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The Rise & Fall of The National Sports Daily

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When mental_floss asked me to write about my experience with The National Sports Daily—one of the biggest swings (and subsequently one of the biggest misses) in the history of American sports journalism—I took an inventory from my days there as the Chicago Bureau Chief and later as the Detroit columnist:


"¢ I have a book signed by former Sports Illustrated writer and current NPR commentator Frank Deford, who was The National's editor and publisher (and the pied piper calling many away from comfortable newspaper jobs to join the country's first—and last—all-sports daily newspaper).


Inside the cover of his best-of collection, The World's Tallest Midget: "It was wonderful having you on this great adventure."


"¢ Copies of the January 31, 1990, debut from all three markets (New York, Chicago and Los Angeles).

"¢ A framed copy of our final edition, June 13, 1991, with the headline, "We Had A Ball; The Fat Lady Sings Our Song."

"¢ A National Sports Daily newspaper box. If the statute of limitations has expired, I'd like to say a friend with a cargo van and bolt cutters decided the night we went out of business that the newspaper boxes on various streets in Chicago should be part of our severance package.

(If the statute of limitations hasn't expired, then I bought the box at a sports memorabilia show.)

"¢ A story to tell about a $52,000 eagle.

"¢ Two stories to tell about a $3,000 trip on the company dime for a National writer to comfort a family cat in mourning.

"¢ The thought that maybe when your company's street address is "666," you're going to face serious challenges.

"¢ The urge to do it all over again.

But, as we approach the 20th anniversary of The National's launch, I'll start with the cat stories.

The Cat Story: The Tabloid Version

In the spirit of The National's motto, "Fair Play and Fun and Games for All," I'll tell it the way I first heard it and then give equal time to its protagonist, John Feinstein, the prolific author perhaps best known for writing the bestseller, Season on the Brink.

Feinstein was covering the French Open for The National in 1991. The story that circulated just after we folded was that Feinstein had flown home from the tournament with approval from Deford after one of the family cats died, then returned to Europe on the company.

The story went that Feinstein came home not because of the death of the cat per se, but because his other cat was having trouble dealing with her sister's demise.

In one recent retelling blurred by time, Feinstein hadn't flown first class. No, he'd flown the Concorde.

I've known Feinstein for years. We covered the inaugural Goodwill Games in 1986 in Moscow. He's smart. A Duke guy. Gifted. Fearless. Tireless. The money paid to the top people at The National (not me) was unseen in the newspaper business. Feinstein was one of those "gets" as a hire.

But even then, the Concorde?

The Cat Story: John Feinstein's Rebuttal

"There was no Concorde involved in The French Open story," Feinstein wrote me when I contacted him last week. "I had three cats and one of them had been sick. I'd had the cat since college. She was 16 at the time. Her sister—who had come from the same litter—was actually quite healthy.

"When my wife called and told me she had died I called Frank and asked if he minded if I fly home between The French and Wimbledon because it would actually cost LESS than if I stayed over during the two weeks (between). He said fine.

"Then when the paper folded just before I was supposed to go back to Wimbledon, the New York Post's Page Six ran an item saying that my flight home put the company over the line and out of business. The notion was kind of funny."

The high salaries, the expensive Fifth Avenue offices, the stories of National editors taking car services to and from work...well, the cat story, though not quite true, fell right in line with those and grew in legend when The National proved to have only one life (and a short one at that).

The World's Richest Latin-American

national-sports-daily-1990The National made its debut on January 31, 1990. It folded in June 1991 after losing approximately $100 million of Mexican media mogul Emilio Azcarraga Milmo's money.


Azcarraga, who died in 1997, owned 300 TV stations, 17 radio stations, numerous magazines and newspapers, three record companies, two soccer teams and the Museum of Contemporary Art in Mexico City.


Given The National's losses, an extra trans-Atlantic flight sinking the corporate ship is like blaming the Hurricane Katrina disaster on the last drop of rain.


