Looking Past Performance in Your Star Talent

by Mark de Rond, Adrian Moorhouse, and Matt Rogan

THE NBA DRAFT has, since 1950, been the means of bringing the cream of college basketball talent into the professional ranks. Pro teams take views and stake fortunes on those college kids most likely to step up successfully.

In 1998, Briton Michael Olowokandi was first pick, drafted to the L.A. Clippers. His selection was big news, not because the soccer-obsessed Britons had finally produced a basketball talent, but because he had only been playing the game for five years, since 1993. Although Olowokandi had only played basketball in the U.K. for two years before his freshman year, coaches at the University of the Pacific were intrigued by his seven-foot frame and recruited him. He had no game to speak of, but huge potential. It was unclear until very late in his college career that he was NBA material, let alone a potential number-one pick.

Sports teams under salary caps rely on balancing performance with potential. American sports in particular have led the world in professionalizing this skill. Michael Lewis’s Moneyball describes how the Oakland A’s used data analysis to understand the trade-off between performance, potential, and player value on the open market. In U.S. pro sports, this cat is now out of the bag. Performance data in itself is now a commodity purchase, so mainstream that Brad Pitt starred in Moneyball the movie.

On one level, business is slowly catching on. Well-handled psychometric tests provide not only a currency for assessing personal traits, but also potential fit within an organization. In theory, we finally have an objective view of who our number-one pick should be. In practice, this is no time to be smug. Recent research suggests that 70% of our current crop of high performers in business lack critical attributes essential to success in future roles.¹ We may have all the data in the world, yet we’re still not consistently making the right calls.

Why not? Perhaps progress in sports offers a clue. Given that a data-based view of potential versus value is now held by each MLB team, Billy Beane, the brains behind the Moneyball revolution, is thinking differently. He has said, “Data is now only part of the picture. When the competition zigs, I have to zag.” While the number crunching still happens, he is also sending his scouts to understand the backgrounds of his prospective draft picks and trades. He wants to meet their parents and their friends, to observe them in the evenings after a defeat. The best soccer managers in England, Alex Ferguson and Arsene Wenger, do the same. They do so because they don’t just want a theoretical view of potential; they also want to find clues as to what lies beneath. They want to discover how resilient each talented individual might be, and how prone they could be to derailment.

Professional sports require dedication and performance under pressure. In this environment, personal traits and preferences that manifest themselves as strengths can become counterproductive. Self-belief can become unhelpful ego, which has an impact on the ability to learn from setbacks. A win-at-all-costs mentality can turn into a desire to bend the rules a little too far. Understanding potential derailment minimizes the risk of hiring talented but flawed individuals.

We see this tendency in business too, of course. In his book Personality and the Fate of Organizations, Robert Hogan explains, “There are strengths and weaknesses associated with various derailment factors … good things taken to the extreme turn into bad things.” For example, attention to detail can later turn into a career-limiting desire to micro-manage as opposed to lead an organization. Developing self-awareness is at the root of any successful strategy to deal with derailment. The New York Giants don’t just recruit those most likely to cope; they run a program called “Choices, Decisions and Consequences” to help their players proactively understand and manage their own potential causes of derailment.

Business, like sports, is a roller coaster. Success is high profile, failure higher still. Given this, any outlook that fails to recognize the potential threat of derailment and to prize the resilience necessary for coping with setbacks is an incomplete picture. We characterize future potential in terms of three dimensions—commitment, ability, and resilience. Those individuals in sport or business with the highest potential are replete in all three. “Loyal Servants” lack the ability to progress much further but have the commitment and resilience to deliver for the long term. “Prima Donnas” are full of ability and resilience but lack the commitment to stay the course. They can become the stars of the future, but it might not be with you. “Brittle Stars” are full of ability and commitment, but can derail under pressure. They can deliver for you, as long as you provide the necessary support along the way.

Like every team, your business will blend Brittle Stars, Loyal Servants, and Prima Donnas as well as the highest-potential talent. Each group can be supported and challenged to move forward. In that spirit, here are three key insights from sports’ top talent developers:

• Just like the University of the Pacific: Remember current performance is often a misleading barometer of future potential.

• Just like Manchester United and Arsenal Soccer Clubs: Insist on understanding the people behind the data.

• Just like the New York Giants: Encourage your talent to understand and actively manage their own personal sources of potential derailment.

Carefully assessing your top talent is more than picking the best of the best. In looking at your team, you can see what your stars bring to the table and prevent the possibility of future derailment.

Originally published on June 2011 on HBR.org.

Note

1. Jean Martin and Conrad Schmidt, “How to Keep Your Top Talent,” Harvard Business Review, May 2010.

Life’s Work

An Interview with Mikhail Baryshnikov

Mikhail Baryshnikov began studying ballet at age nine in his native Riga, Latvia, then part of the Soviet Union. By his early twenties he had been described by one critic as “the most perfect dancer I have ever seen” and was the star of the famed Kirov Ballet. In 1974 he defected to Canada and then settled in the U.S. at the American Ballet Theatre, where he later became artistic director. He left in 1989 to cofound a modern dance company and take on film, theater, and TV roles. He’s now artistic director of the Baryshnikov Arts Center and, at age 63, still performs. Interviewed by Alison Beard

HBR: Your career has been all about reinvention—classical to modern dance, stage to film to TV, performing to managing and back again. Why?

