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Reebok's woes began under the new cast of professional managers; there were five presidents in a decade. In an effort to broaden its customer base, Reebok in 1992 ventured out from its core recreational-fitness customers to make sneakers in more competitive sports categories like baseball, basketball and soccer, where such rivals as Nike, Adidas and New Balance were already slugging it out. "Women started feeling like we had lost track of them," says David Perdue, who was brought in by Fireman this year to run Reebok's main lines of business, sneakers and apparel. "And kids too found us not to be relevant." As declining sales forced the company to cut back on R. and D., the styling of Reeboks across the board fell out of favor. John Shanley, an analyst with Wells Fargo Van Kasper, puts it this way: "Reebok shoes started looking like they belonged on the shelf of an orthopedic patient."
Not anymore. Back in December 1999, Fireman--who with his wife Phyllis owns about a 20% stake in Reebok--won the board's approval for a turnaround plan. At the heart of his strategy was a return to the company's roots--sharp, provocative design. In addition, he began pushing innovation from his engineers. They came up with Reebok's DMX technology, a sole containing numerous air channels for cushioned comfort, and Traxtar, a line of shoes for kids that contain built-in computer chips and motion sensors that measure the wearer's running speed and jumping height. "Most people's view of entrepreneurs is that their business eventually outgrows them," says Reebok CFO Ken Watchmaker. "We've learned the hard way that Paul is the lifeblood of this business."
Of course, Fireman knows that gizmos won't bring down Nike-- unless Reebok has a lot of well-marketed attitude to go with them. He calls this "the Cool Factor"--the mysterious marketing mojo that powers the $11 billion athletic-footwear market. That's where Iverson comes in, with his tattoos, corn-rowed hair and 'hood bravado. Allen is indispensably cool, which is why, a few months ago, when Reebok was the object of shrill protests over the obviously homophobic, misogynist lyrics in the basketball star's debut rap song, Fireman stood by his man. "I didn't agree with the song," says Fireman, who conceived the Reebok Human Rights Awards. "But he had a right to sing it."
The way Fireman sees it, the conventional approach to business is boring, so bring on the controversy, play the game by your own rules, be a real entrepreneur. Back in the early 1990s, when he was already earning a seven-figure salary and bonuses, he was denied membership at a country club near his New England home. Fireman assumed the club turned him down because he is Jewish. He didn't fight for entry; he bought his own country club, decked out with an 18-hole golf course, an Olympic-size pool and tennis courts. That helps explain why he identifies with stars like Iverson and Williams, who fit the mold because they break it. They aren't heroes like Tiger Woods, but they attract attention. And they have the stuff of greatness, which means big rewards if they're on your team.