Every manager has different opinions and all you can do as a

“Every manager has different opinions and all you can do as a player is try to fight and get your spot back, or at least earn your manager's trust back to try and get your spot back. There's no use sulking about it, you just get on with it and try to raise your game to get back to the level you need to be when you were starting.” Thus spoke DeAndre Yedlin, the footballer, and though his words were meant for the field of sport, they resound like the wisdom of warriors across the ages. For he is not merely speaking of games, but of the eternal truth: that setbacks will come, that judgment will vary, and that the only worthy response is not bitterness, but struggle, not complaint, but discipline, not despair, but the determination to rise again.

The heart of this saying lies in the nature of trust. A position once held is not guaranteed; a crown once worn can be taken away. The player who loses his place may feel wronged, forgotten, or betrayed, but Yedlin declares that sulking is worthless. Only action restores what has been lost. You must fight with humility, train with fire, and elevate your performance until you win back the trust of those who judge you. Thus, the battle is not against the manager’s opinion, but against your own weakness, your own doubt. The true contest is within.

The ancients themselves understood this wisdom. Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, who though emperor, wrote in his Meditations that men must not rail against fate, but rise to meet it with virtue. He, too, faced critics and conspirators, yet he did not sulk or retreat into self-pity. He raised his character, sharpened his discipline, and proved his worth not through words, but through deeds. Just as Yedlin says: “raise your game,” so the Stoic emperor lived—meeting judgment not with anger, but with excellence.

History offers us another example in the life of Nelson Mandela. Stripped of his place, locked away for decades, he might have spent his years in resentment, sulking against the injustice of the world. But instead, he prepared himself. He honed his spirit, sharpened his vision, and when the prison doors opened, he was ready. He had earned back the trust not only of his people but of the world itself, by raising his spirit to the level of leadership. His life proves Yedlin’s teaching: that when the world denies you your place, your answer must not be despair, but preparation for a greater return.

Yedlin’s words also remind us that judgment is not uniform. “Every manager has different opinions,” he says, and so it is in all of life. One leader may reject you, another may lift you up. One teacher may find you lacking, another may see your promise. Thus, you cannot control the opinions of others, but you can control your response. To sulk is to surrender; to labor is to reclaim. And in the end, the one who persists in raising his game will find his place again, even if under a different manager, in a different arena.

The lesson for us is clear: in life, your position is never guaranteed. You may be set aside, forgotten, even cast down. But what matters is not the casting down—it is whether you rise again. Do not waste your soul on bitterness, for it yields nothing. Instead, commit yourself to growth, to practice, to the relentless pursuit of excellence. Fight not only to reclaim your place, but to become so strong, so undeniable, that no opinion can keep you from shining.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember Yedlin’s wisdom: when your place is taken, do not sulk—strive. When trust is lost, do not despair—earn it back. When judgment weighs against you, do not bow—lift yourself higher. For in the end, the crown belongs not to the one who never falters, but to the one who, after faltering, fights to rise again. This is the law of sport, of war, of life itself: trust is won by effort, greatness is reclaimed by persistence, and honor is forged in the fire of resilience.