#1 ·
I was sitting around with some friends last night, and the conversation drifted into that weird, hypnotic space where we start dissecting every "almost" moment in our lives. We weren't even talking about our own lives, specifically—we were deep in the weeds of sports history. You know the feeling. It’s that specific brand of torture where you look back at a franchise, or a specific era, and realize that if one single person had walked through a different door, or if one interview had gone slightly differently, the entire trajectory of the last decade might be unrecognizable.
It’s a fascinating psychological rabbit hole. We love to play architect with timelines that don't exist. We sit there and say, "If Coach X had taken that job instead of Coach Y, they would have won three more titles, changed the culture, and revolutionized the playbook." We build these elaborate, beautiful mental structures out of thin air. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if we’re just suckers for a good narrative. We crave the "butterfly effect" because it gives us a sense of agency over the chaos of reality. If we can pinpoint the exact moment things "should" have gone differently, it makes the randomness of life feel a little less overwhelming.
In reality, though, is it ever really that simple? I look at my own life, and there are so many "sliding door" moments. If I hadn't taken that specific internship, or if I hadn't moved to this city when I did, I'd be a completely different person. But I don't think it's just one decision. It's a thousand tiny, microscopic shifts. When we apply that logic to professional organizations—especially in high-stakes environments like professional sports—we tend to oversimplify it. We pick one name, one "almost" hire, and we make them the pivot point for everything. We ignore the chemistry, the locker room politics, the drafting successes, or the systemic failures that would have happened regardless of who was sitting in the big chair.
I think there’s a certain comfort in the "what if." It allows us to mourn the successes we never had. It’s a way of processing disappointment. If a team is struggling, it’s much easier to say, "We just had the wrong leadership at the helm back in 2015," than to admit that the league evolved, or that luck simply wasn't on our side. It turns a messy, complicated reality into a clean, tragic story where a single decision is the villain.
But I also find myself wondering if we give too much credit to the "ones that got away." We tend to romanticize the people who didn't get the job. We imagine them coming in and fixing everything, ignoring the fact that they might have been just as flawed or ill-suited for the specific moment as the person who actually took the reins. We create these legends out of people who never even stepped foot in the building.
It makes me wonder about the nature of destiny versus preparation. Is a leader's success a result of their personal brilliance, or are they simply the right person for a specific, fleeting window of time? If you take a legendary strategist and drop them into a disorganized, talent-poor environment, they might fail just as spectacularly as anyone else. So, when we talk about those "almost" moments, are we talking about the person, or are we just talking about a different set of circumstances?
I'd love to hear from you guys. When you look back at your favorite teams, or even just your own career paths, do you find yourself obsessed with those "sliding door" moments? Do you think certain "almost" moments actually changed the course of history, or is it all just a way for us to cope with how unpredictable life really is?
It’s a fascinating psychological rabbit hole. We love to play architect with timelines that don't exist. We sit there and say, "If Coach X had taken that job instead of Coach Y, they would have won three more titles, changed the culture, and revolutionized the playbook." We build these elaborate, beautiful mental structures out of thin air. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if we’re just suckers for a good narrative. We crave the "butterfly effect" because it gives us a sense of agency over the chaos of reality. If we can pinpoint the exact moment things "should" have gone differently, it makes the randomness of life feel a little less overwhelming.
In reality, though, is it ever really that simple? I look at my own life, and there are so many "sliding door" moments. If I hadn't taken that specific internship, or if I hadn't moved to this city when I did, I'd be a completely different person. But I don't think it's just one decision. It's a thousand tiny, microscopic shifts. When we apply that logic to professional organizations—especially in high-stakes environments like professional sports—we tend to oversimplify it. We pick one name, one "almost" hire, and we make them the pivot point for everything. We ignore the chemistry, the locker room politics, the drafting successes, or the systemic failures that would have happened regardless of who was sitting in the big chair.
I think there’s a certain comfort in the "what if." It allows us to mourn the successes we never had. It’s a way of processing disappointment. If a team is struggling, it’s much easier to say, "We just had the wrong leadership at the helm back in 2015," than to admit that the league evolved, or that luck simply wasn't on our side. It turns a messy, complicated reality into a clean, tragic story where a single decision is the villain.
But I also find myself wondering if we give too much credit to the "ones that got away." We tend to romanticize the people who didn't get the job. We imagine them coming in and fixing everything, ignoring the fact that they might have been just as flawed or ill-suited for the specific moment as the person who actually took the reins. We create these legends out of people who never even stepped foot in the building.
It makes me wonder about the nature of destiny versus preparation. Is a leader's success a result of their personal brilliance, or are they simply the right person for a specific, fleeting window of time? If you take a legendary strategist and drop them into a disorganized, talent-poor environment, they might fail just as spectacularly as anyone else. So, when we talk about those "almost" moments, are we talking about the person, or are we just talking about a different set of circumstances?
I'd love to hear from you guys. When you look back at your favorite teams, or even just your own career paths, do you find yourself obsessed with those "sliding door" moments? Do you think certain "almost" moments actually changed the course of history, or is it all just a way for us to cope with how unpredictable life really is?