Nightmare

How did this happen?” Blake snapped. No one wanted to respond. Then Kim Diaz, the chief marketing officer, looked at the others and said, “Well, Blake, we blew it—multiple times.” She went on to explain a tragedy of errors and poor decisions involving a previously loyal customer. “The order was taken incorrectly, the shipment was late, the product was defective, and our response was incomprehensible. The result: a viral video complaint viewed by one million people.”

“A million people and counting! In just twenty-four hours! What are we going to do?” Blake fumed.

“We’ve issued an apology to the customer and posted it on all the social platforms; we’ve also released the customer service representative,” Kim offered.

“And what else can we do?” Blake asked.

“We don’t know what else to do at the moment,” Charles Jones, the head of Human Resources, said.

“This is a nightmare!” Blake said as he left the room.

Blake’s next meeting was with Ashley Westman, the new head of Production. When he originally planned the meeting with her, he knew nothing about the firestorm they would be in today. However, he hoped she might have some fresh ideas regarding the way forward.

Still distracted by the morning’s events, Blake attempted to be fully present as he greeted Ashley. “Good morning. Before we begin, I need to be sure you are up to speed on what’s going on this morning.”

“I think I know,” she said sheepishly.

“You do?”

“Yes, sir, my phone is blowing up. All my friends know I just started working here a few months ago and they’re sending me the link.”

“Well, I guess the timing of our meeting is perfect.” Blake attempted a smile.

“I suppose so.”

“What have you discovered since our first meeting?” Blake asked.

“Well . . . I know the media attention we’re receiving this morning is unprecedented, but the problem is not an outlier.”

“What do you mean?”

She handed Blake a single sheet of paper reflecting the organization’s recent performance.

“We are better than this,” Blake said, staring at the page.

“Well, sir,” Ashley responded hesitantly, “actually, the trends indicate we are not. Our execution has been slipping for several years. However, it does appear we’ve leveled off.”

“This doesn’t look healthy to me. Why do you think the numbers are flat?” Blake asked.

Ashley had not been on the job long, but she knew exactly what the chart depicted. Not wanting to be shot as the messenger, she began cautiously and spoke matter-of-factly.

“The process is in control.”

“And . . .“ Blake waited.

“The results we are generating are perfectly aligned with the systems, structure, and practices we have in place.” She continued, “And if we make no significant changes, I can confidently predict similar outcomes in the near future.”

“What if we want to get better?” Blake asked.

“We’ll have to change something,” Ashley said with a slight smile.

“And what should we change?”

“I’m not sure yet. But first, you and our senior leaders have a decision to make,” Ashley insisted.

“What’s that?”

“Are we good enough?” Ashley asked.

“What does that mean?”

“Every organization decides how great they want to be.”

Every organization decides how great they want to be.

“Of course, we want to be great!” Blake said instinctively.

“Does this data look great to you?”

Blake was struck by the simplicity and directness of the question. Even without the current social media frenzy, he knew the answer was a resounding no.

“Let’s talk about what great looks like,” Blake said.

“First, you have to decide whom you are competing against,” Ashley suggested.

“That feels like a strange place to begin, but I’ll bite. We know our top five competitors globally.”

“Who will our top competitors be in five years?”

“I don’t know,” Blake confessed.

“Okay, how good are the ones you know about today?”

“The data is a little hard to come by—some companies are privately held—but third-party estimates clearly put us ahead of them on most key metrics—sales, profitability, even quality.”

“But how good are they?”

Blake had never thought about the question in those terms. “I guess they are mediocre,” he said.

“And how good are we?”

“Better than them!” A feeling of pride engulfed Blake.

“So, it sounds like we’re good—no additional action required. Right?”

Blake didn’t respond.

“I have another question. What happens when a current competitor, or a start-up, outpaces us? What if they decide to up their game, and their level of execution leaves us behind? What if today’s social media incident becomes a recurring event?

“I’ll admit, I’m new here, but this is what I’m hearing: you say you don’t like our current level of performance, but you’ve allowed it to continue for several years. You also acknowledge we are better than our known competition. So, I come back to my question: why change? Change is hard and costly. You need to decide. Are we good enough?”

The question struck a deep chord in Blake’s soul. He knew the company was probably good enough to stay in business but not good enough for him to look in the mirror and say, “I gave my best.”

