The Film Room: Scientific Artistry Part II

Baseball season is around the corner. It's an amazing game. A game that appeals to those who have played, those who watch, and those who love math. For those that have played there is a certain feel, a memory, of standing in the batter's box. A moment staring down towards the pitcher, waiting, anticipating, the quick inhale as the ball comes and the energy as one unloads the bat. An insatiable sequence in which all that exists is a pitcher, yourself, and a ball hurling towards you. It is something that pulls you back towards the game whether you are 14 or 54. As an observer, there is a dramatic artistry that plays in front of you. After the initial batting sequence, this small white pellet is flung into the field. At times we see routine plays in which one sits under the ball and waits patiently for it to fall from the sky. At other times we see acrobatics as shortstops dive and flip for the ball or outfielders run as if they were gazelles streaking across the field eventually climbing the wall to grasp the ball before it lands. A play that moves from quiet stillness to dramatic exuberance in a heartbeat.

The interesting thing is that baseball offices are no longer run by former players, experts in the action, but now mathematicians. Graduates from Harvard, Yale, and Amherst. Computer nerds who run statistical models and probability. Individuals that loved the game but may not have been able to play it very well. They have charts, graphs, regression analysis, and spread diagrams. They know what area of the strike zone to swing and when to walk away. Baseball leaders, who are essentially mathematical gamblers, measuring payoffs of certain types of risks in relationship to the impact on winning. Within these models, there too is an elegance, exuberance, and energy. These are the leaders choosing rosters, guiding decisions, and facilitating the game.

Education has become full of metrics. Comparable data points in which we believe we can measure student development, teacher impact, programatic impact, and learning engagement. We create opportunities for student goals, teacher goals, administrative goals, and district goals. Measurable items that analyze change over periods of time. Metrics break things down into components and assume these pieces add up to a greater whole.

Carlos Quentin, like many baseball players, was a very analytical individual. He was constantly watching film, making adjustments, thinking about his swing. He consistently looked at metrics and was known for overthinking each at bat and each performance. Carlos constantly analyzed himself, seeking data on how much he could improve. This journey consistently had him underperforming his talent. He was known as an uptight, super focused individual. However, in 2008, as a member of the Chicago White Sox, Carlos was having a career year. It all seemed to be coming together. He was hitting .286 with 36 home runs when batting against Cliff Lee he became so frustrated with one of his swings that he punched his bat. Carlos broke his wrist, loosing the season and never regaining MVP form again.

More and more we are teaching students and teachers to focus on the metrics. It is an important, valuable, and dangerous path. A child focusing on a time-bound achievement goal may become so mechanical, that they lose the flow and ease of the product. Imagine a young reader, focusing on how many words per minute they can read. Focusing so much on speed that they lose comprehension. Imagine a teacher driven by the same words per minute metric that they don't halt the child so they can make their evaluation goal.

Metrics are becoming our film room. Ways in which we are analyzing and at times overanalyzing our practice. Metrics are valuable as they tell us about what we are seeing on the field and in the classroom, but they are only one measure of the art before us. In the end, it is the art and the game that matter, not simply the mathematical performance predictors.