I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we value players who have spent the better part of a decade grinding in the shadows. We see these massive, flashy headlines every summer—the kind that claim certain players are about to "explode" or that their value is skyrocketing because they’re finally getting a real shot at a starting role. It’s a pattern I see all the time, whether it’s in professional sports, the corporate ladder, or even just navigating a career in a niche industry.
There’s this romanticized idea that a change in environment or a sudden bump in responsibility is the magic key that unlocks a person's true potential. We love a good "overnight success" story, even when that person has actually been working in the trenches for eight years. It feels like the media loves to package these narratives to create excitement for the upcoming season or cycle, framing a veteran's increased workload as this sudden, dramatic surge in "stock."
But I have to wonder: is it actually a surge, or is it just a correction?
If you look at a lot of the guys who have been reliable bench pieces or "glue players" for years, they’ve already proven they have the skill. They’ve done the work. They’ve handled the pressure of being the guy who comes off the bench to stabilize a situation. To me, calling them "risers" feels a bit disingenuous. It feels like we're treating them as if they were invisible until this specific moment, ignoring the years of consistent, solid performance that actually made them worthy of this new opportunity in the first place.
In my own life, I’ve seen this happen in my previous jobs. You’d have a colleague who was the backbone of the department for years—the person everyone went to when things broke, the one who quietly kept the wheels turning. Then, suddenly, they get a title change or a move to a different department, and suddenly everyone is acting like they’re a superstar. The "hype" is massive, but the actual talent was there all along. It’s less about the person growing and more about the perception shifting once they aren't tucked away in a supporting role anymore.
Then there’s the "what if" aspect. Does the pressure of being a primary option actually help these seasoned veterans, or does it break them? We’ve seen plenty of players—and professionals—who were incredibly efficient in a limited capacity, only to see their effectiveness plummet once they are asked to carry a much heavier load. When you go from being the guy who provides a spark to the guy who has to manage the whole flow, the margin for error disappears. The "stock" might go up on paper, but the actual impact can be much more volatile.
I'm curious to hear what you all think about this phenomenon. When we see these sudden "surges" in value for players (or even professionals) who have been around the block for a long time, do you view it as a legitimate breakout, or is it just the inevitable result of a long-overdue promotion? Does a change in scenery actually change a person's ceiling, or does it just expose how much they were actually holding things together before?
There’s this romanticized idea that a change in environment or a sudden bump in responsibility is the magic key that unlocks a person's true potential. We love a good "overnight success" story, even when that person has actually been working in the trenches for eight years. It feels like the media loves to package these narratives to create excitement for the upcoming season or cycle, framing a veteran's increased workload as this sudden, dramatic surge in "stock."
But I have to wonder: is it actually a surge, or is it just a correction?
If you look at a lot of the guys who have been reliable bench pieces or "glue players" for years, they’ve already proven they have the skill. They’ve done the work. They’ve handled the pressure of being the guy who comes off the bench to stabilize a situation. To me, calling them "risers" feels a bit disingenuous. It feels like we're treating them as if they were invisible until this specific moment, ignoring the years of consistent, solid performance that actually made them worthy of this new opportunity in the first place.
In my own life, I’ve seen this happen in my previous jobs. You’d have a colleague who was the backbone of the department for years—the person everyone went to when things broke, the one who quietly kept the wheels turning. Then, suddenly, they get a title change or a move to a different department, and suddenly everyone is acting like they’re a superstar. The "hype" is massive, but the actual talent was there all along. It’s less about the person growing and more about the perception shifting once they aren't tucked away in a supporting role anymore.
Then there’s the "what if" aspect. Does the pressure of being a primary option actually help these seasoned veterans, or does it break them? We’ve seen plenty of players—and professionals—who were incredibly efficient in a limited capacity, only to see their effectiveness plummet once they are asked to carry a much heavier load. When you go from being the guy who provides a spark to the guy who has to manage the whole flow, the margin for error disappears. The "stock" might go up on paper, but the actual impact can be much more volatile.
I'm curious to hear what you all think about this phenomenon. When we see these sudden "surges" in value for players (or even professionals) who have been around the block for a long time, do you view it as a legitimate breakout, or is it just the inevitable result of a long-overdue promotion? Does a change in scenery actually change a person's ceiling, or does it just expose how much they were actually holding things together before?