Get Off the Sidelines: It's Your Turn to Play

Over the past decade of watching the global startup ecosystem, one of the most striking sights has been the critics.

They are always there—at the back of conference halls, in media columns, on university podiums, and even inside investment committee rooms. They analyze failure, distill patterns of success, and forecast trends. Sometimes sharply, sometimes cynically, but always safely.

The problem is simple: they never step onto the field.

One of the questions I hear most often in GTM strategy consulting is,

“Why don’t you just start a company yourself?”

To be honest, I believe deeply in the value of what I do—designing strategy, structuring market entry, and mapping execution roadmaps. This work matters. But at the same time, I feel a responsibility to test my own strategies in the real market, to prove that my methodology actually works.

That’s why I don’t only consult. I build services. I launch products. I run communities. I execute the strategies I recommend—before anyone else does.

This is also why OBF doesn’t merely “advise” teams. We build GTM strategies with them. Because working side by side makes one thing painfully clear: this is operating reality. Someone’s survival is at stake.

I refuse to stop proving my own strategies. I need to see where my so-called “revenue plumbing” leaks, with my own hands, before I can sleep. If my strategy doesn’t work even for me, then it isn’t strategy—it’s just expensive noise. And speaking confidently without accountability is no different from shaman or fraud.

That is the difference between a real expert and a commentator.

There are professors who teach the Lean Startup methodology. They preach MVPs, customer validation, and pivot timing. Hundreds of aspiring founders attend their lectures and buy their books.

But how many of those professors have actually taken their own ideas to market?

“I’m a researcher,”

they say—while turning other people’s blood and sweat into case studies. I also hold an adjunct professorship. My reason is simple: to show students how business analytics actually works in practice, and why data analysis isn’t just about learning SQL but about how decisions are made in the real world. Financially, the title isn’t particularly attractive. That’s not why I do it.

Designing a GTM strategy looks easy on paper. Define the target customer. Clarify the value proposition. Select channels. Polish the messaging. The framework looks flawless.

Then you hit the market—and everything changes. Customers react differently than expected. Competitors behave unpredictably. Internal resources are always insufficient. The gap between strategy and execution can only be bridged by people who have actually done it.

The same goes for influencers who dissect startup strategies every week in their newsletters.

“Company A missed its timing.”, “Company B died of burnout.”, “Company C collapsed due to founder conflict.”

The analysis is elegant. The logic is airtight. But what about their own track records? They diagnose others’ failures with clarity, while attributing their own misjudgments to external conditions. Even more curious is the growing number of VCs now teaching “how to raise seed funding.” Investors teaching founders how to get funded. If they’re that confident, wouldn’t it be more convincing to start a company themselves and prove the method works?

I often tell clients this:

“If you doubt whether my strategy really works, I’ll show you the cases where I executed it myself.”

The products I built. The campaigns I ran. The communities I grew.

These are living proof—not words, but actions. This should be the line that separates consultants from commentators.

In consulting, I meet many of these “gallery” types. Their common trait is clear: they never enter the game. They want to be judges, advisors, mentors—but never co-founders, operators, or builders who put their own names on the line. What matters to them is remaining a voice of advice, not becoming someone who bears responsibility.

Execution is everything in GTM. A perfect strategy that isn’t executed is meaningless. And once execution begins, strategy must constantly adapt—through market feedback, data, and hypothesis testing. A strategy that never goes through this process is just theory. Yet many strategists, professors, and VCs skip this step entirely. They design, advise, and analyze—but never execute.

In football communities, there’s a saying:

“If you’re so frustrated, why don’t you play yourself?”

It’s half a joke, half the truth. Shouting from the stands never puts the ball in the net. And yet, for too long, we’ve granted excessive authority to voices in the stands. A single line from a critic could undo years of a founder’s life. A professor’s theory was valued more than on-the-ground experience.

There is a universe of difference between knowing because you’ve seen a lot—and knowing because you’ve lived it. Someone who has analyzed a hundred market entries and someone who has entered the market even once possess entirely different kinds of knowledge. Observation has value, but it can never weigh the same as lived experience.

But now, something has changed.

AI has arrived.

This isn’t just a new tool—it’s the collapse of entry barriers. You can build services without coding. Create prototypes without design skills. Produce content without marketing experience. Whether it’s vibe coding or AI assistants, we’ve entered an era where ideas and intent are enough to make something real.

From a GTM strategist’s perspective, this is the biggest shift: the distance between strategy and execution has shrunk dramatically. In the past, you needed teams—developers, designers, marketers. Months, sometimes years. Today, you can build an MVP in days. Test it in the market within a week. That’s why strategists can no longer remain strategists only.

What started in Silicon Valley is now global. Developers in Berlin, designers in Singapore, founders in Mumbai—using the same tools, producing comparable results. Geography, educational background, and technical barriers are steadily losing relevance. Execution is the only thing that matters.

So excuses no longer work.

“I don’t know technology.” “I don’t have capital.” “I don’t have time.”

Especially not from those who recite methodologies by heart, teach success formulas, and precisely diagnose failure. If you know so well, then do it yourself. Throw your theory into the market. Prove that your methodology actually works.

This is not a provocation—it’s an invitation.

A truly insightful critic will shine in real execution. A professor with genuinely strong theory can change the market with it. A VC with real judgment can prove it by founding a company. The opportunity is now open to them—or more precisely, the excuses are gone.

Of course, not every critic must become a player. We still need researchers, analysts, and observers. But they must at least be honest about where they stand. Judging risk-takers from a safe zone is no longer acceptable—especially in the age of AI, where that safe zone becomes harder and harder to justify.

The age of the gallery is over.

This is the era where anyone can be a player—and only players earn the right to speak. If you truly know something, don’t talk. Build it. If your theory is correct, don’t lecture. Prove it.

The market isn’t waiting for your words. It’s waiting for your results.