Interesting review of Moneyball

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Interesting review of Moneyball

Billy Beane portrayed as genius and jerk
By JOHN W. ROYAL

MONEYBALL: 
The Art of Winning an Unfair Game. 
By Michael Lewis. 
Norton, $24.95; 288 pp. 

THERE'S a telling scene near the end of Michael Lewis' Moneyball. It's toward 
the end of the 2002 baseball season. Oakland A's second baseman Ray Durham is 
in the cage taking batting practice. Watching are A's hitting coach Thad 
Bosley and A's infield coach Ron Washington. The coaches are watching as Durham 
lines shot after shot, and they reminiscence about their days in the majors. 

  
Durham listens in on the conversation and can't believe what he hears -- 
Bosley had once stolen 90 bases in a season. The thing is, the Oakland A's don't 
believe in stealing bases; stealing bases leads to outs. And outs are bad 
things. 

More specifically, Billy Beane, the general manager of the Oakland A's, 
doesn't believe in stolen bases. He doesn't believe in the bunt or the hit-and-run 
either. Art Howe, the Oakland A's' manager, believes in stealing bases. But 
with the A's, the manager doesn't call the shots. The general manager calls the 
shot. So if Beane says not to steal bases, the Oakland A's aren't going to 
steal bases. 

The subject of Moneyball is Beane, the general manger of the cash-strapped 
A's. It's the story of Beane and his quest to reshape baseball. Beane and his 
quest for revenge. 

In 1980, every scout in the country was drooling over Darryl Strawberry and 
Billy Beane. And the New York Mets drafted them both -- both young and just out 
of high school. 

There was just one problem. Within days of signing his contract, Beane 
realized he didn't want to play baseball. But it was too late. To the mind of Beane, 
the New York Mets ruined his life. So Beane has taken it upon himself to ruin 
the game. 

Oh, Lewis doesn't come out and state this. But that's definitely the 
undercurrent of the book. For, you see, Beane's not interested in potential. He 
doesn't care for speed, defensive ability or body type. There's to be no gambling, 
so no base stealing or trying for the extra base. He believes in one thing -- 
the ability to get on base. And once on base, a player is to stay on the base 
until someone else gets a hit; then the player is allowed to move up. 

And when it comes to drafting players, Beane puts his foot down. No college 
experience, no draft. Beane, as a high schooler, failed; as a consequence, 
every other player fails as a high schooler. The Oakland A's under the command of 
Mr. Beane are going to take only college players, even if the high schooler is 
Darryl Strawberry or Kerry Wood. 

In his previous life, Moneyball author Lewis was a bond salesman, a life 
documented in his best seller Liar's Poker. Lewis is a man who believes in the 
numbers. The numbers don't lie. And the numbers don't lie to Beane, who believes 
in one number, OPS (on base plus slugging percentage). Forget batting average, 
runs scored, RBIs or home runs. Only the OPS matters. 

So Beane has constructed the A's with players known for a high OPS. It 
doesn't matter that the player doesn't have a defensive position. It doesn't matter 
that the player can't get from first to third on a single to the outfield. All 
that matters is that the player gets on base. 

Lewis buys into this. He's just like all of the other baseball geeks who 
spend hours in front of the computer looking at statistics for their fantasy 
baseball teams. This is a refreshing viewpoint. Not having a baseball background, 
Lewis is not bound to conventional thinking. He's able to look at Beane's 
thinking and foresee the revolution. He's the convert preaching the new gospel. 

But there's one problem. Not having a baseball background, Lewis doesn't know 
how to ask the questions that need to be asked. Like how come the Minnesota 
Twins, facing the same budgetary constraints as the A's, violate Beane's rules 
yet defeat them in the playoffs? 

If, as Beane asserts, there's no such thing as clutch performers, how come 
his Oakland A's teams consistently fail, year after year, in the playoffs? Twice 
having the New York Yankees within one game of being out of the playoffs, how 
come his prized OPS guys were suddenly unable to get on base or score runs? 

Moneyball, though ultimately unsatisfying for failing to answer these 
questions, is yet a fascinating read. Lewis' portrait of Beane reveals a potential 
genius, a definite-no-doubt-about-it jerk, yet still maybe a genius. 

But more than anything, what emerges is that Beane really doesn't like 
baseball and that he's going to change the game or die trying. The jury is still out 
on whether his theories will ultimately prevail and reshape the game. But if, 
in about 20 years or so, every team plays baseball like the Oakland A's of 
the 2002 season, Moneyball will be the bible of that movement. 



John W. Royal is a Houston attorney and freelance writer.