I don't normally care about sports.

Haven’t since the Yankees won back-to-back World Series when I was in third and then fourth grade. (Big crush on Bucky Dent.)

These days, I watch Steven get so stressed, I encourage him to “ask your doctor if sports are right for you” — and I'm like, I worry enough in life. Why would I find a new source of emotional attachment to outcomes? Especially one I can't control at all? Sure, there's the thrill of seeing your team win, but then so much heartbreak, or the waiting for it. So much tension and hoping and praying and wearing your “lucky hat,” but then deciding the hat’s a jinx.

Multiply that tension by a thousand in the case of the NBA finals: Knicks vs. Spurs. My husband, who checks the score nervously during dinner on an ordinary day like it's work (“sorry, just have to check the score real quick”), has been a wreck the last two games. “Knicks in four” was the big hope, and then Trump had to stink up the joint. They lost, Steven was crushed and grumpy all the next day. (“The magic is broken.”) Knicks in five.

Wednesday night, Steven decided not to watch the game. That’s right Baby, you manage those cortisol levels. He told all his friends not to text him spoilers, then recorded it and binged The Perfect Couple on Netflix.

Now also rooting for The Knicks because I'm a proud New Yorker, and caring way more than I want to, I dared to open Threads. When I saw Roxane Gay say “I'm going to need the Knicks to get it together” and someone else post “The refs need to get their eyes checked” I quickly closed the app, which I didn't want to be stuck scrolling anyway, watched the Summer House reunion finale, and went to sleep.

Around 12:30 or 1am, Steven nudged me awake, something he knows never to do to this sleeping princess. Before I could complain, he said “The game's over. The Knicks were behind by 29 points.” Oh no. “And then they won by one point!” Thank f’ing god. The relief. I went back to sleep so happy.

For the past day, I've been watching videos of New Yorkers cheering in the streets like it's my job. There's one I keep playing on a loop. The joy! The togetherness! I get choked up and euphoric and well up with pride for my city, our mayor, our people each time I hit play. I want to bottle the feeling. Or turn it into a pill. Maybe that pill already exists and is called Molly. Whatever it is, the moment of group shock and wild elation is contagious. It makes me feel connected. I want it in an IV.

That's what your emails can do. Maybe not “strangers cheering and hugging in the streets” level; that's a once-in-a-generation thing, and I'm not promising that. (I’d need a street permit anyway.)

But the mechanism is the same:

Someone opens your email intrigued by the subject line, but pretty sure they don't care about what you're selling. Three paragraphs in, they're hooked by the story. And by the time you get to what you're selling, they want it — even though they didn't expect to.

That's the power of personality on the page. It's what keeps subscribers opening your emails, and what makes them trust you enough to buy. Most people just don't know how to get it in there…or how to make it sell.

That's what we're covering in my free class, GET PAID TO BE YOU on Thursday, June 25th at 1pm ET:

How to write emails that sell by cashing in on your voice, your realness, and your very specific way of not-watching a Knicks game.

We’re going to have so much fun. Save your seat here.​
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xoLaura

PS - For the skimmers who like to click a pic:

PPS - Here’s my favorite of the winning-point videos (click to view on Threads with sound)

PPPS - KNICKS IN FIVE!

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