The person who wins your office March Madness pool may not be able to tell Kansas star Joel Embiid of Kansas from Arizona star Nick Johnson by looking at them—but he or she might know each player's effective field-goal percentage.
In fact, the casual fan is as likely to be familiar with data about an NCAA men's basketball team's offensive efficiency as to know its team colors or whether it plays zone or man-to-man.
Basketball fandom has been transformed in recent years by the combination of the bracket and the profusion of statistics about teams. For many fans, "filling out a bracket" has practically replaced the act of watching games. The abstraction of the teams into data that's pushed through the logic of the "pool" is what the tournament is now, just as much as players' bodies moving through space in the effort to throw a ball through a hoop.
March Madness: America's most popular exercise in statistical reasoning!
Take the Huffington Post's remarkable achievement: The Predict-o-Tron. Users set a series of parameters like a school's graduate rate or (more probably) the school's defensive efficiency or pre-season AP rating. Those parameters are then fed through software that adds up your choices and makes your picks for you.
The whole thing is sitting on a vast pool of data assembled by HuffPo's deputy data editor, Jay Boice, and his team. "I'm not a huge basketball fan," Boice told me. "I'm a data fan."
The project actually began during last year's tournament, when Boice noticed so many people doing modeling and projections to help people make their picks. "But there was nothing that let you play with the different factors yourself," he said. So, over six weeks, the HuffPo data team created this (frankly) amazing app.
It does what we've all been doing, but faster and more rigorously. It is what happens when you take the logic of March Madness to its conclusion: automagic, knowledge-independent fun.
You might say that what's going on with The Predict-o-Tron is nothing new in sports fandom. You could point to rotisserie baseball leagues or fantasy football's explosive growth to show that some fans have always loved sports through data analysis. And that's a fair point.
But communications scholar Thomas Patrick Oates has argued that fantasy sports offer the thrill of "vicarious management" (which, he adds, encourages fans to "identify with the institutional regimes of the NFL (and the authorities who conduct them) rather than with the athletes.")
But March Madness's statistical fans don't dream of controlling players. They are, instead, enacting what it's like to be a coder, an engineer who tunes an algorithm that figures out the world for him.
A perfectly predictable, understandable world.
Which makes it, the traditional fan in me proclaims, directly opposed to the spirit of sport.
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Let me step back for a minute. I am a UCLA fan by birth and experience. My father was enrolled at UCLA during the Wooden years, the greatest sporting run in American history. I grew up going to and watching games. When we moved away from LA, I came to love walking through the enemy arenas of the Pacific Northwest, after a long car ride with my dad. The pressure of all those opposing fans and colors drove us closer together, and though we both knew the circumstances were artificial, what it did for our relationship was not. UCLA fandom, for me, is the ground on which it is easiest for my dad and I to demonstrate that we love each other as deeply as we do.