Because sometimes the improbable feels more truthful than the inevitable.
On a hot night in Lisbon, July 2004, Greece defeated Portugal in the European Championship final. The world blinked in disbelief. Greece? Champions of Europe? A side stitched together with discipline, stubbornness, and not much else? Yet there they were, parading with the trophy, while Cristiano Ronaldo, barely 19 then, sobbed into his jersey.
I remember watching the highlights later that week on a small TV in Kolkata. It wasn’t the football that struck me—Greece’s style was cautious, even dull—but the reaction. Neutrals everywhere seemed delighted. It wasn’t their team, their nation, their anthem. And yet, people rejoiced as if history itself had taken a refreshing twist.
Why do we do this? Why do so many of us instinctively celebrate the weaker side’s victory?
Surprise in the Nervous System
Part of the answer, scientists say, is chemical. Our brains are wired to love surprise. Dopamine, the neurotransmitter linked to pleasure, doesn’t just fire when something good happens—it fires more intensely when something unexpectedly good happens.
But you don’t need brain scans to believe that. Think of Japan beating Germany in the 2022 World Cup. The second that winning goal went in, people leapt off sofas around the globe. That wasn’t polite applause; that was a jolt, a physical shiver. It wasn’t just about Japan’s three points—it was the shock.
Predictability is steady. It soothes. But the upset? That’s electricity.
Justice, Even in Games
Still, surprise alone doesn’t capture the whole picture. Human beings are moral creatures; we carry an instinctive sense of fairness. When the same team or athlete dominates endlessly, something inside us sours. Admiration slowly turns into irritation. We begin to want balance restored.
That’s why Iceland’s 2–1 win over England in Euro 2016 made the world chuckle. England, rich and powerful, with Premier League stars in every position, lost to a nation whose population was smaller than Birmingham. It wasn’t only funny—it felt right. The scales of justice, temporarily tilted, had snapped back.
The underdog becomes the hand of fairness. Their victory tastes of correction.
Our Old Tribal Instincts
There’s an older story here, too. Our ancestors lived in small groups, constantly vulnerable to bigger tribes. Survival meant rallying behind the weaker side, standing firm even when the odds were lopsided. Supporting the underdog is, in that sense, an evolutionary echo.
When Morocco marched to the World Cup semi-final in 2022, becoming the first African team to do so, the entire global South seemed to cheer with them. It wasn’t only Morocco’s story; it was the small tribe defying the empire. Something deep in human history stirred.
David, Goliath, and the Story We Never Outgrew
From the Bible’s David and Goliath to folktales across Asia and Africa, the theme repeats: the small, the overlooked, the underestimated, toppling the mighty. Literature, film, myth—everywhere, this storyline survives.
Sport simply provides the modern stage. Leicester City’s Premier League title in 2016 felt less like a season and more like a fable. Every week, the narrative deepened: could they? Would they? Surely not? And yet, Jamie Vardy was sprinting, Riyad Mahrez weaving, Ranieri grinning like a man who’d stumbled into a dream.
These aren’t just results. They’re myths retold in real time.
The Roar That Belongs to Everyone
There’s also something beautifully communal about upsets. They collapse the walls between strangers. A last-minute winner by an outsider turns a pub, a stadium, or a living room into one gasping organism.
I still remember the global outcry when Roberta Vinci beat Serena Williams in the 2015 US Open semifinal. Serena was on the cusp of history, chasing a calendar Grand Slam. Vinci, ranked 43rd, was supposed to be a footnote. Instead, she pulled off one of tennis’s greatest shocks. Even those who loved Serena found themselves oddly charmed. Vinci’s win didn’t belong to Italy alone; it belonged to every onlooker who thought, My God, anything really can happen.
Why Dominance Gets Boring
The irony is that dominance, while impressive, eventually numbs us. Real Madrid lifting yet another Champions League trophy is remarkable, but outside Madrid’s fan base, it doesn’t raise pulses the way a single upset does. Dynasties inspire respect, yes, but not the wild roar of disbelief.
Upsets puncture inevitability. They remind us—sometimes rudely, sometimes hilariously—that no power is absolute. That’s comforting. In sport, as in life, the mighty stumble. And when they do, we feel lighter, freer, reassured that destiny isn’t monopolised by the strong.
The Immortal Moments
Which sporting moments last the longest in memory? Not the predictable triumphs. It’s Greece 2004. Leicester 2016. Japan is toppling South Africa in rugby’s 2015 World Cup. Or Morocco in Qatar. These moments live on because they rewrote possibility.
Ask a neutral fan ten years from now who won the 2021 Champions League. Some will fumble for an answer. Ask who won Euro 2004. Everyone remembers. Because Greece wasn’t supposed to. That’s why they did.
The Rebellion We Secretly Need
Perhaps that’s the core of it: the upset is rebellion against inevitability. It reassures us that life, even when dominated by wealth, power, and hierarchy, retains room for the improbable.
When the weaker side wins, it’s not just their triumph. It’s ours too. We carry it into our struggles, our private battles. If Leicester can do it, if Vinci can do it, if Morocco can do it, then perhaps so can we.
And so the underdog’s victory becomes more than sport. It becomes hope disguised as a result.
Final Whistle
In the end, the underdog’s win isn’t about statistics or tactics. It is about the shock in the nervous system, the justice in our hearts, the tribal loyalties of our ancestors, the myths we keep retelling, and the comfort of watching giants fall.
This is why we love it. Why do we need it?
Because every time the improbable happens on a pitch, a court, or a field, it reminds us of a truth we’re desperate not to forget: nothing, not even the strongest power, is inevitable.