It’s 10:30 PM on Saturday night, November 11, 1990. We’ve just returned home from an evening with my wife’s family.
Things aren’t going well between us. We’ve been drifting apart and the stress of two small kids, low income, terrible job as a surgical assistant in the Navy, and my wife’s omnipresent family have taken their toll. A year from now, we will be divorced. On this night, we’ve spent time with her dad.
I didn’t want to go. He was introducing us to another of his girlfriends. My father-in-law is wealthy, divorced man. He’s had no shortage of interested women in his life. Personally, I think he’s somewhat pathetic. These women are significantly younger and clearly aren’t physically attracted to him. But money is an aphrodisiac, I guess.
I also wanted to sit this one out since there was a Mike Tyson fight on HBO. Because I knew we’d be gone, I set the VCR to record it.
By now, I wasn’t a huge Tyson fan. I loved him at first. He quickly cleaned out the heavyweight division of “tomato cans” such as Bonecrusher Smith, Pinklon Thomas, and Trevor Berbick. Then he captured all the championship belts. He seemed unbeatable. In fact, Tyson victories were almost becoming boring.
Which made this fight against journeyman Buster Douglas, who was a 40-1 underdog, seem like a must-miss fight.
But I didn’t care. My wife and the kids go to bed, and I sit down to watch the fight.
If you’re a boxing fan, you know how this one turned out. Tyson came in unfocused, out of shape, and his corner was completely unprepared. Buster Douglas recently lost his mother and came in ready to fight. By the middle rounds, he was making pizza out of Tyson’s face.
I find myself cheering for Douglas and when he knocks Tyson out in the 10th round, I silently pump my fist so as not to wake everyone up. Tyson is indeed human.
We seem to love a champion for a season, but then we often root for the champ to fall.
I didn’t watch much of this year’s Superbowl. I’ve gradually lost interest in football over the past few years. I was surprised though at how many fans actively rooted for the Kansas City Chiefs to lose. In fact, fans even booed Taylor Swift. Just one season ago people bought tickets to Chiefs’ games in the hope they might get a glimpse of Taylor Swift in the booth, cheering on boyfriend Travis Kelce. The Chiefs were a feel-good story. Until they became the villain. Something about winning consistently makes people hate you.
There are complaints of oversaturation with the Chiefs. Fans complain the referees favor them on calls. Everyone but people from their home state seems to hate them.
This was the case with the New England Patriots who for nearly 20 years carved up the NFL winning a record number of Superbowls. But aside from those who live in the Northeast, the rest of the world hated the Patriots. They hated the smug Tom Brady. They deplored the dour Bill Belichick and his ugly hoodies. There were numerous allegations of cheating and covert videotaping. In every Superbowl, most Americans were rooting against them.
But it was nothing new. In the 1970s, people loved to root against the Pittsburgh Steelers. Like the Chiefs and Patriots, the Steelers were the best of the best. They won a record number of Superbowls in their era. But since they beat everyone, most fans rooted against them. Unless you were from Pittsburgh or just loved them. Then there were the rumors. The Steeler’s linemen took steroids. Up to that point, weightlifting wasn’t as common as it is now. But the Steeler’s offensive line, anchored by center Mike Webster, Steve Courson, and Jon Kolb had huge biceps and neck muscles. It had to be steroids. No wonder nobody can beat them.
Why do we root against the champs after rooting for them to become champs? Why do we secretly hope that people fail in a new endeavor? Why is it so hard for us to celebrate someone else’s success?
Maybe it’s jealousy. We can’t do it so nobody else should. But we rooted for that current champ when they were on their way to the top. So, we celebrate the fight to the top, but root for the champ to fall.
What does this mean for us now?
Success is a solo journey that is created from the interactions of those around us. When we are grinding to make it, everyone is in our corner. We thrive on the energy. And then we succeed.
“The higher the monkey climbs, the more you see of its behind.” – Joseph Stillwell.
But there will be jealousy. Some will resent your success. Even some of your fans will distance themselves. The only support you will find will be from your INNER CIRCLE.
Mike Tyson likely has an INNER CIRCLE who supports him, even after the Jake Paul debacle.
The Chiefs have a rabid fan base in Kansas City. That’s the Chiefs’ INNER CIRCLE.
Who is in your INNER CIRCLE? Who supports and celebrates you? We are lost without them.
Start an inventory of your contacts. Who REALLY supports you? They are the building blocks of your INNER CIRCLE. Start assembling today!