Don't be a genius on the bench
Act I: The Rise of Brilliance
“Cantona was a genius, but he was also a maverick. He could be difficult, but he inspired us.” — Gary Neville
Every high-performing team, whether on the pitch, in the boardroom, or on the silver screen, seems to have one: the player whose talent is undeniable, but whose presence is as much a challenge as a gift. In football, this might be the striker whose goals win matches but whose ego fills the dressing room with tension. In business, it could be the visionary who drives innovation but leaves a trail of bruised colleagues. And in films, we often see the archetype played out — think of Gordon Gekko in Wall Street or Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network.
The “brilliant asshole” is a paradox: indispensable and infuriating. Their brilliance can inspire teammates, elevate performance, and push boundaries. Their behaviour, however, tests the limits of patience and unity. Teams at the beginning of their journey — startups, newly promoted football clubs, or groups thrown together for a common cause — often find themselves relying on such individuals. The hunger for success, the urgency to prove themselves, and the need for a competitive edge make it easy to overlook warning signs.
Take football, for example. When a club is fighting relegation or dreaming of promotion, the manager may turn a blind eye to a star’s outbursts if it means three points on Saturday. “You need characters,” as many coaches say, “but you also need results.” In tech startups, a disruptive coder who breaks all the rules might be tolerated — even celebrated — if their work propels the company forward.
Movies mirror this dynamic. In The Social Network, Mark Zuckerberg’s genius is unquestionable, but his interpersonal skills leave much to be desired. The team behind Facebook achieves extraordinary things, but not without conflict and fallout. The early stages of any team or venture are typically marked by this tension: the rush of achievement, the thrill of overcoming odds, and the quiet hope that the cost of brilliance won’t become too steep.
But as the team is riding high — winning, innovating, and perhaps ignoring the subtle fractures that brilliance can bring — the question lingers: how long can this balance hold before the cost outweighs the reward?
Act II: The Cost of Brilliance
“I want players who are hungry, but not at the expense of the group. If someone is brilliant but toxic, it’s a problem.” — Jürgen Klopp
Success brings its own set of challenges. As teams begin to achieve their goals, the urgency that once justified overlooking difficult behaviour starts to fade. Now, the cracks that were papered over by early victories begin to widen. The same star player whose goals once saved the team now draws the ire of teammates, not just for missed passes, but for the mood he casts over the training ground. The coder whose late-night heroics launched the product now sparks arguments in every meeting, slowing progress with stubbornness or disregard for others’ ideas.
In football, this transition is often stark. When a team moves from survival mode to chasing higher ambitions — like competing for titles or building a legacy — the atmosphere shifts. Managers and coaches notice that the disruptive energy once seen as passion now undermines trust and unity. “You can’t win anything with bad eggs, no matter how good they are,” Sir Alex Ferguson famously said, reflecting on the need to protect the team’s culture above all else. Dressing rooms grow tense, and younger players hesitate to speak up, fearing the wrath of the resident genius.
The cost isn’t just emotional. Teams begin to lose players — not just the quiet ones, but promising talents who see no future in a toxic environment. Creativity suffers as people become more guarded, unwilling to take risks or share new ideas. In business, this can mean stalled innovation or even the departure of key employees. In football, it can mean a run of poor results or a fractured squad.
Films capture this turning point well. In Moneyball, Billy Beane famously trades away talented but divisive players, choosing instead to build a team that works together — even if it means sacrificing a bit of star power. The message is clear: the sum must be greater than the parts. When one individual’s behaviour begins to cost the group more than their talent brings, leaders are forced to make hard choices.
As the crisis peaks, teams are confronted with a difficult truth. Brilliance alone is no longer enough. The culture that once tolerated — or even celebrated — disruptive genius is now at a crossroads. The next step will define whether the team can evolve, or whether it will be undone by the very brilliance that first set it apart.
Act III: Evolution and Legacy
“You can be a genius, but if you don’t respect the team, you won’t play.” — Pep Guardiola
When the cost of brilliance finally outweighs its rewards, decisive action becomes inevitable. The team, once held together by the momentum of early victories, now faces a defining choice: cling to the familiar spark of individual genius or evolve into something greater — something built on trust, collaboration, and shared purpose.
In football, this moment often comes with a bold decision. Managers and club leadership may bench or even transfer out the disruptive star, risking short-term results for the sake of long-term harmony. Sir Alex Ferguson’s decision to let go of talented but divisive players — no matter their status — became legendary. “No one is bigger than the club,” he insisted, sending a clear message that culture comes first. Teams that make this shift often find unexpected strength: the dressing room becomes more unified, younger players step up, and performance improves not through individual heroics but collective effort. Just like we're seeing with PSG.
In business, leaders might restructure teams, invest in coaching, or set non-negotiable standards for behaviour. Sometimes, the “brilliant asshole” is given a chance to adapt — supported with honest feedback and clear boundaries. Other times, a farewell is the only way forward. The transition is rarely easy, but it’s essential for sustainable success.
Movies echo these lessons. In Remember the Titans, Coach Boone’s insistence on respect and teamwork transforms a divided squad into champions. The film reminds us that true greatness lies not in the individual, but in the group’s ability to rise together, overcoming ego and difference for a shared goal.
As the dust settles, the legacy of the “brilliant asshole” remains. Teams can acknowledge the pivotal role such individuals played in their early days — often, their drive and vision were crucial. But real progress is marked by the team’s willingness to move beyond dependency on any one person. The best teams honour their past, but refuse to be held hostage by it.
In the end, football, like life, moves on. The greatest victories are not those won by a single star, but those earned by a team that learned to play for each other. That is the true price and reward of outgrowing brilliance.