The Selfie Captain

There is much to learn from playing a team sport as a recent set of volleyball games that I played indicated. 

Volleyball is not my thing, honestly.  I started it late in life; I used to walk or run around the volleyball courts on weekend mornings earlier, but was persuaded by a friend who plays there to join in the game.  The rest, as they say, is history (of the forgettable kind).  My arms and the ball don’t quite seem to understand my intent – when I wish to pass it to a team mate, who could then go for the kill, the ball sails over the net, allowing the opposition to achieve what I set out to do.  When I try anything minutely out of the ordinary, my fingers hurt for the rest of the week or the muscle becomes a tomato-red for the day.  Over the last few months, I have improved though and can now get the ball over the net eight times out of ten (aided by a fervent prayer), which is a tad better than some who try to pummel a winning shot each time.   

This week, two teams faced each other off in a friendly set of six games – each team had six players.  Our team had one very good player, four average players and the lone downtrodden (my ego preventing any further acknowledgement).  The other team had precisely the same profile, with the sixth player being average, so you could expect a broadly even contest. 

A chap in our team – the very good player -  had assumed the responsibility of captain, which title  the others seem to acknowledge (I named him therefore the ‘selfie-captain’).   

He – the selfie-captain - chose to position himself in the centre of the court, directed us to our stations and decided that he had to plug the holes, fix the weak links as it were.  So there he was, involved in about every shot, particularly if the ball came in my direction,  lunging, leaping, shouting “Leave it for me”, springing back and front attempting to cover an area beyond his reach and seeking, in particular, to cover me, with the result that, even as he played very well and gave the game a hundred percent, he seemed to make the most errors and confuse others often.  For much of the six games, I was an interested spectator.  Once, when the ball came twice, in quick succession, in my direction (and I hit into the net once), he hinted darkly that the other team was ‘targeting’ - playing unfairly by picking on the weakest – and did not quite recognise my embarrassment at being singled out as such.  I was immediately moved to another position for which I was even less suited – at the net. 

Of course, the net result (pun aside) was that we lost the first few games, and lost badly.  This got him grumpy and even more meddlesome, and critical of team-mates when they missed, banging the ball on the ground.  We won a consolation game, but in the end, it was a no-contest. 

What struck me was that the other team was just average and, by letting go, trusting his people, encouraging them, communicating far more and allowing them space to work, he could have got a much better result…that other team won, not on its merit, but on our demerit.  The selfie-captain walked away from the court with hardly a bye, making no eye contact with his weakest link; this blogpost is no retribution though! 

….and then, I thought of Ian Botham.  The world’s finest cricketer in the 1980s, a great all-rounder whose skill and talent were unique.  He also happened to be a disaster as a captain, not just losing his matches but his cricket as well that was in utter disarray during his captaincy.  But - here’s the best part – when the captaincy was taken away and given to Mike Brearley, Botham bounced back to being what he was: world class.  Botham’s problem was the same as the selfie-captain’s: a superstar performer who takes on all the responsibility and everyone’s job and does not do his own.  

…and then the thoughts flowed: of the chief of a small company that I had consulted with last year, who is ironically a star volleyballer himself.  He is a superstar software manager, a terrific face of the company, most customer friendly and outstandingly competent.  His team is nowhere close.  The company has been ‘Botham-ed’: everyone is in awe of the chief, he is consulted on everything and he gets involved in everything, he is particularly critical of others’ decisions and the company is in perpetual ‘rush’ mode, yet has hardly grown over the years.  

…and then, many names of superstar captains flashed through my mind and, I realised (with surprise and a touch of consternation) today, that the underperformance of the superstar-selfie-captain is no exception; it is a malaise. 

…..and, finally, I thought of Virat Kohli and the underperformance of the Royal Challengers in the initial part of the IPL this year.  Right through the day today, an image of this guy’s aggression questioning an underperforming colleague in the field has flashed through the mind - a posture, a look, a gesticulation seemed to suggest that he would need to learn to not be the superstar-captain.