Page 2 of Geeky Pucking Orc

Graham was a transplant from Atlanta, and while he wasn’t wrong, I still bristled a bit at his portrayal of my city’s natives as fickle. But I shoved that feeling down because he was the CEO and I needed his approval. I need all of their approvals.

“I don’t know if we should choose a failing hockey team made up of orcs to be our foray into the sports market,” William Burnside, our VP of Client Management commented.

“It’s not just that they’re terrible on the ice,” Mike added. “They’re a menace. A liability, in my opinion. One of them threw a penalty box door at a referee the other week.”

That had been an accident, and the door hadn’t been aimed at the hapless referee. Since one of my best friends was dating a member of the team, I’d learned that orcs often didn’t realize their own strength in relation to our building structures, and that while they were fierce warriors at heart, many of them also were absolute marshmallows on the inside.

“And another one was front-page of the Baltimore Sun for playing with little kids at the playground and signing autographs for children,” I countered. “Community focus. It’s the second leg of my three-tier campaign to make the Tusks the most talked-about and admired team in the NHL.” I clicked to the next slide before anyone could gather momentum with that.

“My research shows that player exclusive content, merchandise, community events, and game/training short-form videos have the potential to generate over twelve million views across platforms with an average of five hundred thousand to three million views per video,” I said. “The Tusks just need a coordinated digital strategy, merchandising tie-in, and narrative control to make this happen.”

That got a pause. It was a small pause, but in business, as in war, you learned to appreciate every inch of ground taken.

Not that I knew anything about war.

I set my coffee on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Right now, the Tusks have the ability to go viral by accident. I’m proposing we make them viral on purpose.”

There it was. The pitch. Clean, sharp, and memorable. I’d polished it in the shower that morning.

Graham’s mouth flattened. “Abigail.”

Nobody called me Abigail unless they were about to object to something or ground me for a week.

“Yes?”

“We are a well-respected public relations firm whose client lists include national political figures, healthcare accounts, and two Fortune 500 corporations. Explain why you want us to spend time and staff trying to turn a second-tier hockey team into…” He glanced at his handout. “A fan obsession.”

Because everyone else in this firm kept circling the same safe, stale accounts like nervous vultures and I was tired of being told to wait my turn for anything with real visibility. Because I had spent three years managing everyone else’s messes, cleaning up everyone else’s weak messaging, fixing everyone else’s campaigns after they’d already gone off the rails. I wanted to build something of my own. I wanted to make a name for myself. And I couldn’t do that with small potatoes clients, or by working on someone else’s account.

And if I landed this, really landed it, nobody in this building would ever again give me that metaphorical patronizing pat on the head like I was a cute little girl aiming far above what would ever be possible for a woman in this industry.

Aloud, I said, “Because sports are emotional. Because this particular fandom is participatory. Because short-form video rewards personality over polish, and the Tusks have personality in spades. Because the public is exhausted by sleek, over-managed branding and increasingly responsive to authenticity.”

Ted frowned. “And you think you can build a successful campaign around personality and authenticity?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “Yes. Have you seen the games? Read the interviews? I doubt these players are capable of being anything but authentic. And I know how to find the players with the right personality and capitalize on that.”

I pressed my advantage.

“Here’s the problem and quite possibly the window to the solution,” I said, clicking again. Up came a compilation of headlines.

TUSKS ON-ICE BRAWL OVERSHADOWS THEIR SHUTOUT LOSS

ORC HOCKEY PLAYER TERRIFIES LOCAL MORNING SHOW HOST

BALTIMORE TEAM ‘BAD FOR FAMILY BRANDING,’ SAYS COUNCILMAN

“They already have attention,” I said. “But the attention is unmanaged, inconsistent, and overwhelmingly reactive. Which means their image is being shaped by whoever posts the wildest clip first. We can fix that.”

Mike folded his hands. “Okay. Let’s say we go for this account. Why would they hire us?”

That was the big question. The team had a demon owner who didn’t seem particularly interested in anything beyond box office revenue. Which again was a problem and possibly the window to opportunity.

“The owner is disappointed with the lack of attendance,” I said. “They’ve lost two sponsors in the last week. He’s a man who wants to see a strong ROI on his investment in this team, and he doesn’t want to wait years for that success.”

Mike nodded in agreement with that.

“The Tusks need broader visibility, stronger sponsorships, and a more favorable public image. The owner is looking for a solution, and the timing is perfect to present him with one,” I continued.