Ashley waited for his response. “Sir?”

“I know the answer: we are not good enough. But the reason we have to address this has nothing to do with our competition or today’s incident.”

“I don’t understand,” Ashley admitted.

“Our current level of performance is not congruent with who we are, who we want to become as people—as human beings. We don’t strive to do the minimum; we’re not trying to just get by. Our goal should not be to just beat the competition.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“I want us to do our best every day—for ourselves, our families, our customers, vendors, communities, and the world. We have so many lofty aspirations. To me, this data is in conflict with who we say we are as a brand. All that we should expect from ourselves is our very best; our current level of performance doesn’t qualify as our best effort.”

I want us to do our best every day—for ourselves, our families, our customers, vendors, communities, and the world.

“What’s your bottom line regarding where we stand today?” he asked.

“I think we’re the best of a bad lot.”

“Is that our destiny?” Blake asked.

“You get to decide.”

After work, Blake went to a board meeting for Clint and Kristen’s school. Both of his children had made great friends and excelled academically since transferring there. Blake was glad to give back by serving on the board. When he arrived, he was greeted by Paul Roker, the head of school.

“Good evening, Blake!” Paul said warmly. “How are you?”

“Really good. We’re wrestling with a few issues at the office, but I guess that’s why they need us,” Blake chuckled.

“If we have a few minutes at the end of the meeting, I need the board’s counsel on an issue.”

“Okay. What’s that?”

“It’s about our football program,” Paul said.

Blake was intrigued. As a matter of principle, the board had worked really hard not to be involved in day-to-day operations of the school—that was Paul’s job.

“Okay. Anything we need to discuss before the meeting begins?”

“No, not really. I just wanted to give you a heads-up—it’s clearly an off-agenda topic.”

The meeting was focused, productive, and timely. As the meeting was winding down, Blake, as board chairman, looked at Paul and said, “Paul has one additional item he wants to discuss with us tonight. Paul . . .“

“Thanks, Blake. As you guys know, one of the ways you add huge value around here is all the free consulting you provide for me,” he said with a smile. “Seriously, you guys have made me a better leader, and I am so thankful for your wisdom.”

“Is there a specific issue on which you need some wisdom?” Margaret, the CEO of a local bank, asked, looking at her watch.

“Yes. It’s about football. Well, not really. It’s more of a philosophical question.”

“A philosophical question about football?” Chuck, the owner of a local construction company, laughed. “Now, that’s my kind of question.”

Blake said, “How can we help?”

“Our football program is not awful, but it’s not great either,” Paul began.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“We have won about 60 percent of our games for over a decade. Not an embarrassment but not really good.”

“And what is the question?” Margaret asked.

“Is that good enough?” Paul asked.

“What?” Chuck asked.

“To win 60 percent of your games year after year,” Paul clarified.

“Why do you ask?” Blake said, struck by the similarity to the conversation he had had earlier in the day with Ashley.

“I am trying to decide if we should try to improve the program—win more games.”

“What brought this up?” Margaret asked.

“We’ve recently lost a few families who wanted their children to be part of a better football program.”

“Anything else?” Blake probed.

“Yes, I realize we’ve set a high bar on everything we do—the academics, the arts, our service in the community. We even teach servant leadership to our kids. Heck, one of our values is ‘excellence in all we do.’ For me, I’m afraid it has become an integrity issue. We are not giving our best in our football program.”

“Why do you need our counsel on this? Why would you not apply the same standards of excellence to football as you do to everything else?” Elizabeth, the most tenured board member and a retired school superintendent, asked.

“Two reasons: one, Coach Stone has been here a long time—he was here a decade before me. And, two, I believe we are grossly underinvesting in the program—everything from assistant coaches to the weight room. There will certainly be trade-offs . . . or budget increases.”

“Do you know what you want to do?” Blake asked.

“I think I do.”

“And that is?”

“Raise the bar; be true to our values and give the same level of effort in football we do everywhere else. I can’t guarantee more wins, but I’ll feel better about myself as a leader and our school if we do this.”

Margaret said, “I don’t think we need to vote on this but know you have my support. Anyone have any concerns about Paul’s direction on this?”

“I’ll assume silence is consent,” Blake said.