The Anti-Moneyball Crusader

I've written here before about how much I liked Moneyball, author Michael Lewis' book about how Billy Beane, GM of your Oakland Athletics, was able to change the way numbers and scouts are used in choosing players for a baseball team.  It inspired me.  It opened my mind, much like experiences with  d-Lysergic Acid Diethylamide.  You know, I wrote some of my best songs during those experiential times.  Of course, best is relative.  I'm no John Lennon, but, if you heard one of my tracks, you'd realize I could kick Bernie Williams' buttocks on any nationally televised music competition programme (see how I used the Brit spelling for "program"?  yeah, I can do almost anything). 

My point? 

While I thought Moneyball was a near-masterpiece, fellow reader of Jimmy Scott's High & Tight, BeesGal, thinks the opposite.  She linked me to something she wrote for Ben's Biz Blog so I could get a sense of where her mind was.  But first, who's Ben?  This is who Ben is, in his own words (not that he actually "owns" these words, but rather, in words that he arranged by himself to create a sensical prose we can all understand and that describes the young man).  Umm.  Oh, sorry.  Lost it for a sec.  I'm back.  So, who is Ben?  This is Ben:

"Benjamin Hill started writing for MiLB.com in 2005, and quickly became enamored with the quirky, anything-goes world of Minor League Baseball operations. His weekly "Promotion Preview" column -- a humorous look at Minor League promos and giveaways -- has been a popular fixture on the site for each of the past two seasons. This blog has now become equally popular, because it is awesome."

I already like him.  He had me at "because it is awesome."  Anyway, check him out once in a while.  He is awesome.

Moneyball.  The reason for all of this.  BeesGal (check out her blog The Sporkball Journals) referred me to a post she wrote for Ben's Biz Blog about her negative feelings toward Moneyball.  I asked her if I could re-post what she wrote, only because I like mind-altering things.  She asked Ben, who said it was cool.  She asked herself, who said it was cool.  She asked me, and I said fine, I'm the guy who asked you.  She said Oh, yeah, that's right.  Thus, all approvals have been given. All i's dotted, t's, arms, legs & eyes crossed.  You wanna know why BeesGal doesn't like Moneyball?  Wanna hear an opinion different from mine and many reviewers?  Well, I don't care.  Just keep reading along.  It's good stuff from a good gal.  BeesGal.

Legerdemain
(noun) The use of skillful tricks and deceptions to produce entertainingly baffling effects: conjuration, magic, prestidigitation, sleight of hand. [source: Roget's II: The New Thesaurus, Third Edition,  1995, www.bartleby.com/62/44/L0904400.html.]

As incredible as it may sound, I didn't get around to reading Moneyball until this fall of 2008. Not surprising to me, since I am a lousy stathead. It's not that I'm bad with numbers; I'm actually quite the nimble digit-cruncher. It's simply I don't find statistics to be the most interesting perspective from which to view baseball. I don't own stock in a baseball team, real or rotisserie. I don't bet on sports. I don't follow the draft.

But I digress. I finally read Moneyball on the recommendations of so many people whose baseball experience and expertise far exceeds mine. And the published reviews seemed to promise an enjoyable, entertaining read, regardless of whether I care about the stats vs. scouts debate. (I don't.) Hence my disappointment to discover I didn't care for it all that much. I didn't dislike it. I was, um, ...underwhelmed.

So when the opportunity came to guest-write for Ben's Biz Blog, this seemed like the perfect opportunity give Moneyball another shot. Was my indifference justified, or not? More importantly, where the h*ll did it come from? Unfortunately, I must announce liking the book even less the second time, albeit for an entirely different reason than I expected.

As everyone in the English-speaking world knows, this book investigates how the

Oakland A's were able to win so many games with so few financial resources. I would say it uses primarily two techniques to make its case: deductions based on statistical analyses and detailed character profiles. One method appeals to reason and the other to humanity. Obviously, you can't use charisma as the basis for scientific proof. On the other hand, you can use it to influence the way the information is perceived. Here's how Michael Lewis does it.