My friend and co-worker at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Dave Kindred—a Red Smith Award-winning columnist and one of the main reasons I took the National plunge—addressed the notion on Sportsjournalists.com that overspending on "talent" and expenses led to the paper's death.

"The 'wastefulness' was a symptom, not a cause. The year after we closed, Forbes did a cover story on 'The World's Richest Latin-American.' It was still our guy, Emilio Azcarraga. So money was never the issue, except in this sense: There was NO business plan at the start.

"Azcarraga's partners in Univision were screaming to stop this mad American project. So El Tigre did. Then he bought out his partners. And took the company public, doubling its value to $3.4 billion. The National was very, very good to Emilio Azcarraga. Make of that what you will."

Kindred joined as a national columnist, along with Mike Lupica of the New York Daily News and Scott Ostler, formerly of the Los Angeles Times. Kindred was also an associate editor, helping plan the editorial product. He was invited along with others to Azcarraga's yacht to meet the man behind the venture.

"On Emilio's yacht, which we were allowed to board only after removing our shoes, I asked Azcarraga why he thought the thing would succeed," Kindred told me last week. "He said, with a dramatic flourish, 'Because I am too old to fail'....so I violated one of my rules of life, which was, 'Never make a life-changing decision while drinking champagne on a billionaire's yacht.'"

He jokes because...well, because he would do it all over again.

Azcarraga was famous in Mexico for calling people into his office for reprimands and directing them to sit on a high wooden chair that left their feet dangling in an attempt to create—to quote from his obituary—a "sense of infantile helplessness."

He was domineering in a different way when it came to launching The National. Some tried to tell him to hold off, do more research, more planning. To him, it sounded like nothing more than American hesitancy.

It was often pointed out that everything Azcarraga did was on a grand scale. The National was no exception. Like the sculpture in the lobby of the Manhattan office.

national-logo
It was an eagle, a replica of the one on the masthead of The National.


Cost: $52,000.

"It had about a 10-foot wing span, and sat in the reception area," said Vince Doria, the former Boston Globe sports editor and now ESPN's Senior VP of news who was Executive Editor of The National and my immediate boss when I worked in Chicago. Vince, too, is a Red Smith Award winner.

"Of course, this wasn't a business with a lot of walk-in traffic. And since most people came up to the offices in elevators on 5th Avenue, instead of the reception area, I'm not sure how many people actually SAW the eagle. Still, it was a fine piece of work."

Azcarraga didn't blink at that cost, or the payroll either. Deford. Kindred. Doria. Lupica. The late Van McKenzie, my editor at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. All commanded top dollar and guaranteed contracts.

Deford once addressed the lavish spending overall by saying, "Anybody who bitches that we spent too much money here and there missed the point. The point was that we were going to go first class. It was almost more important to show that a sports paper could be first class than a regular paper. Because sports is usually looked down upon as déclassé."

Inside the Paper

The National bought top talent all right. Its editorial content, too, was unparalleled under one masthead. Terrific reading and unquestioned fun, the National was a mini-newspaper—complete with editorial page, gossip columnist, cartoonist, crossword puzzle, columnists, game coverage, humor (Norman Chad) and investigative reporting.

It took the mundane baseball box score and expanded it until it told not just the story of the game, but the story of the player's season. A Main Event featuring the best sports magazine-style writers in the country anchored the six-days-a-week publication.

Many of us joined The National not only because it had never been tried before, but we guessed it would never be done again—not with that kind of talent and financial backing.

Kindred: "I did it because it was an adventure in journalism that I didn't want to miss. While USA Today was miniaturizing the news, The National's ambition was to go big. I saw no downside, whatever happened.

"It's worth noting, by the way, that what The National did in print in 1991, ESPN.com does online today. Same stuff. We were ahead of the curve by a decade, and without a television partner to help pay the bills."

From a business standpoint, though, The National was flawed in a hundred different ways, starting with the concept.

