Case Study

We Created Rhythm and Reps

There’s a part of me that was always wired for structure. I had coaches who mapped out plays, defined roles, taught systems. But Rick was the first sales professional who proved that the posture and tone you carry into a room—or into a phone call—is a strategy of its own.

Rick didn’t just “train.” He taught our team to own the phone like it was an instrument. And just like any instrument, it starts with rhythm.

“Every sales call is plus-minus,” Rick used to say. “You stroke, you pull away. You bring them up, then drop the reality. You control the rhythm, you control the conversation.”

And he lived it. I watched him “spin” tough calls—ones where a contractor would call back with suspicion or even a little heat—and within 60 seconds, Rick would have them leaning in, pen in hand. His secret wasn’t charm. It was discipline. And reps. So many reps.

What he called “military time” became a staple in how I shaped my own days: every 15 minutes, do something intentional. Stack enough productive quarters and you control your day, your month, your quota, your career. Simple math. Ruthless consistency.

That was the Rick way.

Creating Curiosity

If there’s one phrase Rick hammered more than any other, it was this:

“Create curiosity—every single time.”

When you leave a voicemail, create curiosity. When someone picks up, make them wonder why they didn’t hang up. If you didn’t leave them curious, the call was wasted.

That philosophy changed how I viewed the first five seconds of a sales conversation. The tone, the pace, the weight of the words—it all mattered. You weren’t just trying to “sell.” You were trying to earn permission to be heard. That’s what Rick understood better than most. Sales isn’t just a pitch. It’s a game of earning attention, then trust, then belief.

Rick’s “Concern Call” was legendary. He’d drop a reference number in the voicemail and frame it with just enough mystery to get the callback. But he always warned us:

“If you can’t spin the call when they call back, don’t leave that message.”

He wasn’t about gimmicks. He was about earned mastery. You had to mean it when you said you had a concern. Because when they called back, Rick was ready—with a stroke.

“Brittany, I’m glad you called back. First off, you guys run a great company. I’m serious. Be proud of what you’ve built.”

Then came the drop.

“Here’s the concern: you’re undervalued. You’re buried. Nobody can find you.”

Stroke. Pull. Stroke. Pull.

The Sales Interview

One of the most powerful things Rick ever taught me was how to interview a prospect—not to interrogate them, but to elevate the conversation beyond surface-level objection handling. He flipped the power dynamic.

Rick’s process went like this: earn their attention, stroke their reputation, reveal the concern, and then shift into qualification—but not as a hard pitch. As an invitation to be taken seriously.

“I’m not saying I can help you,” he’d tell them. “I only work with the top 25%. But I’d like to find out if that’s you.”

It was subtle, but brilliant. He made them want to qualify for his time.

And when the interview began, it was surgical:

• How do you handle complaints? → “Tells me how they view themselves.”
  
  

• What’s your average job size? → “Gives context, sets benchmarks.”
  
  

• What’s your margin? → “Tells me if they’re a business or a side hustle.”
  
  

• How do people find you? → “Here’s your pivot to advertising.”
  
  

• Who signs the checks? → “No check-writer, no deal.”
  
  

These weren’t throwaway questions. They were data points. Personality clues. Each one mapped the psychology of the person on the other end of the line.

I didn’t realize it then, but this structure—this call choreography—is what evolved into the frameworks I now teach: the ones that help reps sound human, not robotic. The ones that help founders scale their sales without selling out their authenticity. It all started here.

Posture and Playcalling

There’s something Rick did better than almost anyone: hold the frame.

He didn’t beg for appointments. He set firm ones. He didn’t chase ghosted contracts. He walked away with posture. And he had no fear taking it away from someone who wasn’t serious.

“If it’s not a firm appointment, let’s not set it.”

He called it like a coach. Honest. Clear. Sharp.

He even had a phrase when things got squishy: “My cards are face up.”
 No manipulation. No fluff. Just clarity.

“If you're uncomfortable, let’s talk about why. Because if I didn’t build value, then something’s missing. Let’s find it.”

That’s not just good sales. That’s leadership.

Why He Mattered

Rick didn’t just help me close deals. He helped me realize that sales is performance, not just process. It’s theater and repetition. Energy and timing. A good call isn’t about “sounding good.” It’s about landing the right beat, knowing when to push and when to pause.

More importantly—Rick made me feel something when I watched him sell. He was alive in those moments. And that lit something in me.

If you’ve ever sat in one of my trainings, or heard me say, “Plus-minus,” or watched me reframe a sales objection into a moment of trust—you were watching Rick’s fingerprints at work.

This isn’t just a tribute. It’s a thank-you.

Because before I ever taught someone how to sell with rhythm—I learned it by listening to a teammate. A mentor. A voice that still echoes.