A Moment Saved - When Seconds Matter
Sports give us some of the most literal examples of time-sensitive moments, and the risk of missing them.
Perhaps the most time-limited moments of all for brands, events and icons, come in the form of sporting heroics. Afterall, every year there is a new World Series Champion. Last year's SuperBowl MVP is likely to fade from view by the NFL draft. That unbelievable catch in Game 7 will be little more than an ESPN retrospective 48 hours after the final inning. This became unbelievably, personally and terrifyingly true on an August night in Beijing, 2008. Walk with me down memory lane.
It was the moment that filled baseball stadiums back in Baltimore. The world was on the edge of its seat watching arguably the greatest Olympian of all time attempt to finish the greatest feat of all time. Michael Phelps and the Men's 4x100m free relay stepped up to the blocks to race for the gold medal that would be his record-shattering eighth gold of the Games.
Now, you know how this story ends. But what you likely don't know is how close we came to not getting to tell it, and how absolutely vital it was to seize the moment when seconds, truly seconds, mattered outside of the pool.
Most people understand the gravity of the high dollar contract between the Olympics and NBC. What they likely don't understand is that this contract comes with many protective rules and restrictions - which makes sense, given the investment. Specifically, NBC gets rights to the first out-of-venue interview for every gold medalist. But with a 12-hour time difference, what that translated into on August 17, 2008 was the risk that this contract could stop the athlete and the organization from basking in one of the greatest sports moments of all time.
Put plainly, if Michael Phelps didn't get to Bob Costas' live studio before the show went off-air, the greatest athlete of all time would be prohibited from doing any television interviews until the next day. Can you imagine? With thousands of journalists clamoring the tell the story, with the excitement palpable world-wide, broadcast rules would have required radio silence for hours.
And so, we broke some rules. I probably came off some Christmas card lists that day, but my allegiance had to be to my organization, the athlete and the moment.
At the end of any Olympic event, athletes walk through a heavily-guarded area called the "mixed zone." The first portion of the zone is held by international rights holders from multiple countries. These pay-to-play slots equate to significant income for the IOC and the national federations. Because every television station wants their interview with the athlete, the gauntlet can take a very long time. For Michael, this labryinth would happen twice - immediately after the race and then again after that iconic medal ceremony. The race ended at 11:19 a.m. Beijing time. As in, that is the moment Jason Lezak, the anchor leg of the relay, touched the wall.
Costas went off-air at 12:30 p.m. Beijing time. We had 71 minutes. It sounds like a lot, but when you consider the amount of celebration, interviews, a medal ceremony, the anthem, and of course the parade around the pool where we watched, rapt as Michael hugged his mom, it ticked by pretty quick. Then they sent him back into the mixed zone.
Federation PR reps are not permitted in the broadcast part of the mixed zone. That area is run by IOC-employed body guards who are there to serve the rights holders. Perhaps this has changed in a decade plus, but that evening, it was extremely true. The workers formed a literal circle around Michael, blockading him from moving through the zone any quicker than they wished. The minutes ticked down. The NBC truck started radioing desperately. Costas goes off in 15 minutes. Where is he? I stood helplessly behind stantions, watching Michael being shepherded to rights holder after rights holder.
We got to critical time. It was time to make a decision. So, eyes fixed on the athlete, with a USA Swimming executive gesturing wildly toward a side door, I jumped the rope. In my mind, I hurdled fences and flew over barriers. In reality, I think I slyly climbed over a small divingboard to quietly gain access to the zone. Either way, it worked. I got to Michael. I grabbed his arm. "We've got to go." The Mexican rights holder whose interview I distrupted was displeased. IOC guards shouted. I pointed Michael to the side door where the USA Swimming exec said, "Run." And in one of the most bizarre and exhilerating moments of my PR career, I sprinted down a neon-lit Beijing hallway behind the world's greatest Olympian to a makeshift NBC studio 100 meters away. We made it. He interviewed. We got to hold the press conference. I got to moderate it. The athlete got to tell the world what it was like to make history that night.
Most importantly, we saved the moment.