Azcarraga and former New York Post publisher Peter Price believed that since many countries in South America and Europe had a national sports daily, one could work in the U.S., too. Since Price and Deford were classmates at Princeton, and worked on the school paper as publisher and editor respectively, Deford was the first call Price made after meeting with Azcarraga.

Deford helped bring the best in the business—writers like Kindred—even though some held great skepticism about the business model.

What wasn't allowed for—along with planning and market research—was that every big city in the country had its own teams and were sports fiefdoms unto themselves. To compete, The National would hire a local staff in every market, beginning with Chicago, L.A. and New York.

I hired someone for every Chicago beat: The Cubs, White Sox, Blackhawks, Bulls, Big Ten, and a horse racing writer who doubled as a media critic. We had spacious offices for editorial and advertising right in The Loop overlooking Michigan Ave.

I might have given some serious thought to how we were possibly going to pay that many salaries in every market and remain financially viable, all the while competing against city institutions such as The Chicago Tribune, if I didn't become distracted by more immediate issues.

Commercial Break

Here's a ten-minute promotional film The National put together to attract advertisers.

Logistical Nightmares

The technology was a disaster. We didn't have a computer hookup to New York, meaning the writers in Chicago were filing stories on a nightly basis from Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park that bypassed me entirely. I was the editor and I couldn't read the work produced by the bureau's writers.

Doria: "Given the satellite technology of the time, there was no way we were going to create as many local pages as needed, and get them out in timely fashion to the various sites. Ultimately, we couldn't get last night's news into today's paper."

It didn't matter that we had some of the best writers in the country, or that the presentation was smart and fresh. Or that the people who were buying it invested far more time reading the paper (a selling point to advertisers, obviously) than the readers of other newspapers did.

The technology and distribution were ruinous. Dow Jones was the distributor. It was a prestigious partnership for The National, but in practice it didn't come close to working. Truckers accustomed to delivering the Wall Street Journal didn't have to wait until 1 a.m. for the stock market to close. Many were not willing to wait for the late night west-coast baseball game to end.

The lesson: You can be the best-written sports newspaper ever produced. But if the late baseball score doesn't make the paper, the phone of the bureau chief isn't going to stop ringing with complaints.

Worse, Chicago readers plunking two quarters in the newspaper box on Wednesday were too often pulling out Tuesday's paper.

Suddenly, the plan to publish in the 15 biggest markets in a year's time fizzled. We were offering "the immediacy of a tabloid with the permanence of a magazine." Nice words. But what we ended up delivering was a product, good as it was, that cost 50 cents more than most newspapers and one that might contain the news of two days ago.

At its max, our circulation was 250,000. The goal was 1 million. When the price jumped a quarter, circulation dropped to 200,000.

Price left after a year. The staff members we hired in the bureaus were asked to relocate as correspondents around the country. I moved to Detroit to write a column. Transmission issues continued.

When it stormed in Detroit, for instance, we couldn't produce a paper. I never found out exactly why.

One of the most disheartening nights of all, Michael Jordan and the Bulls had finally dispatched the Pistons in the NBA playoffs after a few seasons of banging their heads against the wall. The Pistons left the court without any show of sportsmanship, as if their comeuppance had never happened.

I wrote a column that never appeared. Why?

Thunderstorms.

When the end came, the advertising sales reps in our Detroit offices told me we were only selling 2,000 papers.

I didn't know that, though, the day I called New York and told one of the editors my column idea for the next day.

"Should have it to you by 4 this afternoon," I said.

"You don't have to write for tomorrow," he said.

"Why's that?"

"Because tomorrow is our last edition."

Final Thoughts

last-national-sports-dailyWhat went wrong?


What didn't go wrong?


Kindred: "Fatal flaws were many. For reasons that still baffle me, it was done in such an all-fired hurry that there was no real business plan, no real distribution system, no tested computer system, no trial-run papers...


"They literally didn't know if the computers could produce the paper until, on the first night, they actually did. USA Today was in those planning stages for two years before it published a single paper for public consumption. From the moment of conception until death, The National lasted less time than that."


