Figures Lie, and Liars will Figure (v. 2.0)

Last summer, when my guy Mahmoud was having his latest electoral triumph, there were some folks who were convinced that there was some fraud going on. Now, I was one of the folks who was pretty sure. But I certainly couldn't prove it. And it wasn't just in Iran where you'd see rigged elections, which are often in plain sight. And in fact, I was sort of hoping that the election was rigged, as rigged elections are a lot of fun in my book. Especially when you look at the aftermath of these things. But what I thought was interesting was how the statistics used in the Washington Post article were interpreted to "prove" that the fraud took place. Essentially, the odds of any one even happening, given the almost limitless possible permutations, is astronomical. So arguments that build up an argument parallel to that idea are on shaky ground to begin with.

But the use of data and statistics is something that we're becoming more and more comfortable with. In sports, folks in basketball are looking for more useful statistics (disclaimer - I have nothing to do with this statistic, and actually think that it looks hokey, but I love the name) to analyze player performance. Sometimes, the results are somewhat comical, and entirely counterintuitive to our everyday observations, as Bill Simmons points out (about 1/3 of the way down) when commenting on stats-guru Wayne Winston's take on Tim Thomas. And in baseball, we saw voters overlook traditional counting numbers (wins, losses, HR, RBI), and focus more on efficiency numbers (ERA, WHIP, OBP, SLG), when selecting Greinke, Lincecum, and Mauer as the best pitchers and hitters (Pujols was a lock no matter what criteria you use).

Of course, as more and more people employ the use of statistics, you have more and more people misusing statistics, whether by intent, or by ignorance. One of my pet peeves is the use of macro level data to evaluate singular events, under the assumption that the data is perfect.

Recently, there was a situation in the NFL, that has led to a lot of commentary and angst. Basically, the Patriots are winning by 6, have the ball on their own 29 yard line, and it's 4th and 2. And coach Bill Belichick decides to go for it. Only, they don't have their personnel correct, so they have to burn their last time out. Then, they come back out of the timeout, and line up on offense again, in a 5WR, empty backfield. I'll be honest - as I was watching the game, I figured that they'd try to draw them offsides, or maybe put in a QB keeper to get the 2 yards.

I was legitimately shocked when they actually snapped the ball and threw. And immediately, I knew that there'd be a maelstrom of dissenting opinion on this one. And the argument would basically fall along two lines. The first group would be the supporters, and the support would be statistically based, likely building off of the argument that the average offensive play gains 5 yards, etc. The second group would be the dissenters, who would argue for conservatism, talk about how that's not how you play the game, you that's disrespectful to your defense, etc. Normally, I am all for statistical evidence. But one of the biggest things that the stat folks forget is that just because you have a stat, it doesn't mean that it's appropriate to use in a situation.

There's a basic assumption that is being made here that (in my opinion) isn't perfectly clear. You are assuming that the use of macro level probabilities is appropriate for making micro level decisions, regardless of context. I'd argue that the context matters, an that the probabilities for winning should be considered with the actual players.

If you're a poker player, then you will often see people playing in tournaments make decisions exclusively based on pot odds. Basically, if you are a 2-to-1 underdog, but you're getting the appropriate incentive to take the risk (for example a reward of a 3-to-1 situation), you should take on the risk because price is correct. However, there's something implied that is often not considered: essentially what you are saying is that any 1 chip is worth the same, regardless of the situation, regardless of who owns that chip. Now, if you had a computer simulator and could re-run that scenario an infinite number of times, the stat-based decision will be the optimal method. But life is a one-shot deal, and the outcomes at a micro level need to be examined in terms of the macro level.

In that same situation, wouldn't you love to have statistics that could tell you things like a) expected tournament winnings, b) tournament win probability, c) the probability of finishing out of the money, d) the probability that this decision changes how other players play against me (and how it does so), etc. All of these things are just as useful as knowing the odds of winning that one hand, and unless it's an all-in, much more useful information. However, these stats aren't readily available statistics. The odds of winning the hand is much easier to attain, so that's the information that people will often use. And there are a lot of folks who are more than happy to use that information because that's the best they got. Evidently this is the new math.

