Let Me Suggest Why “You’re” an Also-ran

Robert Terson

Warning: Not for the Faint of Heart. Read at Your Ego’s Peril! But if the Shoe Fits, Wear it.

A champion is willing to do whatever it takes for as long as it takes; face it, you’re not. A champion wants the Prize so badly he can taste it; he dreams about it constantly, sees himself atop the podium receiving the Gold Medal, the thundering applause of the audience, the undying admiration—to say nothing of envy—of his peers. You dream about going fishing on the weekend and it can’t come fast enough for you.

The champion has the iron discipline of Mahatma Gandhi, is willing to work you into the dust, is willing to become a PHD of his craft; you have the discipline of a child staring at the cookie jar, can’t be bothered to do anything but the basics, get by with minimal effort. It’s the same lack of discipline that has you overweight and depressed.

A champion spends hours, days, weeks, months, years, crafting his prospecting modus operandi and presentation. He works a set schedule that never varies, it’s written in concrete and tempered steel. He’ll approach the prospect a dozen times if necessary. You? You’re scattered to the winds, here a shot, there a shot, every now and then a shot, shot; one “no” and you’re a cooked goose, never to be heard from again.

A champion reads every worthwhile sales book he can his hands on, the blogs of the STA Sales Mastermind Group and the Top 50 blogs from Top Sales World, watches webinars; you read comic books and watch TV.

A champion believes in himself, has faith success is his, that life will give him everything he demands of it; you believe in excuses, blaming external factors for your mediocre numbers—hey, it was raining all week.

A champion is as competitive as Derek Jeter, will dive into the stands head first to make that impossible “catch.” You stop at the warning track; heaven forbid you should stub your toe or hit the wall. You wouldn’t take on Roger Rabbit.

A champion will march into hell for a heavenly cause; he’s Don Quixote ready to chop down every windmill in sight; you’re one of Dulcinea’s less-than-distinguished customers [figuratively speaking, of course].

A champion believes in the Socratic method; you can’t wait to run off at the mouth.

So…, nothing personal but now you know why you’re “you.” I have no sympathy for you, but I do for your family. How sad for them that “you’re” Mediocrity Personified and have no problem with that. But, hey, what the hell, you’re at least making a “living” [a champion wouldn’t call it that], which is more than some can say, right…?

Like I said, nothing personal, but take a look in the mirror, pal; take a hard look in the mirror.


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