When asked why he came aboard, Feinstein says, "My motivation in going to The National was simple: Deford. I asked him for one thing: that he be my editor. I knew I had no chance to be him but wanted to get as close as I could."

Says Doria, "Bottom line, it was not a well thought-out plan. But it sure was fun, and we sure did spend some money."

Like the headline of our last issue said, we had a ball until the fat lady sang our song.

Little did some of us know, she started clearing her throat the first day we published.

A final word from Kindred on The National experience: "And yes, the '666' (address) always bothered me."

Bud Shaw is a columnist for the Cleveland Plain Dealer who has also written for the Philadelphia Daily News, San Diego Union-Tribune, Atlanta Journal-Constitution and The National. You can read his Plain Dealer columns at Cleveland.com, and read all his mental_floss articles here.

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40 Fun Facts About Sesame Street
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Now in its 47th season, Sesame Street is one of television's most iconic programs—and it's not just for kids. We're big fans of the Street, and to prove it, here are some of our favorite Sesame facts from previous stories and our Amazing Fact Generator.

Sesame Workshop

1. Oscar the Grouch used to be orange. Jim Henson decided to make him green before season two.

2. How did Oscar explain the color change? He said he went on vacation to the very damp Swamp Mushy Muddy and turned green overnight.

3. During a 2004 episode, Cookie Monster said that before he started eating cookies, his name was Sid.

4. In 1980, C-3PO and R2-D2 visited Sesame Street. They played games, sang songs, and R2-D2 fell in love with a fire hydrant.

5. Mr. Snuffleupagus has a first name—Aloysius

6. Ralph Nader stopped by in 1988 and sang "a consumer advocate is a person in your neighborhood."

7. Caroll Spinney said he based Oscar's voice on a cab driver from the Bronx who brought him to the audition.

8. In 1970, Ernie reached #16 on the Billboard Hot 100 with the timeless hit "Rubber Duckie."

9. One of Count von Count's lady friends is Countess von Backwards, who's also obsessed with counting but likes to do it backwards.

10. Sesame Street made its Afghanistan debut in 2011 with Baghch-e-Simsim (Sesame Garden). Big Bird, Grover and Elmo are involved.

11. According to Muppet Wiki, Oscar the Grouch and Count von Count were minimized on Baghch-e-Simsim "due to cultural taboos against trash and vampirism."

12. Before Giancarlo Esposito was Breaking Bad's super intense Gus Fring, he played Big Bird's camp counselor Mickey in 1982.

13. Thankfully, those episodes are available on YouTube.

14. How big is Big Bird? 8'2". (Pictured with First Lady Pat Nixon.)

15. In 2002, the South African version (Takalani Sesame) added an HIV-positive Muppet named Kami.

16. Six Republicans on the House Commerce Committee wrote a letter to PBS president Pat Mitchell warning that Kami was not appropriate for American children, and reminded Mitchell that their committee controlled PBS' funding.

17. Sesame Street's resident game show host Guy Smiley was using a pseudonym. His real name was Bernie Liederkrantz.

18. Bert and Ernie have been getting questioned about their sexuality for years. Ernie himself, as performed by Steve Whitmere, has weighed in: “All that stuff about me and Bert? It’s not true. We’re both very happy, but we’re not gay,”

19. A few years later, Bert (as performed by Eric Jacobson) answered the same question by saying, “No, no. In fact, sometimes we are not even friends; he can be a pain in the neck.”

20. In the first season, both Superman and Batman appeared in short cartoons produced by Filmation. In one clip, Batman told Bert and Ernie to stop arguing and take turns choosing what’s on TV.

21. In another segment, Superman battled a giant chimp.

22. Telly was originally "Television Monster," a TV-obsessed Muppet whose eyes whirled around as he watched.

23. According to Sesame Workshop, Elmo is the only non-human to testify before Congress.

24. He lobbied for more funding for music education, so that "when Elmo goes to school, there will be the instruments to play."

