When Confidence Nearly Became Arrogance

December 28, 2025 by Mike Manazir – (4-5 minutes)

Even the Captain Needs Coaching Sometimes

I was coming back to the Nimitz alone in a Super Hornet tanker—the last jet airborne after giving fuel to a strike package. Gorgeous day; the ship carving a perfect white wake through a glassy blue sea. I slid back in my Super Hornet seat, grinned in my oxygen mask, and set up for a Sierra Hotel Break—the hot-shot, high-speed carrier approach that separates the great from the merely good.

I descended to 400 feet, accelerated to 500 knots, offset slightly left of wake, and thought, Ooooh, this is looking good. In the F-14 Tomcat, I could fly that break flawlessly. Muscle memory. Art. Poetry. But the Super Hornet? Whole different animal.

As the back of the ship disappeared under my nose, I rolled 90 degrees and hauled the stick back, pulling 7.5 Gs… expecting to arc out to a mile abeam. Just like in the Tomcat. Nope.

I snap-rolled level and—uh-oh—I was directly over the left edge of the ship, looking straight down at the Landing Signal Officers. The LSOs craned their necks upward, jaws open. My WSO said nothing. Smart man.

I slunk out behind the ship, flew a wide goofy circle, and came back in for a sheepish, very NON-hot landing. I deserved a bad grade just for looking stupid.

The LSOs gave me exactly what I earned: “No grade — looked stupid in the break.”

And they were right.

Why We Do the Sierra Hotel Break

There is a tactical reason for it—getting the carrier out of the wind faster and reducing submarine vulnerability. But let’s be honest: It’s about style. Airmanship. And bragging rights on the Greenie Board, where every landing grade is displayed like Olympic medals.

I used to dominate SHBs in the F-14. But the F-18 isn’t the Tomcat. And I had just gotten a very loud, very public reminder.

I Get Schooled

When I walked into the ready room, the entire LSO team was there, grinning.

“Captain… what the hell?”

I admitted my botched break. The senior LSO, call sign Face, motioned me over like a teacher inviting the kid who failed the quiz to stay after class.

“Sir,” he said, holding his coffee, “you need to break the F-18 twice…”

Then he taught me the entire maneuver—how to pull, unload, count one potato, two potato, then haul again, snap, roll, and end up exactly one mile abeam. Dirty up and begin the approach turn.

The kid—my subordinate—just taught the Captain how to fly the sierra hotel break.

New Tricks for an Old Salt

The next day, 600 knots, 400 feet, I tried it Face’s way.

Perfect mile abeam.

Face met me grinning:
“Next time, light the burners in the break, Cap’n.”

Later that cruise, I did exactly that.

A skill I mastered in the F-14 didn’t translate to the F-18. Without Face, I’d have kept making the same mistake, powered by confidence drifting into arrogance.

Confidence vs. Arrogance

Confidence is earned.
Arrogance is assumed.
And the second you assume your old mastery automatically applies to new terrain, you’re in trouble.

Don’t be afraid to learn from those junior to you. Don’t cling to yesterday’s expertise. And don’t confuse competence with invincibility.

The humble get coached.
The arrogant get corrected.

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P.S.

If this message stirred something in you—share it. Forward it to a friend, colleague, or your leadership team. Better yet—let’s talk.

Let’s raise up a generation of leaders who know how to Lead to Win.

Mike Manazir
Bestselling Author | Navy Admiral | Fighter Pilot | Leadership Coach

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