To paraphrase Phil Hellmuth, I'm not sure if I buy into the new math. Essentially this methodology implies that the user is of (at best) equal skill to every other player in the tournament, and that the size of any player's chip count is irrelevant. No poker player would ever admit to the first part (in that sense, the new math does prevent hubris, which I suppose is good), and the 2nd part is clearly wrong, both statistically and psychologically. And I would venture to guess that none of the good poker players really use pot odds exclusively when they're making their calculations. They're always adding on things like implied odds, the odds that an opponent is bluffing, the odds based on what they believe an opponent has, how well they know an opponent, how well the opponent knows them. Now all of these things are "soft" data - no hard evidence. But this is the majority of the decision making process.

This isn't a 1-to-1 correlation, but in my opinion, the Belichick story and the poker example are in the same realm. The use of historical-level data, which accumulates basic information on individual plays, does not (at least the data that I've come across hasn't) sort out things like a) at what point in the game a given play was run, b) the game situation, c) the formations that were used, d) the caliber of the teams that were involved, e) playoff implications of the teams involved, etc. For the folks who are defended the Belichick move solely based on these historical stats, I'd argue that the defense is questionable. I don't disagree with the outcome, but how you defend the outcome is. Basically, I'd be much happier with an argument of, "Listen, Peyton Manning's there on the sidelines, and he's wanting the punt, and just about craps his pants when he see's that the Patriots are going for it. That makes it the right call."

That said, I was pretty shocked when the Patriots actually went for it, and didn't just try to draw them offsides. I'm pretty neutral about the effectiveness of the Belichick decision, but I loved it. I think that the probability of the outcome is close enough to defend either position, and I generally love counterintuitive thinking done by confident people. That said, I absolutely hated the fact that the Patriots screwed up 3rd down and burned their last timeout (which kept them from challenging the spot on the last play).

Now this past week, we had another interesting situation with Mike Tomlin of the Steelers deciding to kick an onside kick, right after his team had taken a 2 point lead, with 4 minutes left to go in the game. Basically, Tomlin's argument is that he's going 2-for-1, like they do in basketball all the time. You see arena football teams onside kick as the clock winds down so that they get the "extra" possession. Here, Tomlin's saying that the best-case scenario is that you win the game outright if you get the ball back. And with the worst-case scenario, his guy (who had already thrown for 400+ yards) will get the ball back with about 1:30 left and 75 yards to go needing a TD for the win. Interestingly, Tomlin was perfectly fine with the worst-case scenario, which was a lot like the punt scenario. So, here you see both aspects of the Belichick decision. Of course, the counterintuitive thinking leading to the gutsy call is evident. But the worst-case scenario that Tomlin accepted was very similar to what Peyton would have been working with after the punt that never happened. And we got to see how both things played out. Tomlin's initial counterintuitive though backfired, and the Packers got the ball at the Steelers' 39. But Big Ben got his hands on the ball with 2:06 left and used every second to march 86 yards and get the W.

I suppose if you were to take Tomlin's outcomes and map it back to Belichick, our hero Genius was left with a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. Which is what the pundits love, since everyone gets to pile on, regardless of how well-informed they are.

-Chairman

Tragic Heroes

I believe that if I had to make a list of the things that define American culture (I know that our haughty Euro friends may claim that as an oxymoron), high on my list would be the idea that people are worthy of 2nd, 3rd, and 4th chances. We love the idea of Greek tragedy, characterized by the idea that flawed people can rise to greatness, and then be overwhelmed by the situation and fall. Think about how we embrace our heroes who have fallen from grace. I don't think that this forgiveness extends to institutions or organizations, but people? We are overwhelmingly forgiving to people.

