Waiting for the Promotion
Share
3-minute read
I was on a work trip in Southeast Asia. The company I worked for had just opened a new office, and I was sent over to do some training.
On one of the nights, I was struggling to sleep, so I turned on the TV and started watching sumo wrestling.
It was a replay of a tournament that had taken place in the 90s. I’d heard of sumo wrestling, but I’d never watched it before. And boy it didn’t disappoint.
The two fighters were Akebono and Konishiki, two Hawaiian-born heavyweights who later became legends.
These gents were mammoth. Konishiki came in at over 580 pounds, and Akebono was no slouch at around 500 pounds.
So the match starts, and Akebono and Konishiki smash into each other like two polar bears.
I swear, I was lying on the hotel bed, and it shook when the two collided. They were so explosive out the blocks, just absolute giants crashing into each other trying to push each other out the ring.
Anyway, after this match, they both went on to become legends, but had slightly different outcomes.
Akebono went on to achieve the rank of yokozuna (grand champion), which is sumo’s highest rank.
It was a little bit complicated with Konishiki.
You see, yokozuna promotion includes a subjective criterion called ‘hinkaku’, which basically means dignity, grace and having the ‘right aura’ of a grand champion. It’s whatever the council feels it is.
Konishiki built a serious case for promotion. From 1991–92, he put on one of the greatest 12-month streaks of any wrestler other than a yokozuna. But there was also a legitimate argument for making him wait.
Konishiki’s prime was explosive, but short. He put in a good body of work, but because of injuries and inconsistent results, he didn’t sustain the momentum for long enough. His peak didn’t last long enough to force promotion.
There was also a bit of an elephant in the room.
Konishiki was on the verge of becoming the first foreign-born yokozuna. At the time, the sumo establishment was protective and conservative, and there was open debate about whether a foreign-born wrestler could embody the traditions expected of a yokozuna.
Some prominent figures in the sport openly questioned whether a foreign wrestler could possess the ‘hinkaku’ required for the rank.
Konishiki’s record was strong, but not strong enough to remove the politics from the decision.
There’s many layers to this story. At one point, Konishiki was quoted as saying race had played a role in the decision. He later denied making the remarks, but still had to publicly apologise for the controversy they caused.
It’s hard not to wonder if that psychological blow, and the furore around it, contributed to his sumo deteriorating as quickly as it did.
Akebono, also foreign-born, won two consecutive tournaments and was promoted to yokozuna in 1993, becoming the first foreign-born wrestler to reach the rank.
His case was irrefutable.
And that’s probably the part of this story that stuck with me.
Performance and metrics are not enough.
You don’t get promoted just because you’re good at the job. You get promoted because you match the story the organisation tells itself about what a “leader” looks like.
Some people get promoted for being good enough. Others discover that “good enough” means flawless performance, perfect optics and the right people already wanting them there.
Sometimes excellent performance at job tasks does not lead to promotions; it leads to more work at the same level.
You can spend years waiting for the institution to change its mind. Sometimes it does, Akebono is proof of that. But he’s the exception, not the rule. For most people in that position, the odds look a lot more like Konishiki’s.
Sometimes, it’s better just to jump ship and move on.