What the 2002 World Cup Taught Me About Leadership, Culture and Communication
A story from my early leadership career about football, expectation, belonging and why the response after the moment matters most.
A leadership lesson I did not see coming
The 2002 World Cup taught me one of my earliest leadership lessons, although at the time I thought I was simply dealing with a team agreement that had gone wrong.
I was a finance manager in London’s Soho, leading a diverse team inside a fast-moving creative business, and when England played during work hours, I discovered just how much culture, identity and belonging can shape the way people respond.
Every time the World Cup comes around, I think back to that Friday afternoon in 2002, when I learned one of my most memorable lessons about leadership, culture and communication.
Leading a finance team in London’s Soho
At the time, I was working as a finance manager for a post-production company in Soho. It was part of a global agency group and, as you can imagine, it was a very creative, fast-moving, high-personality environment. I was still relatively early in my leadership career. I had led teams before, but this role felt different. The business was more diverse, the personalities were stronger, the politics were sharper, and the team I was leading had a much broader mix of ages, experiences and confidence levels.
There was Ron, the elder statesman of the team, who had been in the business for decades and carried the kind of steady wisdom that only comes from having seen it all. There was Aaron, who was only 19 and had been taken under Ron’s wing. There was Neera, a young accountant who was shy, reserved and rarely spoke unless she absolutely had to. Then there were the accounts payable, receivables, payroll and systems people, each with their own rhythm, responsibilities and personalities. My 2IC, Ellerby, was brilliant with systems, IT and process, and together we were trying to keep the finance function running smoothly in the middle of an organisation that did not always make that easy.
Above me sat a leadership group that was, let’s just say, character-building. There were politics, sharp elbows and enough “Devil Wears Prada” energy to make every week feel like a test of diplomacy. As much as possible, I tried to shield my team from that environment so they could get on with their work, support the production teams, keep month-end moving and avoid being pulled into unnecessary drama.
And for a while, things were humming along nicely. The month-end process had become more streamlined, reporting was working, debtors were paying, and the production teams were happy with our service. In a creative business, having people tolerate the finance team can sometimes feel like a major cultural win, so I was pleased with how things were progressing, even if I was trying not to look too smug about it.
When the World Cup entered the workplace
Then the 2002 World Cup arrived.
Now, I am an AFL fan, but I have always adopted the local football code wherever I have lived. I had also been living in London for three years and was married to a Brit who had played for the QPR youth team, so I had some understanding of how much the game mattered. A couple of years earlier, I had been working in Italy during the European Championship final between Italy and France, and I remember the entire steel mill shutting down early so everyone could go home and watch the match.
So yes, I knew football mattered. I just did not yet fully understand how deeply it could sit inside people’s identity, especially when England was involved.
When the World Cup fixtures came out and the England games were mostly scheduled during the working day, my team asked if they could go to the pub to watch some of the matches.
The agreement we made
I did not say yes immediately. I asked them to put together a plan. Who would cover the phones? How would we make sure work kept moving? What would happen around month-end? How could we make sure at least half the team was in the office at any given time?
To their credit, they came back with a sensible plan. They had thought it through, worked out how to cover each other and made a reasonable business case for why they should be able to participate in something that clearly mattered to them. So I approved it.
For the first few games, it worked well. People went, people came back, work continued and the arrangement felt like a small but positive example of trust and flexibility.
Then came one particular Friday lunchtime game.
The Friday no one came back
Most of the team went to the pub. I stayed in the office. I was not especially invested in the England games, and if I am honest, I still underestimated the emotional pull of what was happening. The match started around lunchtime, and I expected the team to return once it was over, as agreed.
But lunchtime came and went. Then another hour passed. No one came back.
Eventually, Neera returned, looking sheepish. Then Ron came back. He could see immediately that I was disappointed and baffled, and in his very respectful way, he tried to help me understand the cultural significance of what had happened without minimising the fact that the team had not honoured the agreement.
It was one of those conversations where someone is gently trying to translate a moment for you while also acknowledging that, yes, something had gone wrong.
No one else returned.
This was before mobile phones were embedded into daily life in the way they are now, so I could not simply send a group message and ask where everyone was. Not that it would have achieved much. They were fully invested in the game, the moment and the collective experience of it all.
