The Ponytail and the Team: When Individual Glory Meets Collective Failure

The Ponytail

A dejected figure in a blue jersey stood before an open goal, staring in disbelief. The penalty shot he had visualized and manifested countless times had just sailed over the bar. That miss would come to define Roberto Baggio’s career  the man with the most famous ponytail in football, forever remembered not for his genius, but for that moment in the 1994 World Cup final.

What many forgot was that Baggio had carried Italy to that very final through sheer brilliance, grit, and pain. Playing with a broken knee, he inspired a divided team and a coach with his own agenda to defy the odds and face the mighty Brazilians led by Romário.

When the match ended in a draw after extra time, fate seemed to have aligned perfectly. Surely, destiny would reward the man who had willed Italy this far. And yet, he missed. Not by inches, but by metres.

That one kick turned the hero into a symbol of heartbreak. The lone ranger who had borne the team on his shoulders became the face of defeat. The world forgot the agony he endured, the courage it took to even step onto the pitch.

There was no redemption. Baggio would never again play in a World Cup final. And to this day, when a player steps up for a decisive penalty, commentators still ask  “Will this be their Baggio moment?”

The Team

Thousands of miles away and decades later, I witnessed a different kind of sporting theatre unfold — not under the lights of Pasadena, but on the cricket grounds of Mumbai.

Bayside Sports runs an inter-school tournament where fathers of schoolchildren face off against their counterparts from other schools. It’s a wonderful idea — a chance for 35+ fathers to relive their sporting passion, to compete, to bond, and to chase that elusive trophy at the end of the rainbow.

But here’s the twist.

Having played with one of the tournament’s most successful teams, I learned something crucial: passion takes you only so far.

We had everything — sponsors, coaches, rigorous practice sessions, quality equipment, and a meticulous selection process. And yet, cracks began to appear. Why? Because most of us — men in our late thirties and forties, successful in business or corporate life — were not used to hearing one word: “No.”

In our professional worlds, we led teams. We called the shots. We weren’t often questioned. But in a team sport, that changes. Suddenly, you have a defined role. You’re accountable. You’re replaceable. And if you don’t perform, you sit on the bench.

As one of our coaches wisely said:

“The true strength of a team is defined not by its starting eleven, but by player number 12, 13, 14, and 15  the ones on the bench.”

Those players can either uplift the team with their commitment and energy — or destroy it through gossip, resentment, and ego. Unfortunately, the latter often prevails. And believe me, no one gossips better than a self-interested 35-year-old man with free time and an audience.

The successful team I was part of eventually fractured not because of lack of talent or resources, but because of ego and politics. What was once a championship-winning side splintered into four mediocre teams, all to satisfy individual ambitions.

The Lesson

Sport mirrors life. Individual brilliance can carry a team but only to a point.

The world salutes the rising sun, yet a beautiful failure can inspire generations. Think of Roger Federer’s epic loss to Rafael Nadal at Wimbledon in 2008, often described as the most heart-breaking defeat in tennis history. Or consider what Schumacher did to Ferrari, or what Tendulkar, Ganguly, and Kohli did for Indian cricket. Great individuals lift teams, reshape cultures, and build legacies.

But the reverse is also true. A few self-interested individuals can quietly dismantle everything. They win the attention of decision-makers, whisper doubts, and twist narratives. Ironically, these are often the average performers — the ones who do just enough to stay relevant, yet spend their energy lobbying rather than performing.

And when decision-makers listen to them, the damage begins. Teams fracture. Trust erodes. Legacies collapse — not always in a blaze of drama, but in slow, quiet corrosion.

It takes years of patience and vision to build a great team. It takes just one ego to tear it apart.

Yet, even in failure  whether it’s Baggio’s miss or a team’s implosion there lies a lesson worth cherishing:

True greatness isn’t in never falling, but in understanding why we did and having the courage to build again.

 

Author – Vivek Manchanda