Words and the Ways They Divide Us

In one of the most famous scenes in Moneyball, Oakland A’s general manager Billy Beane assembles his scouting staff in a conference room to talk about how they’re going to replace departed free agents. Following a brief round of discussion, Beane rejects the scouts’ recommendations in favor of an analyst’s, setting the stage for the new way the A’s will operate.

Twenty-plus years later, the war between scouting and analytics rages on. Sure, the conversation has evolved, in part because the people in charge of decisions have changed, but it’s far from over.

Teams still fail to consistently incorporate their information into decision-making processes, making it feel like they’re perpetually siding with the models or the "eye test.”1 And the need to keep anything resembling a competitive advantage under lock and key has only added to the confusion and distrust that fuels the disconnect. It’s a hard problem to solve, especially when you consider the history of emotional baggage.

But the current state also exists because teams have unwittingly done more to grow the divide than find a resolution. It all starts with their choice of words.

As front offices have grown and teams have looked to embrace different perspectives, they’ve consistently used poor language when they talk about their employees.

A prime example is the use of labels like baseball, basketball, or football people.2 The phrase is generally used positively to talk about the importance of collaboration — like when Jaguars’ SVP of Football Technology and Analytics Tony Kahn says, “You have to be able to explain it to the football people in their terms. That’s why I try to study that, to be able to communicate with coaches and scouts on a meaningful level, instead of forcing them to use our terminology.”

Think about it for more than two seconds and you’ll quickly realize the phrase doesn’t unite people. It pushes them apart and divides them into two factions: those who belong in the sport and those who don’t.3

It’s also utter nonsense. Every person in professional sports devotes a significant portion of their waking hours to helping the team they work for. To say that some of them are not “football people” because of their background is just plain silly.4

And yet, the phrase and the idea behind it continue to exist and expand. You can see it plainly in how baseball teams structure their coaching staffs.5 Every team now employs multiple big league hitting and pitching coaches, and many have chosen to pair a traditional “baseball person” with someone viewed as more fluent in data and technology.

The strategy itself isn’t problematic. In fact, there is a lot to be said for considering the makeup of a team in hiring and putting complementary skill sets together. It’s only when the language is invoked that the good intent is twisted and lost.

Unfortunately, leaders often reinforce the distinction when they explain the approach, touting the benefits of distinct types of people working together. What it really does is tell players that the coaches are different and that working with each one will result in a very specific experience.6

It also sends an incredibly limiting message to the coaches. You’re essentially telling both people that you think there are two important components to coaching and they’re only capable of one of them. There’s no reason that a “baseball person” can't understand and communicate technical information or that a “numbers person” can’t build strong relationships and coach with what they see and feel. But teams rarely give them the opportunity, using language that subtly — or overtly — discourages growth.

The problem is even spreading to job titles. More and more, teams are turning to specialized titles that reinforce differences. Flip through a media guide and you’ll find titles like pitching strategist or coordinator of hitting analysis alongside more traditional roles. Job titles have never meant that much to me, but even I can admit they matter in terms of perception and the ability to execute your job.

Juliet was right that a name (or in this case, a title) doesn’t change anything about the person in question. But it absolutely changes the way other people treat them. And well-intentioned as they may be, these specialized titles often make jobs harder.

In The Scout Mindset, Julia Galef says that “The science on identity is still evolving, but I’ve observed two things that turn a belief into an identity: Feeling embattled, and feeling proud.” The words that teams use — the labels, the explanations, and the job titles — are harmful because they elicit strong feelings and propagate these competing identities within organizations.

It becomes scouts against analysts and basketball people against nerds when, as cliché as it sounds, those people are all on the same side. The labels and accompanying identities make that hard to see. Identities can wreck your ability to think clearly and pull attention toward defending your side, rather than contributing to a collective decision.

The first minute and a half of the Moneyball scene captures both the problem and a better way to do things rather well.

Frustrated by how the meeting is going, Oakland’s head scout asks, “Does Pete really need to be here?” His tone and delivery all but say that Pete, in his eyes, isn’t a real baseball person and his opinion isn’t welcome.

Without missing a beat, the general manager responds, “Yes, he does.”

That’s it. Someone makes an exclusionary comment meant to drive a wedge and someone else immediately shuts it down. It carries extra weight when the person is in a leadership role, but everyone can and should be responsible for challenging that kind of counterproductive behavior.7

The opportunities to unify are everywhere in sports, and they exist in other industries as well. Words can clearly divide people. That means they can also bring them together.