Again, I swing with all my might. This time, after already making a few misses, my bat just about makes contact with the ball, and we scramble to take a single run. I know I’m letting my team down—this format demands that every shot sends the ball flying out of the ground. But then, it’s what the live commentator says that makes me want to dig a hole in the ground and bury myself…
It’s a fast-paced, high-octane cricket tournament being played under lights, with live commentary rousing a large crowd.
All the teams have given themselves interesting names—a bit of tongue-in-cheek humour is the order of the day. As captain of the team, I decide to do the same. We call ourselves World 11.
This, of course, gives plenty of fodder to the commentator, who, upon watching me struggle while batting, proclaims—much to the amusement of the crowd— “World 11 aren’t quite looking like World 11 right now.” The crowd erupts. I have nowhere to hide. So, I laugh along at my plight—because that’s all I can do.
This happened almost sixteen years ago, but I have never forgotten that moment. Not because of the embarrassment—I actually found it funny and have no qualms laughing at myself. I haven’t forgotten it because it taught me a very important lesson.
We called ourselves World 11—supposedly a team of eleven world-class players. It was clearly a joke, but still, we set an expectation. And we disappointed.
The Public Speaking Parallel
In public speaking, it’s easy to make this fatal mistake. Speakers often set expectations for what they are about to say by prefacing with statements like “Let me tell you something really funny.” If the audience doesn’t find what follows truly funny, the speaker has set themselves up for failure—even if their remark was mildly amusing.
Many speakers understand the importance of storytelling. But they often begin their story with something like, “Let me tell you something interesting that happened to me the other day.” Now, the audience expects an interesting story. The bar has been set. The risk? The audience may feel underwhelmed.
I once watched a speaker introduce a point with, “Let me tell you a fun fact” (about the product he was pitching). The audience’s response was lukewarm. His body language drooped. Almost immediately, he backtracked: “Not really a fun fact.” Ironically, I thought what he said was quite interesting—but his framing created an expectation of something thrilling. When the audience didn’t react accordingly, the fun fact flopped.
What Should You Do Instead?
Go straight into your message. Just share the fun fact. Don’t preface it. The preamble serves no purpose—it only creates unnecessary pitfalls.
If you’re telling a story, dive straight into the action. Immerse your audience in the moment. Don’t tell them what the story is about. Don’t tell them if it’s sad or hilarious. The element of surprise is what makes a story compelling. By framing it in advance, you take that away.
Take my story above. If I had started with, “Let me tell you a hilarious story about a time I felt really embarrassed during a cricket match,” you’d already know what’s coming. You’d be expecting something hilarious, and you’d know in advance that I end up embarrassed. What follows would simply be a description, rather than an experience.
Instead, I placed you directly into the moment—present tense—so you could experience it as it unfolds.
The Lesson: Never Set an Expectation
Avoid setting expectations. Don’t frame your most compelling narratives. Go straight in.
And don’t call yourself world-class—even if you are. We did. And we weren’t even close.