map. I’m now the Guy Edwards of sponsorship in North America. One day, I’m flying back from a NASCAR race in Talladega with Paul Walsh in my own plane, telling him I want to get Diageo into Formula 1.
Getting my first plane is definitely an ‘I made it’ moment. It’s a bit like my first Porsche. It’s a Lear 31 and it cost $5 million and its tail number is 500 ZB. The 500 is a reference to the Indy 500.
It costs me $1 million a year to maintain it and I employ two pilots. I use it like a car. Somebody says to me: ‘Oh, you want to have breakfast tomorrow in New York?’ And now I’ve got a plane, whether I’m in Indianapolis, or Chicago, or Memphis, or wherever, I say, ‘Sure, no problem.’ I live on that plane.
To me, that plane means productivity. The way I look at it is, I’m on the road 250 days a year. We all have twenty-four hours in the day, whether you’re George Washington, George Bush or Zak Brown, and there are very few things you can do that can buy you time.
When you live on the road 250 days a year and it’s an hour to the airport and you’ve got to get there an hour early and it’s an hour to get through the airport at the other end, you do the math. That is a lot of hours you are saving.
Forget about how many times flights are cancelled and delayed and all that stuff. I’m buying 250 hours of productivity, I’m buying a thirteenth month in the calendar and, in a thirteenth month, can I get one more deal done? Absolutely I can. It’s cool to have your own plane, sure, but for me, it’s all about productivity.
So, Paul Walsh is flying back with me on my plane. I’m not worried about payroll any more. I’ve got maybe 150 employees in Indianapolis, Charlotte and New York, so I’ve not gone international yet, but I want to get into Formula 1.
I do my first Formula 1 deal with Hilton and they are on the McLaren car to this day. And on the back of that, I work with Rob Malcolm to get Johnnie Walker into F1. Now I’m global. I change the name of my company from Just Marketing to Just Marketing International.
Chapter 8
The Fire Always Gets Bigger
Soon, I’m becoming well known in Formula 1. I set up an office at Silverstone. Even though I’m an outsider in some ways, I’ve also spent a lot of time racing in Europe so I’m comfortable and people are comfortable with me.
I’m the only American doing big business in Formula 1, but I’m good with that. I’m known. I’m bringing money. Everyone wants to do business with me. This is where I start building my relationship with McLaren. My first few deals are with them.
Now I’m at the top of the hill, I want to tell a quick story about loyalty and integrity in business. It’s also a story about remembering. I’ve always done things the right way. I remember every single person that helped me along the way. I also remember every single person that burned me.
And I’ve got a long memory.
To me, time does not heal. If you wronged me fifteen years ago, I don’t forget that. People know that now. I won’t go out of my way to get someone back for something they did a long time ago, but if they cross my path and it comes my way, I’ll let them know.
I’m just a lot more professional and measured now, and I wait for it to come to me. I won’t seek it, but I won’t turn away from it. I think that’s probably the competitive side of me as well.
So this is the story. It’s the mid-90s and I’m scratching around for money, trying to make it as a race driver in Europe, and I’m working for an automotive manufacturer at a racing school at the Pocono Raceway in Pennsylvania, taking corporate clients and journalists and car dealers around various circuits.
The other drivers are people like me, or former racing drivers who have retired or didn’t make it, and some up-and-coming drivers. It’s very cliquey. Almost reminds me of school. And I don’t fit. I do my job, but I’m a bit antisocial. They all go out and have a beer together, and I don’t.
I’m totally professional, but then, after hours, I’m still working, I’m working, I’m working. So I don’t fit in with them. Some of them are hopeless. Some of them crash a car. One of them puts diesel in the tank instead of unleaded. They’re not even doing a good job.
So this guy, one of the bosses, he calls me and says, ‘Hey, Zak, we don’t need you to come back next week.’ I really need that money and that job but, because I’m not part of their clique, they can me. It’s the one and only time I’ve ever been fired.
I still remember it like it was yesterday. I would’ve had more respect if the guy had just said, ‘Zak, you’re not part of the clique, so we’re going to trade you out for someone who is.’ I wouldn’t have liked it, but it would have been preferable to this move.
So ten or fifteen years go by. JMI is booming. I’m well established. People know that I can make a difference for their business. I’m in the office and I get a voicemail from the guy who canned me.
His tone could not be nicer. ‘Hey, Zak. We met some time ago, but you probably won’t remember me. And I’ve got this race series I’m starting, and you’re the man now, I’d like to talk to you about it, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Call me back.’
I call him back. My tone’s nice, too. I ask him where we met. He says, ‘Don’t worry about it, it was a long time ago.’ Then he gives me the pitch for this new series and says he’s got some investors and that he’d love me to get on a call with them and pump them up. We set up the call for the following week.
We get on the call. I then explain that I do remember him, the reasons why I remember him and that I would never do business with him again. It’s probably not what he was expecting. The call ends before it even gets started.
It’s worth saying: I’m not some sort of vengeance junkie. It’s just that what you do matters in business. Your history with people matters. So you might as well start off how you mean to go on because some people will not forget and things get paid forward.
Like so many things in life, business can be cyclical. You meet people again and again in business and sometimes they might be at a stage of their career where they are not as powerful as you are, and sometimes they might be more powerful than you are.
The common denominator is how you treat them. I see so many people who have a relationship with someone, and then, if they realize that that person’s circumstances have changed, if they see that their business card suddenly says they’re not the CEO any more, they drop them. I just think that’s a terrible way to roll.
I’ve got a lot of people who are associates of mine from a long time back. Some of those people might not be able to help me any more in terms of where I’m at in my career, but that doesn’t change one iota the way I treat them and what I would do for them.
Because I always remember what they did for me when I needed them to be decent. I am forever indebted to those people. And then there’s people who retire and I know that they can’t do anything for me today. But that doesn’t matter. Once a friend, always a friend. Once a foe, always a foe.
The thing is, at root I’m a pleaser, and I’m a pleaser to my sponsors. Remember when I pretty much worshipped TWA in my early days. I want to please my employees. I like to make people happy, and that includes McLaren fans, too.
So I’ve got a pleaser mentality and I like it when people say ‘good job’ and ‘thank you’. I like to deliver for people. I think I’m a formidable competitor. And after I do those first couple of deals with McLaren in F1, I open my first office in England at Silverstone.
And now I’m kind of right back at the heart of my passion for the sport because I’m in Formula 1, not as a driver, but I’m in the pit lane, and I’d rather be in this pit lane than in NASCAR. I feel at home here.
I start to get to know Ron Dennis and John Hogan, an Australian motorsport and advertising executive. Hogie is a legend, the man associated with Marlboro’s iconic sponsorship in F1, and another person responsible for where I am today.
My first proper contact with him comes because I want to hire a PR executive and, on her résumé, she has John Hogan as a reference. I want to get to know John Hogan, so even though I don’t really care about the reference, I make the call and open the door.
We hit it off, and I hire him. He becomes the guy who can walk me through any door in Formula 1, any door, starting with Bernie Ecclestone. That’s where my relationship with Bernie starts. Bernie takes to me right away.
I guess Bernie thinks, ‘I like how Zak rolls. He’s a grafter. He hustles, he does deals. This guy hustles and he can bring me money.’ So I’ve done deals at this point with McLaren, Ferrari and Williams.
