There is a universal truth in sport, business and life that should be tattooed across foreheads everywhere: never underestimate your opposition.
Whether you are preparing to launch a product, secure funding, or go head-to-head in a rugby competition, the moment you assume it will be easy is the moment you potentially start digging your own grave. Not a deep grave, just a shallow one, the kind you fall face-first into while everyone else politely pretends not to laugh.
Take the opening match of the United Rugby Championship yesterday. Leinster, brimming with the quiet confidence that comes from years of fantasising about dominating everyone in Euope, strutted onto the pitch against the Stormers. A South African side without their star players currently playing for their country, first game of the season, what could go wrong?
The Leinster faithful were possibly rehearsing their celebratory songs on the flight over. But then came the great plot twist. The Stormers showed up like a forgotten cousin at Christmas, unexpectedly well-prepared, full of fight, and more than happy to ruin the day. Leinster’s scoreboard contribution? 0. That is not a typo. Nil. Zero. Nothing. Leinster has never not scored in any match since the sport went professional. It was as though the Stormers had installed a psychological “access denied” button right in front of their try line – it did make me smile.
This is the psychology of underestimation in its purest form. When you expect to win, you relax. When you relax, your brain takes a holiday. The intensity dips, the sharp edges dull, and before you know it you are being out-thought and out-muscled by an opponent who is absolutely delighted to be the underdog. The underdog, after all, has a lovely psychological advantage. Nobody expects them to win, which means they are free to fight with nothing to lose, while you are stuck carrying the heavy burden of your own assumed superiority.
You see this everywhere. Entrepreneurs pitching to investors stroll in with too much swagger, convinced their brilliant idea will blind the room. Then comes the awkward moment when the investors, unimpressed by the overconfidence and missing details, start asking questions. Suddenly the room feels less like Dragon’s Den and more like Mastermind, with the entrepreneur sweating under the lights as their prepared answers fall apart. Overconfidence has a nasty way of turning charm into arrogance, and that is when people stop rooting for you.
Think of Kodak, who once believed themselves untouchable in the camera market. They ignored the scrappy little start-ups working on digital photography because surely no one would abandon film. We all know how that ended. Or BlackBerry, whose executives once smirked at the idea of people ditching physical keyboards for a touchscreen. While they were busy chuckling, Apple quietly built the iPhone and swept the floor clean. Even mighty Microsoft once dismissed Google’s search engine as an amusing sideshow, only to find themselves forever playing catch-up. The graveyard of underestimated opposition is full of expensive headstones with “we thought we had it in the bag” engraved on them.
It happens in the gentlest of arenas too. The local Women’s Institute autumn jam competition, for example, is a battlefield disguised with gingham and sugar. Some poor soul may believe that simply because she won last year with her raspberry and lavender special, victory this year is in the bag. But while she was busy practising her acceptance smile, Mrs Harris down the road has been experimenting with blackcurrant, cardamom and something suspiciously potent that may or may not be South African brandy. Cue the shock of seeing her own smug jar relegated to the losers’ table, as Mrs Harris walks away with a ribbon and a look that says, “never underestimate a woman with a preserving pan.”
Psychologists call this the overconfidence effect. It is a cognitive bias that leads us to believe our knowledge, skills or predictions are far better than they actually are. We overrate ourselves, underrate the opposition, and then act surprised when the result does not go our way. It is the mental equivalent of forgetting to lock your back door because “who would possibly break in?” only to come home and find a stranger happily eating your bread and jam.
The cure? Respect. Respect your opposition, respect the competition, respect the fact that in business, sport or jam-making, no one owes you an easy victory. Preparation, humility and vigilance are the antidotes to arrogance. Think like the Stormers, who clearly did not get the memo that Leinster were supposed to win, and instead got on with the small matter of actually defending like their lives depended on it.
So the next time you find yourself thinking, “this will be easy,” stop and remember the psychology of underestimation. The business rival you dismiss as too small may innovate in ways you never dreamed of. The investor you treat lightly might tear apart your pitch. The rugby team you think you will steamroll may just hold you to zero. And Mrs Harris, with her suspiciously strong jam, will gleefully put you in your place with a ladle and a smile.
After all, it is not the size of your opponent that matters, it is how badly they want to prove you wrong. Which is why, for all their talent, wealth and reputation, Leinster fans will be waking up this morning to the sound of laughter across the rugby world. Ireland’s finest club side walked in expecting a feast, but ended up leaving the table hungry. And nothing tastes quite as bitter as being the jam that never set.
And that takes the biscuit!
Inspired by Paul.
