Some team meetings can be quite dramatic. The arena is packed. The lights are blinding. The crowd is roaring.
In one corner: Diomedes, son of Tydeus — tonight’s breakout star. He’s on a tear. No hesitation. No mercy. The announcers can barely keep up. He’s already taken down champion after champion.
But there’s something strange. The camera keeps cutting to a shimmer just behind him. The commentators whisper: “There’s someone in his corner tonight.”
Athena. Not visible to the crowd. But close. Very close. Adjusting the odds. Feeding him confidence. Tilting the momentum. When Diomedes squares up, he’s not fighting alone.
Across the ring: Aeneas (uh·nee·uhs). Solid. Skilled. Not flashy. Fighting his own fight. Until Diomedes grabs something outrageous — not a steel chair — a rock. A massive, rule-breaking, physics-defying slab of stone.
He hurls it.
It crashes into Aeneas and shatters his hip. The kind of hit that ends careers. The crowd gasps. This isn’t choreography anymore. This is annihilation.
Aeneas goes down.
And here’s where it really becomes WrestleMania. The titantron flickers. Music hits. Aphrodite enters the arena.
Not a warrior. Not a brawler. She refuses to let her guy be finished. Shields Aeneas with her own body. A mother stepping into the ring to stop the finishing move.
And Diomedes — high on divine backing — does the unthinkable. He goes after her too. He wounds a goddess. In WrestleMania terms? He power-slams the promoter’s daughter on live television.
You can pick up the story in Book 5 of the Illiad, around line 300.
Diomedes is unstoppable — but only because one of the immortals is standing close behind him. His hot streak isn’t just talent. It’s sponsorship from Olympus.
Aeneas gets crushed — not necessarily because he’s weaker — but because tonight, the gods aren’t in his corner.
And the lesson through the WrestleMania lens? In every arena:
- Some fighters have invisible backers.
- Some victories are divinely sponsored.
- Some losses are magnified by bad luck and bad matchups.
- And sometimes salvation looks like interference.
Back to the team meeting.
If you’re a conscious leader, these kinds of ego battles probably aren’t your style. You know there’s nothing to prove, nothing to defend, nothing to conquer. You could just let things play out. If you step in, you’re going to feel the hit. You’re not a brawler, after all. What’s the point of defending someone who’s about to be taken off the board?
Without that intervention, Aeneas’ story would end right there on the mat. Instead, he survives. And because he survives, Rome — centuries later — will trace its mythic lineage back to him.
When you know the calibre of the individual involved, even big screw ups and smack downs merit protection. Who knows what they will accomplish next?
The consequences of an Aeneas lost can be catastrophic. An Aeneas saved can make all the difference. In private, many will tell you such a tale.
“Create Psychological Safety” feels different in practice than it does on the T-shirt. Don’t leave it to the Olympians. Step up and help the person with the name you’re not sure how to pronounce.