Baryshnikov: It’s instinctive. There’s an internal clock that dictates what interests me at any given time. Change in any person’s life is propelled by an almost primal need to explore, to test boundaries. I just follow that urge. In some cases, I look at what others are doing and stubbornly go in the opposite direction. Sometimes it works, sometimes I fail. There are no guarantees.

How hard was the transition to management?

I’ve had the good fortune to work with very structured dance companies, and I could see early on what a huge responsibility managing one would be. When I took it on, it was a growing-up experience. It forced me to make artistic decisions unrelated to my own career and to think more seriously about creating opportunities for others. I think what I’ve been best at is sticking to a vision for whatever group I’m leading, making the tough decisions that might not favor the people I like but that make sense for the organization as a whole. When I’m working with other artists I can be an obedient puppy, but in an office situation I like to think I’m the big dog. I don’t want to take direction. I haven’t always been as patient as I should have been, expecting too much, too fast, and getting frustrated with how long it can take to build support for new ideas. But I’m still learning.

You’ve worked with the legends of dance—Alexander Pushkin, George Balanchine, Twyla Tharp, Jerome Robbins, Alvin Ailey. What can you tell us about effective mentoring?

I don’t consider myself a mentor; I’m more of a cheerleader. But the best lesson from all the people I’ve worked with is to understand who you are as a person on stage. Whatever new craft you learn has to go through your own psychology, your own body and mind, in order to come out as something revealing and interesting for the audience.

How about effective teamwork?

I’ve always liked the camaraderie of group performance. To really collaborate, you have to figure out how to work with anyone and give 100%. It’s about spitting out your ego and becoming a foot soldier when necessary. The creative process isn’t a human rights march. Some things aren’t fair. Creators can be temperamental, but they have to be forgiven in this business. If you can’t deal with that, you should step out.

You learned 26 new roles in your first two years as principal dancer at the ABT. At the New York City Ballet it was 20 in a year. What’s the key to mastering new roles quickly?

There is no one secret. It takes positive energy, talent, a lot of hard work, and a willingness to absorb everything possible from the people you’re working with. And some luck surely helps. I don’t think I always mastered everything. Sometimes I took on too much. But it was a young person’s appetite. In retrospect, I think the failures might have been the most important experiences.

Can you give me an example?

Why are you trying to make me remember things I’ve worked so hard to forget? Seriously though, failures are the best school you can get. But let’s not go into details.

How do you handle pre-performance jitters?

There’s no magic pill, but by the time those nerves hit, there’s nowhere to go but forward.

You’ve hinted at retirement. But at 63 you’re still dancing. Have you gotten better with age?

I don’t know how much longer I’ll dance, but I’ve certainly learned how to pace myself. I’m not sure it’s up to me to decide what, if anything, has improved. I can only say that age forces you to pare things down to what’s essential.

I’ve read that you hate critics.

Well, that’s an exaggeration. It’s just that there’s no easy way to be completely objective as a critic. And most artists don’t want to be subjected to someone else’s opinion of their work anyway.

Do you have an inner critic?

You absolutely have to have one—maybe a whole stable of them.

What type of recognition do you value most?

I don’t really put a lot of value on recognition from others. I mean, it’s always nice when people are appreciative. If they’re still thinking of something they saw me do in a performance somewhere, that’s great, but I just try and do my best. That’s all I can do.

What have been your most satisfying professional experiences?

Meeting all the bizarre, weird, beautiful people in the arts. They are divinely obsessed, and that has made my life so much more interesting than I could have imagined.

Who has been most inspirational?

I like to kiss, but I don’t tell.

You’re one of the world’s most famous Soviet defectors. Were there positive aspects to the environment you fled? And do you see any downsides to being a performance artist in the United States?

The Soviet system gave me my occupation, my craft. They schooled me, and that is the biggest present a government can give a young person. When I left, I escaped government control over the individual but inherited total responsibility for myself. That wasn’t so difficult for me because I was already known and had plenty of opportunities. But performers in the U.S. really have to figure out how to survive, how to refine their talent without much support from government—or from anyone else for that matter. And don’t get me started on the lack of government support for arts education in the U.S. But, you know, even with the negatives, I’d still drop my anchor here in this country if I had to make the choice again.

Why is the BAC a cross-disciplinary organization?

The more you see, the more you know, and—hopefully—the better you get. There is this idea that artists shouldn’t “pollute” their creative instincts by seeing other artists’ work. I think this is wrong. Any place that provides a common ground for artists to learn from one another is a good thing.

Why are you so good at what you do?

Please don’t make me think about this. This is the worst thing one can do: sit around and think about how good you’ve gotten at something. Besides, I’m not always so great—ask my wife.

Originally published in May 2011. Reprint R1105N