The conversation I had to have
Of course, it did not take long before senior leaders started circling. Questions were asked. Eyebrows were raised. There was a strong push for warnings and reprimands. I did my best to hold them off, partly because I did not want my team thrown under the bus, and partly because I knew there was something more going on than simple disregard for work.
I left that Friday feeling completely deflated. I was disappointed in the team, but I was also questioning myself. Had I been clear enough? Had I been too trusting? Had I misunderstood what this meant to them? Had they misunderstood what I needed from them? Did they respect me as their leader, or had my flexibility been interpreted as weakness?
I spent the weekend thinking about it and decided we needed to have a conversation first thing Monday morning. Not a lecture. Not a public takedown. A conversation.
When Monday came, each person walked into the office looking like they already knew. We gathered in the meeting room, and Tom took it upon himself to speak first. He apologised, genuinely and repeatedly, and then others joined in. They explained that what had happened was not about me, my leadership or the agreement we had made. They had simply been swept up in the emotion of the match and the significance of the moment.
After the meeting, each person came to me individually to apologise. And while I accepted those apologies, I would be lying if I said it did not sting for a few days.
But that experience taught me something I have carried with me for more than twenty years.
Why behaviour is only part of the story
Sometimes people make choices in a moment that prioritise belonging, identity and shared experience over what is expected of them.
That does not mean the choice has no consequences. It does not mean leaders ignore it, excuse it or pretend it did not happen. But it does mean that if we only look at the behaviour, we can miss the meaning underneath it.
That Monday morning could have gone in several directions. I could have led with punishment. I could have tried to prove I was in control. I could have made the conversation about authority, compliance and consequences.
Instead, we created enough space for honesty. I could say, “I was disappointed.” They could say, “We got caught up in the moment and we got it wrong.” And from there, we could actually understand what had happened.
The link to The Better Response
That is where The Better Response lives.
Not in pretending everything is fine. Not in avoiding difficult conversations. Not in being endlessly accommodating. A better response is about choosing the response that helps people get to the real conversation rather than circling around the safest one.
Because in organisations, behaviour is usually only the visible part of the story. Underneath it are assumptions, expectations, emotions, loyalties, identities and meanings that may not be obvious at first glance.
The meeting where someone goes silent. The email that is received badly. The team member who reacts in a way that seems out of proportion. The leader who thinks they have been clear, only to discover the message was interpreted differently.
These are the moments where a better response can change what happens next.
What I would do differently now
Looking back, Ron’s response that day was probably the most skilful of all. He did not excuse the team’s choice, but he helped me understand the context. He acted as a bridge between my disappointment and the team’s emotional reality.
At the time, I probably did not appreciate how valuable that was. Now, I see it as a beautiful example of leadership without title.
If I were leading that same team now, I would still have had the conversation. I would still have named the broken agreement. I would still have been clear that trust and flexibility need to work both ways.
But I would also have asked better questions sooner.
What does this moment mean to the team? What assumptions am I making? What does support look like without losing accountability? What agreement do we need to make together, rather than simply manage around the edges?
That is not soft leadership. It is stronger leadership. Because when people feel they can tell the truth, you have a much better chance of getting to the real issue.
The leadership lesson that stayed with me
Every World Cup, I think about that team in Soho. I think about Neera walking back into the office looking like she wanted the floor to swallow her. I think about Tom apologising on behalf of the group. I think about Ron trying to help me see something I had not yet fully understood.
And I think about the younger version of me, still learning that leadership is not just about setting expectations. It is also about understanding what shapes people’s responses to those expectations.
This World Cup, I will be dialling down my own expectations and supporting those who want to be part of the shared experience. Although, for the record, I still will not be letting my kids skip school.
The leadership lesson has stayed with me because it was never really about football. It was about culture. It was about communication. It was about identity, belonging and the choices people make when a moment means more to them than you realise.
And most of all, it was about this: every moment matters, every conversation counts, and the response we choose can either close the conversation down or open the door to something better.
Want your leaders to be better equipped for the moments that never show up neatly on the agenda?
The Better Response helps leaders and teams handle the real-life conversations that shape how work actually gets done — when expectations are missed, assumptions collide, someone needs to apologise, feedback has to be given, or the message received is not the message intended.
So that instead of leaving people to guess, avoid, over-explain or stew on it later, your leaders know how to create the next better moment.