25. In the early 1990s, soon after Jim Henson’s passing, a rumor circulated that Ernie would be killed off in order to teach children about death, as they'd done with Mr. Hooper.

26. According to Snopes, the rumor may have spread thanks to New Hampshire college student, Michael Tabor, who convinced his graduating class to wear “Save Ernie” beanies and sign a petition to persuade Sesame Workshop to let Ernie live.

27. By the time Tabor was corrected, the newspapers had already picked up the story.

28. Sesame Street’s Executive Producer Carol-Lynn Parente joined Sesame Workshop as a production assistant and has worked her way to the top.

29. Originally, Count von Count was more sinister. He could hypnotize and stun people.

30. According to Sesame Workshop, all Sesame Street's main Muppets have four fingers except Cookie Monster, who has five.

31. The episode with Mr. Hooper's funeral aired on Thanksgiving Day in 1983. That date was chosen because families were more likely to be together at that time, in case kids had questions or needed emotional support.

32. Mr. Hooper’s first name was Harold.

33. Big Bird sang "Bein' Green" at Jim Henson's memorial service.

34. As Chris Higgins put it, the performance was "devastating."

35. Oscar's Israeli counterpart is Moishe Oofnik, whose last name means “grouch” in Hebrew.

36. Nigeria's version of Cookie Monster eats yams. His catchphrase: "ME WANT YAM!"

37. Sesame's Roosevelt Franklin ran a school, where he spoke in scat and taught about Africa. Some parents hated him, so in 1975 he got the boot, only to inspire Gob Bluth’s racist puppet Franklin on Arrested Development 28 years later.

38. Our good friend and contributor Eddie Deezen was the voice of Donnie Dodo in the 1985 classic Follow That Bird.

39. Cookie Monster evolved from The Wheel-Stealer—a snack-pilfering puppet Jim Henson created to promote Wheels, Crowns and Flutes in the 1960s.

40. This puppet later was seen eating a computer in an IBM training film and on The Ed Sullivan Show.

Thanks to Stacy Conradt, Joe Hennes, Drew Toal, and Chris Higgins for their previous Sesame coverage!

An earlier version of this article appeared in 2012.

How Apple's '1984' Super Bowl Ad Was Almost Canceled

More than 30 years ago, Apple defined the Super Bowl commercial as a cultural phenomenon. Prior to Super Bowl XVIII, nobody watched the game "just for the commercials"—but one epic TV spot, directed by sci-fi legend Ridley Scott, changed all that. Read on for the inside story of the commercial that rocked the world of advertising, even though Apple's Board of Directors didn't want to run it at all.

THE AD

If you haven't seen it, here's a fuzzy YouTube version:

"WHY 1984 WON'T BE LIKE 1984"

The tagline "Why 1984 Won't Be Like '1984'" references George Orwell's 1949 novel 1984, which envisioned a dystopian future, controlled by a televised "Big Brother." The tagline was written by Brent Thomas and Steve Hayden of the ad firm Chiat\Day in 1982, and the pair tried to sell it to various companies (including Apple, for the Apple II computer) but were turned down repeatedly. When Steve Jobs heard the pitch in 1983, he was sold—he saw the Macintosh as a "revolutionary" product, and wanted advertising to match. Jobs saw IBM as Big Brother, and wanted to position Apple as the world's last chance to escape IBM's domination of the personal computer industry. The Mac was scheduled to launch in late January of 1984, a week after the Super Bowl. IBM already held the nickname "Big Blue," so the parallels, at least to Jobs, were too delicious to miss.

Thomas and Hayden wrote up the story of the ad: we see a world of mind-controlled, shuffling men all in gray, staring at a video screen showing the face of Big Brother droning on about "information purification directives." A lone woman clad in vibrant red shorts and a white tank-top (bearing a Mac logo) runs from riot police, dashing up an aisle towards Big Brother. Just before being snatched by the police, she flings a sledgehammer at Big Brother's screen, smashing him just after he intones "We shall prevail!" Big Brother's destruction frees the minds of the throng, who quite literally see the light, flooding their faces now that the screen is gone. A mere eight seconds before the one-minute ad concludes, a narrator briefly mentions the word "Macintosh," in a restatement of that original tagline: "On January 24th, Apple Computer will introduce Macintosh. And you'll see why 1984 won't be like '1984.'" An Apple logo is shown, and then we're out—back to the game.

