Neither Nor

About two months ago, I pitched GQ.com on a “where-are-they-now” piece about Moneyball. Since the movie (based on the Michael Lewis book) was due out in September, I thought it would be interesting to track down various folks that were part of the story and see what they’ve been up to over the past nine-plus years. So did the editor, so off I went. I didn’t have it in mind to track down the more notable people that were part of the story: A’s GM Billy Beane, then-A’s Assistant GM Paul DePodesta (the very-loose basis for the “Peter Brand” character in the film), former A’s Manager Art Howe. I wanted to track down the folks that were on the periphery of the story, if they were in the story at all, and see what they had to say. Unfortunately, I wasn’t that successful.

The first problem was finding people to talk to. In most cases, my Google-fu wasn’t strong enough to get contact info for folks like Jeremy Brown (one of the more notable players selected in the “Moneyball” draft that the book covers) or sub-submariner relief pitcher Chad Bradford. A few of the folks that I did get decent leads on either blew me off or declined my request to participate, including the majority of folks in the A’s front office. I did manage to get ahold of a small handful of people, but that lead to the next problem: my prowess as an interviewer. It was lacking, to say the least. One former player I got in touch with via e-mail answered my questions with the sort of “giving 110% percent” responses that they deserved. The same thing happened when I chatted with someone in an MLB front office; the questions I thought would illicit decent answers got flat answers in return, and the less involved questions received answers that were even more threadbare. By the time I got to interview #3 (another ex-player), I was a little bit better, though I was committing all sorts of interviewing cardinal sins: not following up on possible interesting tangents, interrupting the interview subject mid-answer, spending forever after an answer to find a suitable follow-up question, and so on.

My fourth (and what turned out to be final) interview was with A’s Special Advisor to Baseball Operations (and former A’s Scouting Director) Grady Fuson. I mention his name primarily because the interview went really well, and I’m hoping to get it published in the near future, possibly by a recently-Kickstarted sports website. Fuson’s an affable, easy-going, laidback kind of guy, with a good sense of humor and a better sense of perspective. (I’m basing these assumptions on a thirty-minute conversation, mind you, but I think they’re pretty accurate.) I also bring this up for another reason. If you go see the film Moneyball, you’ll notice there’s a character named Grady introduced early on that looks to be the A’s head scout (or at the very least the scout that other A’s scouts defer to). Later on in the film, it’s “revealed” (in a nonchalant manner) that this character is supposed to be Grady Fuson. If my conversations with the actual Fuson are any indication, the Grady Fuson in the film’s just about a complete fabrication.

If that sounds like some sort of shocking revelation that puts the fidelity and merit of the film under question, that’s definitely not the case. Every film “based on a true story” takes certain liberties, either for the sake of telling an enjoyable story, or for some other reason; the last film Moneyball co-scripter Aaron Sorkin wrote, The Social Network, is proof positive of this. In this case, Fuson is portrayed as a villain in this story. When Beane introduces the hot-shot whiz-kid Peter Brand to the scouting and coaching staff, it’s done in such a way that the scout’s work to find viable replacements for key departing players – six weeks’ worth of work – is thrown out the window without so much as a “thanks for trying.” This turn of events leads to a confrontation between Beane and Fuson, wherein Fuson, while voicing his frustrations with what Beane is attempting, reiterates anti-stat / pro-scout talking points that have been voiced since well before anyone ever heard of Bill James.

The book Moneyball has often been mischaracterized in those terms, with people thinking it’s about the ascendancy of on-base-percentage as the most important statistic in baseball, and how spreadsheets and analytical thinking were making scouts obsolete. Instead, what the book primarily concerns itself with is the A’s search for an advantage that they can exploit despite their severe financial disadvantage. The movie establishes the A’s dire straits right from the start, with footage from the A’s 2001 ALDS loss to the Yankees, showing that the Yankees have nearly a 3-to-1 advantage in payroll. That fact, coupled with a number of key players entering free agency (and an income bracket well outside the A’s price range), inspires / forces Beane to go to the extreme measures he does for the 2002 season. Obviously, what happened in real life isn’t what the movie portrays; for example, Fuson left the A’s prior to the 2002 season, so he never had a chance to give Beane a piece of his mind regarding the importance of scouting in the face of spreadsheets as the 2002 season was about to begin. Which he reportedly never did, at least before Moneyball was published.

But the movie’s not about Beane vs. Fuson, or Beane vs. Howe, or even the A’s vs. the rest of baseball. It’s not even about what Roger Ebert calls “the war between intuition and statistics.” Ultimately, it’s about change vs. the status quo. It’s the notion that there’s only one way to win baseball games that Beane and Brand (and, by proxy, the A’s) are trying to defeat. The fact that Fuson and Howe and the media-at-large is against them isn’t because they’re necessarily angered or vengeful; it’s because they, on some level, fear becoming obsolete.  It’s a notion that the film manages to exploit beautifully; after a frenzied sequence that features “our heroes” finally getting their team on the field (and some wins in the win column), we see Beane and Brand in the A’s clubhouse, watching a segment about the A’s recent run of success, and how manager Art Howe — the guy that sits idly by as Beane works the locker room like a presidential candidate, and plays the guys he wants to play regardless of what Beane provides him — is the man that should be receiving all the credit.

Of course (SPOILER ALERT) the A’s aren’t all that successful, in terms of what the film refers to as “winning the final game of the season.” But as the 2002 Twins celebrate their ALDS victory over the A’s near the end of the film, the players gradually disappear as the camera pans left from the pitcher’s mound to the A’s dugout. As this is happening, multiple soundbytes can be heard decrying the A’s lack of success (including the unmistakable and obstinate tones of Joe Morgan) as the camera continues panning to the right. As it finally settles on the A’s now-empty dugout, and the lights in the park get turned off, a voice describes the “correct” way to win baseball games. You bunt, you move guys over, you focus on the fundamentals, and you don’t rely on “stats.” (You can almost see the scare quotes being applied in a mocking manner whenever a dissenting voice reaches for that word.)

That said, things did change, in a manner of speaking. Early on in the film, after Beane meets Brand in the offices of the Cleveland Indians just after the A’s 2001 defeat, they have a discussion in the Indians parking garage (as Brand’s afraid of being eavesdropped on in the office area). Brand talks about how baseball shouldn’t be about buying players, but buying wins. The very same discussion happens at the end of the film, except it’s in Boston just after the A’s 2002 defeat, between Beane and Red Sox owner John Henry, and it’s part of a discussion that leads to Henry offering Beane a contract that would make him the highest paid general manager in all of professional sports. Of course, as the title cards that end the film detail, the Red Sox built their team upon the kind of analysis that the A’s utilized (if not pioneered) to “break the curse” and ultimately win two World Series titles. And they did it with the 2^nd largest payroll in baseball. Though the A’s weren’t able to capitalize on the potential their changes have wrought, they were instrumental in establishing a new status quo, despite what hardline “play the game right” types might think. It’s just a shame that the desperatoin that drove Beane to pursue these kinds of advances are now the very things that have made Beane’s job these past few years that much harder.