Has Google AI Replaced the Art of Selling?

by

John Stephen Mauldin, MLA (not AI-assisted)

All right reserved, copyright © 2025

Has Google AI replaced the art of selling? Hmm, I don't know the answer to that question. But let's think about it, and maybe we can make a guess.

Once upon a time, there lived a champion baseball player named Ben who stood six feet, six inches tall, and carved with strapping muscles. He always broke his baseball bat into splinters every time he hit a homer—every time.

It was a terrible thing to see Ben mad and he was nearly blind with rage because his team was losing and it was the bottom of the ninth inning. But the bases were loaded. If Big Ben hit a homer, his team would win the pennant by one point. Ben knew he could do it, as did everyone else, even the other team.

The first pitch was a curveball. Big Ben swung and missed. "Stri-rike one!" shouted the umpire. Ben stepped back, angrily spit on both hands one at a time, clenched the bat, and stared at the pitcher with a wild-eyed vengeance.

The next pitch was a knuckleball that tricked Ben into thinking it was a fastball, so as he swung, it took a sudden dip and flew over the strike zone. Ben finished his swing with the bat over his left shoulder and his right knee on home plate. Ben stood and, with a roar, broke the bat over his knee and threw the pieces to the bat boy.

"Give me a fastball straight over the plate," he yelled at the pitcher, "and I'll win this game so you can go home to yer mommy!"

"Comin' right up, little Ben."

Incandescent with rage, Ben expanded his bear-sized chest, exhaled with a growl, knocked the dirt from the cleats of both shoes, dug into position, and stared with laser beam intensity at the ball while it was still in the pitcher's hand.

Ben's all-consuming focus on the ball accelerated his every cell so that as the pitcher wound up, as it left his hand, and as it came spinning toward the plate, time slowed.

CRACK!

Ben stood statue-still as he traced the ball until it disappeared from the park. The thunderous, riotous clamor of the crowd contrasted surrealistically with Ben's casual trot to first base. As he headed to second, thousands of fans poured out of the stadium to congratulate their hero. He could barely make it to third base for the hysterical mob but tagged it methodically.

He looked at home plate, and all his teammates were there, throwing their caps in the air, piling on each other, drunk with delirious joy.

His blood raced with the wind.

He tagged home plate.

And the umpire screamed, "You're out! You never tagged first base!"

Trying to sell without taking the first step in the selling process is like hitting a grand slam but not tagging first base. You can't stop in the middle of the sale and return to the first step, just as you can't run back to tag first base after you tagged second base. You'll "be called out" at home plate. Yes, the first step of the sale is vital. We cannot progress to the other steps without establishing rapport with the customer.

As the term indicates, establishing rapport demonstrates credibility by exhibiting self-confidence, poise, and dressing similarly to the customer. Moreover, it is an expression of good faith and making genuine friendships.

That necessary first step can be delicate and might take several visits and, depending on the criticality of the sale, maybe a lunch or two. However, establishing rapport sometimes happens instantly or during a few minutes of conversation. Either way, one must find common ground with the customer before progressing. Why?

We make serious purchasing decisions by following a series of psychological advances, point to touchpoint. And although we experience that path somewhat unconsciously, it is uncomfortable for us to buy without that process.

Mastering the sensitivity of knowing when one creates adequate rapport and when more time is needed might require years of careful practice and a keen power of observation.

To supersede the art of selling, AI must acquire cognitive abilities on par with humans, which its masters have not granted. Innovative hurdles block that path, such as the powerfulness and size of the microchip. The transistor must become so ultra-tiny to reach that next era of processing power that it must become submicroscopic and, therefore, at that molecular level, the silicon chip will melt, destabilize, and, perhaps, leak.

So, for AI to replace selling, the silicone must be replaced and produced en mass, a process that may require many years; even then, many more years will be necessary for AI to think like humans, and this assumes that technology does not experience an innovation impediment caused by external factors such as economic collapse.

So, has Google AI replaced the art of selling? I dare say, not yet. It is not subtle enough to detect the nuances of human emotions, such as knowing when mutual rapport exists with a customer.