In 1983, in a presentation about the Mac, Jobs introduced the ad to a cheering audience of Apple employees:

"... It is now 1984. It appears IBM wants it all. Apple is perceived to be the only hope to offer IBM a run for its money. Dealers, initially welcoming IBM with open arms, now fear an IBM-dominated and -controlled future. They are increasingly turning back to Apple as the only force that can ensure their future freedom. IBM wants it all and is aiming its guns on its last obstacle to industry control: Apple. Will Big Blue dominate the entire computer industry? The entire information age? Was George Orwell right about 1984?"

After seeing the ad for the first time, the Apple audience totally freaked out (jump to about the 5-minute mark to witness the riotous cheering).

SKINHEADS, A DISCUS THROWER, AND A SCI-FI DIRECTOR

Chiat\Day hired Ridley Scott, whose 1982 sci-fi film Blade Runner had the dystopian tone they were looking for (and Alien wasn't so bad either). Scott filmed the ad in London, using actual skinheads playing the mute bald men—they were paid $125 a day to sit and stare at Big Brother; those who still had hair were paid to shave their heads for the shoot. Anya Major, a discus thrower and actress, was cast as the woman with the sledgehammer largely because she was actually capable of wielding the thing.

Mac programmer Andy Hertzfeld wrote an Apple II program "to flash impressive looking numbers and graphs on [Big Brother's] screen," but it's unclear whether his program was used for the final film. The ad cost a shocking $900,000 to film, plus Apple booked two premium slots during the Super Bowl to air it—carrying an airtime cost of more than $1 million.

WHAT EXECUTIVES AT APPLE THOUGHT

Although Jobs and his marketing team (plus the assembled throng at his 1983 internal presentation) loved the ad, Apple's Board of Directors hated it. After seeing the ad for the first time, board member Mike Markkula suggested that Chiat\Day be fired, and the remainder of the board were similarly unimpressed. Then-CEO John Sculley recalled the reaction after the ad was screened for the group: "The others just looked at each other, dazed expressions on their faces ... Most of them felt it was the worst commercial they had ever seen. Not a single outside board member liked it." Sculley instructed Chiat\Day to sell off the Super Bowl airtime they had purchased, but Chiat\Day principal Jay Chiat quietly resisted. Chiat had purchased two slots—a 60-second slot in the third quarter to show the full ad, plus a 30-second slot later on to repeat an edited-down version. Chiat sold only the 30-second slot and claimed it was too late to sell the longer one. By disobeying his client's instructions, Chiat cemented Apple's place in advertising history.

When Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak heard that the ad was in trouble, he offered to pony up half the airtime costs himself, saying, "I asked how much it was going to cost, and [Steve Jobs] told me $800,000. I said, 'Well, I'll pay half of it if you will.' I figured it was a problem with the company justifying the expenditure. I thought an ad that was so great a piece of science fiction should have its chance to be seen."

But Woz didn't have to shell out the money; the executive team finally decided to run a 100-day advertising extravaganza for the Mac's launch, starting with the Super Bowl ad—after all, they had already paid to shoot it and were stuck with the airtime.

1984 - Big Brother

WHAT EVERYBODY ELSE THOUGHT

When the ad aired, controversy erupted—viewers either loved or hated the ad, and it spurred a wave of media coverage that involved news shows replaying the ad as part of covering it, leading to estimates of an additional $5 million in "free" airtime for the ad. All three national networks, plus countless local markets, ran news stories about the ad. "1984" become a cultural event, and served as a blueprint for future Apple product launches. The marketing logic was brilliantly simple: create an ad campaign that sparked controversy (for example, by insinuating that IBM was like Big Brother), and the media will cover your launch for free, amplifying the message.

