Unpacking Moneyball
The Oakland Athletics are one of the few professional sports teams synonymous with a movie—Moneyball. For both casual and expert baseball fans, Moneyball is a masterful blend of baseball and cinema, offering timeless quotes that have endured for over a decade. As a kid, I loved the film for its underdog mentality, where the “evil” of big-market teams like the Yankees was cleverly outsmarted by the “good” of a small-market team like Oakland.
If you haven’t seen Moneyball, it explores the challenges small-market baseball teams face due to salary disparities. The film focuses on the 2001 Athletics offseason (and season), when Athletics franchise icon Jason Giambi signs a lucrative contract with the New York Yankees—an offer Oakland can’t match. By leveraging innovative advanced statistics, the Athletics not only find and sign players to replace Giambi’s production, but exceed it, culminating in a remarkable 102-60 record and a historic 20-game win streak.
However, re-watching Moneyball as the avid writer, baseball fan, and statistician I am now, I can't help but notice the narrative manipulation in the film—not necessarily inaccuracies, but elements that were forced to fit the storyline.
Firstly, no single player makes or breaks a baseball season. In Moneyball, Jason Giambi's departure is portrayed as a near-catastrophic loss, with the Athletics' management in the film appearing unsure how to replace him and offering inadequate solutions. The tone of the room is hushed and solemn, implying the Athletics believe the team will be among the worst in Major League Baseball. While losing a star player is always challenging, baseball differs from sports like football or basketball, where the loss of a key player, such as a quarterback or forward, can derail an entire season. In baseball, teams have more opportunities to adapt and compensate for such losses through trades or by tapping into their prospect systems.
Moneyball conveys a misleading narrative to the average fan, suggesting that losing a star player completely dooms a team, which simply isn’t true. Recent examples demonstrate that teams can actually thrive despite such losses. For instance, the 2021 Atlanta Braves lost their franchise icon Ronald Acuña Jr. early in the season but went on to win the World Series. Similarly, the 2023 Texas Rangers lost their ace Jacob deGrom just 30 innings into the season yet still won the World Series in decisive fashion. Additionally, one of the most dramatic moments in recent baseball history was Bryce Harper's departure from the Nationals to the rival Phillies in 2019. Despite this high-profile exit, the Nationals went on to defy expectations and win the World Series that same year.
These events highlight that a single player's departure doesn’t necessarily spell doom for a team and underscore the unpredictable nature of baseball.
Secondly, Moneyball fails to do justice to the Athletics' superstar talent and recent history that laid the groundwork for their 2002 success. Before the historic 2002 season, the Athletics experienced notable success with their core players and a positive trajectory. In 1999, they won 87 games; in 2000, they won 91; and in 2001, they achieved 102 wins, which was second only to the 114-48 Mariners, who had (and still have) the best record in MLB history. However, Moneyball omits this context, portraying the Athletics as a team that is behind the curve and outdated, with their management staff depicted as resistant to using advanced statistics. There is absolutely no mention of the recent success by the Bay, including two trips to the ALDS in the prior years.
Although players like David Justice and Scott Hatteberg, who replaced Jason Giambi, were central to Moneyball, they weren’t the true stars behind the A’s success. The movie largely overlooks key contributors such as Miguel Tejada, who had a monster MVP season, and the dominant "three-headed monster" in the pitching rotation featuring Barry Zito’s Cy Young campaign alongside Tim Hudson and Mark Mulder. Additionally, perennial Gold Glover Eric Chavez anchored third base, while future World Series champion Jermaine Dye provided veteran leadership and production in the outfield. By sidelining these core players, the film narrows its focus to fit the Moneyball narrative, perpetuating a manipulated storyline that downplays the importance of traditional star talent and oversimplifies the team’s remarkable achievements. The success of the 2002 A’s wasn’t purely a product of undervalued assets but a blend of statistical innovation and elite individual performances.
Finally, Moneyball contains several historical inaccuracies, as well as falsehoods that portray “Sabermetrics” and “advanced statistics” as far more radical and groundbreaking than they truly were at the time. For instance, the film depicts manager Art Howe as a passive-aggressive traditionalist and one of the most prominent figures resistant to Billy Beane’s methods. In reality, while Howe did have some doubts about the new approach, the tension between him and Beane was far less pronounced than the movie suggests. Howe eventually collaborated with Beane’s methods fully, allowing for the Athletic’s to have the success they had for their magical 2002 season.
Moreover, Peter Brand, portrayed as Billy Beane’s right-hand man and staunch advocate of statistical analysis, wasn’t a real person. He was based on Paul DePodesta, a key figure in the Athletics' front office during that time. Brand is depicted as a genius, Yale-educated statistician who is completely undervalued by the Cleveland Indians—a perfect fit for the Moneyball trope of identifying overlooked talent. In the film, Billy Beane recognizes Brand’s potential and “buys him out” to work for Oakland. However, like the character, this is completely inaccurate. DePodesta was Harvard-educated and verbose, and had been a key member of the Oakland organization since 1999.
In conclusion, Moneyball delivers an inspiring underdog narrative, highlighting how the Oakland Athletics thrived despite losing Jason Giambi, even setting a historic 20-game win streak. This achievement underscored the team’s resilience and the impact of data-driven strategies, celebrating the value of overlooked players and innovative thinking in baseball.
However, the film simplifies much of the story. It minimizes the contributions of stars like MVP Miguel Tejada and Cy Young winner Barry Zito, and exaggerates the radical nature of Sabermetrics, portraying it as more groundbreaking than it truly was. The 2002 A’s success wasn’t purely about undervalued assets—it was a blend of elite individual performances and strategic innovation. By focusing primarily on Beane’s approach, the film overlooks the full complexity of what made that team remarkable.