Chapter 2 is a mesmerizing recreation of the Oakland A's draft room on June 4, 2002. It sets up the premise for the book and introduces the main characters. In the second reading, I noticed something that annoyed me to no end. The scouts were very difficult to identify except as a vague collective of nameless, barely-humans--the "Greek chorus."

At first, it was unclear why some scouts were named and described, while others remained literally faceless. For example, eight scouts were mentioned by name in chapter 2: John Poloni [1], Ron Hopkins [2], Kelly Heath [2], Billy Owens [3], Matt Keough [6], Chris Pittaro [16], Dick Bogard [20], Grady Fuson [26] and Erik Kubota [30]. The numbers in brackets indicate how many times they were referred to by their names. My favorite character reference was Hopkins, who got introduced in four words, "Ron Hopkins is 'Hoppy,'" after which we never read of him again. Grady Fuson was the penultimate "bad guy" in this chapter; singled out as the personification of all that is wrong with traditional baseball thinking.

Aside from this handful of names, virtually every other scout was referred to by job title, "scout" or "scouts." What is particularly odd is these nameless entities spoke or acted about 149 times without us knowing who is doing what. When the scouts were somewhat more identifiable, it was by physical attribute. Old/older [31] tops the list, followed by fat [5], vocal [5], folded arms [2], lean [1], pleading [1]. Notice how many of these generic attributes were also rather unappealing. Also notable was how the physical descriptions seem to have been selected for their power to metaphorically reinforce the philosophical differences between the two sides of the room--the forces of ignorance resisting enlightenment.

There were a few scout descriptions offering greater detail, none were flattering. For example, here is one that seems particularly negative and conjectural: "This old scout is pushing fifty-five but still has a lean quickness about him, as if he hadn't completely abandoned the hope that he might one day play the game." Out of all the possible explanations for this nameless man's low percentage of body fat, I'm supposed to presume it's an unwillingness to accept old age? Weird.

As chapter 2 came to a close, I felt as though I'd been handed a media guide with the information for L.O.O.S.R.S.(Luddites On Other Side of Room, Spitting) consisting of a handful of names, four bios, couple of anecdotes and little else. They're wearing road grays, no numbers or names.

The media guide for Team Beane, on the other hand, is filled photos (in home

whites, of course), names, positions, biography, career stats and uniform numbers. Among the scouts, Chris Pittaro is someone "Billy had long ago identified as a person willing to rethink everything he learned, or thought he had learned, playing baseball." Dick Bogard was characterized as "the oldest scout of all," Erik's "baseball father;" a supporter of statistics; the one scout to admit "Billy made us take Zito;" having "vast experience to which he had no visceral attachment;" and having scouted Billy Beane the ballplayer. Erik Kubota [30] is Beane's hand-picked scouting director [3], hired to replace Grady Fuson. And of course there was Billy Beane [92], general manager [3], and Paul DePodesta [61], assistant general manager [2].

Seems as though purpose of chapter 2 is to create an sense of emotional detachment from a certain group of people, namely the scouts. If you can render the opposition less than human, good; if you can demonize it, even better. For centuries, this effective psychological technique has been used in sci-fi  (such as the "Borg" of Star Trek: Next Generation), advertising, politics and war.

I'm not sure if this was kept nagging at me the first time. Once my "covert ops" alerts were triggered during the second read, however, it was impossible for me to shake the feeling I was being played. In the end, I cannot help but wonder why Lewis did it? Since I'm not Lewis, I haven't a clue. All I can offer is my opinion; namely, I would have preferred the chance to decide whether Beane is a great GM or just lucky, or sabermetrics is superior to scouting without the B-movie caricatures. Certainly I would have enjoyed the book considerably more without the syntactical sleight of hand.