The days before a pitch can be some of the most nerve-wracking, ball-clenching, winky-shrivelling, anger-inducing, resentment-causing, argument-creating, resignation-causing, punch up-generating, affair-ending times in an agency's life.I should know! I've called more pitches than I can remember! Some of them just for the fun of it! Or even just to see the look on the account director's face! HA HA! (I am a funny fucker - all my agencies have told me!)
Anyway, I've built up enough experience to know how an agency should conduct itself in the final days before a pitch.
The temptation, I know, is to make any and every attempt to sway the client's judgement, to push them by any means to choose me me me me look at me me we're so amazing we'll do anything for you me me me.
Here's what I think agencies should and shouldn't do.
1. Do not call me on the pretense of asking if I have a projector.
'Heeeeey, Dave, mate. I was just wondering if you guys have a projector over there for us to present with for the pitch, mate. Because we are going to need some serious hardware for this presentation, mate! We've got some amazing work, honestly, mate. No lie - this is some of the best this agency has produced, mate. Can I just talk you through it, mate? The creative guys don't want me to, but I just think it's so good that I want to share it with you, my mate. If you could just let me know what you like and don't like, mate, that'd be...'
Fuck off.
2. Do not call me on the pretense of asking if I have a laptop.
This is exactly the same as the projector call, but usually comes about half an hour after the projector call.
Again, fuck off.
3. Do call me and ask me if I want to have lunch to discuss the pitch arrangements.
By all means, let's get together over a coffee / sandwich / 3-course lunch / 5-course lunch / 7-course tasting menu / 7-course tasting menu with wine / 7-course tasting menu with wine which leads into a monumental tear up ending with your account exec's ladyfoof balanced on my chin. I mean, purely to discuss the logisticacious and arrangementitial requirements of the day itself.
For instance, will I have a projector? Will I have a laptop? These are fundamental questions that need to be answered. Over lunch.
4. Do send me a little present every day for a week before the pitch.
Nothing says you care like a little present. And nothing says you really care like a little present every day for a week. Nothing extravagant, just a little something. A bottle of scotch, for instance. Or a bigger bottle of scotch. Or a hog roast. Maybe two tickets on the Eurostar to Paris and a grand to spend. Perhaps a little car. I dunno. I'll leave it to your imagination. Just try to make it relevant to the pitch. For instance, if you're pitching for a company that makes boilers, fly me to the Maldives, where I can experience what central heating feels like, only outdoors. If my company makes watches, fly me to Dubai, where they sell watches. That sort of thing.
5. Do not be a load of blokes.
There's nothing worse during the final days before a pitch than to think that the agency coming to pitch is just a load of blokes. What you should try to be is a load of birds, ideally with big bristolas or, failing that, then huge bristolas. I know it sounds like a tiny detail but, believe me, it can make a massive difference when it comes to decision time!
I hope that helps! It should. I fucking wrote it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to brief my agency with a six-word email I wrote when pissed.
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!
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