I think that Americans love the idea that Willie Loman can actually turn things around and be somebody again. This is the country that is willing to pay millions of dollars to convicted criminals so that we can hear their story, and see how they are going to come back. Where else in the world can you see the mayor of the nation's capital be convicted for possession of crack cocaine, not pay his taxes, and win election after election in landslides? At times, our society can be vulturous. There are few things that we like more than tearing down successful people. Think about how quickly we were to label Tom Cruise a nutjob, and our obsession with TMZ.com and the other tabloids that capitalize on our need to tear others down.

I think that this is particularly the case in sports. We simultaneously put Michael Jordan on a pedestal for his achievements on the hardwood, and loved hearing about Michael Jordan's failings as a person. I'd go as far as to say that one of the few things that Americans love more than a story about a hero is a story about how a hero falls. Don't get me wrong. We love our heroes. We loved McGwire and Sosa back when they were chasing Ruth and Maris, and defended them (and more importantly, "our" moment), even though we had some idea that they were probably dirty. We kept Lance Armstrong's name sacrosanct, even as he decided to leave his wife and kids for a pop musician.

But, boy do we love it when stars fall. We latched on to Kobe's he-said-she-said drama in Colorado a few years ago. We've made Pac-Man Jones a common name amongst sports fans and "making it rain" a common phrase in wanna-be thugs. We're immersed in Tiger Woods' current fidelity issues. We love it when we see that our idols are human. We forget that the people are often savants - functionally marginal people if it weren't for their athletic talent. We forget that these people don't have to learn the social niceties that the rest of us are required to engage in (full disclosure - the author has been talented enough to have never actually perform these social niceties and is speaking purely hypothetically).

Another aspect of Greek tragedy is that the hero is able to see their mistakes, and may be able to right them. If there's one thing that we like more than our idols falling, it's the idea that these people can again rise, with the benefit of, theoretically at least, learning from their mistakes.

A few years ago, Converse had a Dwayne Wade promotional campaign that I really liked.

Fall 7 Times. Stand Up 8.

We love it when people keep getting knocked down, and keep standing up. Professional wrestling always knew this. Think about our childhood heroes like Hulk Hogan (or Ric Flair if you were a WCW guy). Think about how the bad guy would beat on them, knock them down, bloody them, and put them in a sleeper hold. The ref would come by to see if the champ had been put to sleep. They would lift their arm once, only to have it limply fall to the side. And it would happen a second time. And the inevitable third time would result in a loss for the champ. As the ref lifted the arm, and let it go, it would fall limp, but just as it was about to fall into the nadir, there would be redemption. The fall would stop. A fist would be made, and the arm would slowly reach to the sky. An elbow to the side. Another elbow. Perhaps the bad guy would try to punch the hero, only it would be blocked and returned with a punch from the champ. And another one. There would be some running into the ropes, followed by a clothesline. Then a body slam. And then the finishing move from the champ, who would ultimately snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. That's what we love.

Perhaps proponents of the postmodern era would say that many of these archetypes don't work as effectively. We've gone from the pure hero, to embracing the sort-of bad guy. Think about how much more popular guys like Stone Cold Steve Austin or The Rock were in the WWE when they became "bad guys." Things were no longer black and white, good versus evil. We think that the White Knight is a little too good to be true, and we decide that the Man in Black could just as easily be fighting for a worthy cause. We tolerate flaws in our good guys much more readily, and we look for redemption in out bad guys. I don't know if I would call it postmodernism. After all, these are the echoes of the stores that have come with civilization. Even as Saul chased David throughout the Old Testament, we see this pattern of evil followed by repenting, and we see the anguish in David over Saul's demise. We see the flaws of Hamlet and MacBeth, even as they seek to right the wrongs committed against them and their families.

What we often forget is that in Greek tragedy, the protagonist's ultimate fate is death. We see the rise to glory. We see the fall from grace. We see the change in their ways, and perhaps the righting of wrongs. But ultimately the price that is paid is the demise of the protagonist. Perhaps modern interpretations had become too happy, with audiences demanding the happy ending. And perhaps postmodern is really code for classical. But the protagonist's fate remains. Which is why the story is a tragedy.

RIP Chris Henry, who I hope has died a tragic hero, and not simply without cause.

-Chairman