BY MAYOR LUKE RAVENSTAHL - If I stopped to acknowledge all the accolades I've received for my pivotal role in keeping the Penguins in Pittsburgh, there would be precious little time to perform my ministry, serving the people of this great city. But inasmuch as students of the art of negotiation are clamoring for the details, I shall have no peace until I break my own rule, just this once, and provide a summary of the winning techniques I employed.Despite the Penguins' repeated threats to leave town if they didn't get a new arena, I was determined at all costs not to sell out the people of this great city, so I set out to get the very best deal humanly possible for Pittsburgh. I came up with the idea of holding one last, secret "make or break" meeting at a New Jersey hotel with Governor Rendell, County Executive Onorato and Penguin owners Mario Lemieux and Ron Burkle. Before I could tell anyone my idea, it turns out the Governor must have known exactly what I was thinking, so he called everyone and set up the meeting, which was totally my idea, for March 8.
When we arrived at the hotel, tensions were running high. I decided to send Mario and Mr. Burkle a message right off the bat that I meant business. "Hello, gentlemen," I said with all the warmth I could muster, shaking their hands. That really threw them. For those students of the art of negotiation, pay particular attention to the following point; in fact, write it down: From the outset of our dealings, I adopted the approach of treating the Pens with great warmth and of giving in to their every demand, and I'm sure that totally confused them every time. To be honest, I always felt a little guilty playing mind games like this with them, but then my thoughts inevitably turned to the wonderful people of Pittsburgh, and the guilt vanished.
"Well," I continued, "let's see if we can't cut a deal tonight." You will note that I did not say, "We're definitely going to cut a deal tonight." I purposefully let them think I was ready to walk away without a deal. You see, I was putting on a clinic in "Getting My Way 101."
As the meeting commenced, I made a tactical decision of pretending I didn't quite know what was going on, of being disengaged. I even brought a video game device to play during the meeting, which just blew their minds. The fact is I was studying their every word, their every pause. I decided to let Rendell and Onorato do the talking for the group, but everyone knew their words were inconsequential; the real "negotiation" -- unspoken though it was -- was making Mario and Burkle wonder when I might pounce.
Things got pretty heated, which is just as I planned. At one point late in the evening, Mario asked me what I thought of a certain point. At first I pretended I wasn't paying attention, but this was just to make him repeat it and throw him off. I won't go into detail as to what the point was (I certainly remember it well), but I cleverly said, "I agree with you, Mario," acting like a star-struck schoolboy. Well, this set Mario's mind a-whirl, trying to make sense of my ploy. Immediately, Rendell pretended to become furious with me. He slapped the table, which is exactly what I wanted, and told me to leave the room and go get everyone coffee, which is just as I planned. Mario obviously was so confused by all this his mind could not have known how to react. The amazing part is that Rendell and I never even discussed this strategy in advance.
I got the coffee and purposefully dawdled in the lobby, stopping to watch Jay Leno for a few minutes. All the while I knew what was going on in the conference room: The Pens were working feverishly to conclude a deal before I would come back in the room to get the better of them. By the time I brought the coffee in, they were all shaking hands and congratulating each other. An agreement had been reached on terms that could not possibly be any better for Pittsburgh. And, of course, everyone in that room knew who was the real architect of the deal.