The full ad famously ran once during the Super Bowl XVIII (on January 22, 1984), but it also ran the month prior—on December 31, 1983, TV station operator Tom Frank ran the ad on KMVT at the last possible time slot before midnight, in order to qualify for 1983's advertising awards.* (Any awards the ad won would mean more media coverage.) Apple paid to screen the ad in movie theaters before movie trailers, further heightening anticipation for the Mac launch. In addition to all that, the 30-second version was aired across the country after its debut on the Super Bowl.

Chiat\Day adman Steve Hayden recalled: "We ran a 30- second version of '1984' in the top 10 U.S. markets, plus, in an admittedly childish move, in an 11th market—Boca Raton, Florida, headquarters for IBM's PC division." Mac team member Andy Hertzfeld ended his remembrance of the ad by saying:

"A week after the Macintosh launch, Apple held its January board meeting. The Macintosh executive staff was invited to attend, not knowing what to expect. When the Mac people entered the room, everyone on the board rose and gave them a standing ovation, acknowledging that they were wrong about the commercial and congratulating the team for pulling off a fantastic launch.

Chiat\Day wanted the commercial to qualify for upcoming advertising awards, so they ran it once at 1 AM at a small television station in Twin Falls, Idaho, KMVT, on December 15, 1983 [incorrect; see below for an update on this -ed]. And sure enough it won just about every possible award, including best commercial of the decade. Twenty years later it's considered one of the most memorable television commercials ever made."

THE AWFUL 1985 FOLLOW-UP

A year later, Apple again employed Chiat\Day to make a blockbuster ad for their Macintosh Office product line, which was basically a file server, networking gear, and a laser printer. Directed by Ridley Scott's brother Tony, the new ad was called "Lemmings," and featured blindfolded businesspeople whistling an out-of-tune version of Snow White's "Heigh-Ho" as they followed each other off a cliff (referencing the myth of lemming suicide).

Jobs and Sculley didn't like the ad, but Chiat\Day convinced them to run it, pointing out that the board hadn't liked the last ad either. But unlike the rousing, empowering message of the "1984" ad, "Lemmings" directly insulted business customers who had already bought IBM computers. It was also weirdly boring—when it was aired at the Super Bowl (with Jobs and Sculley in attendance), nobody really reacted. The ad was a flop, and Apple even proposed running a printed apology in The Wall Street Journal. Jay Chiat shot back, saying that if Apple apologized, Chiat would buy an ad on the next page, apologizing for the apology. It was a mess:

20-YEAR ANNIVERSARY

In 2004, the ad was updated for the launch of the iPod. The only change was that the woman with the hammer was now listening to an iPod, which remained clipped to her belt as she ran. You can watch that version too:

FURTHER READING

Chiat\Day adman Lee Clow gave an interview about the ad, covering some of this material.

Check out Mac team member Andy Hertzfeld's excellent first-person account of the ad. A similar account (but with more from Jobs's point of view) can found in the Steve Jobs biography, and an even more in-depth account is in The Mac Bathroom Reader. The Mac Bathroom Reader is out of print; you can read an excerpt online, including QuickTime movies of the two versions of the ad, plus a behind-the-scenes video. Finally, you might enjoy this 2004 USA Today article about the ad, pointing out that ads for other computers (including Atari, Radio Shack, and IBM's new PCjr) also ran during that Super Bowl.

* = A Note on the Airing in 1983

Update: Thanks to Tom Frank for writing in to correct my earlier mis-statement about the first air date of this commercial. As you can see in his comment below, Hertzfeld's comments above (and the dates cited in other accounts I've seen) are incorrect. Stay tuned for an upcoming interview with Frank, in which we discuss what it was like running both "1984" and "Lemmings" before they were on the Super Bowl!

Update 2: You can read the story behind this post in Chris's book The Blogger Abides.

This post originally appeared in 2012.

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