Below is a thirty-second Microsoft commercial for the Windows 8 tablet. It's trying to separate itself from Apple's iPad by using the universal male language of sports. But the valiant attempt goes south rather quickly. Watch the clumsy portrayal of a baseball scouting scenario:
First of all: the setting. Here's a screenshot:
Okay, what's the situation here? The pitcher is warming up, so maybe a game is about to start. Our total attendance? Basically five dudes, as far as we can tell: the two guys in the bleachers who had nowhere better to be, and three scouts on the field. So, probably not a game. More likely a practice, either high school or college. There's no opposing team in sight. The pitcher is just going through his routine throwing session or something with his catcher. No hitter. Just a casual game of catch, really.
Which brings us to the most critical flaw of this ad -- why are these guys wasting their time "scouting" a pitcher who's just doing his between-start throwing? He's not even facing live hitters, let alone exerting maximum effort. So what's the deal with the guy on the right wielding a radar gun like it's an automatic pistol? What's the point of measuring velocity outside of a live game situation? And why is his hand awkwardly stuck in his pocket? He isn't even recording the velocities in any way, or taking any notes; just watching the numbers pop up on the gun. Is this guy Ron Washington? Can we prove that he isn't Ron Washington?
Then we get to our first line of dialogue. And boy, is it a doozy. Our pitching hero throws one warm-up lob to his catcher, and one of the scouts instantly remarks to his iPad, "This kid's got great stuff!" Really, man? First of all: is that the most-professional-sounding scouting report you've got? "This kid's got great stuff"? And second of all: you don't want to wait to see this pitcher face an actual real-life hitter in a real-life game situation before you pass judgment on him to your boss?
Which brings us to the next important question: who's the guy in the iPad? If he's the team's scouting director (or maybe even general manager), then doesn't that guy have better things to do than video-chat with an incompetent scout during a meaningless practice for some unknown high school or college? And what's the point of using the video-conference feature on these devices if the scouts aren't aiming it at the pitcher so the big bosses can actually see how well the guy throws? Instead, this Unidentified Baseball Executive is just starting at Incompetent Scout's face, rather than the action. What a waste. What's the point of using video at all, then?
That brings us to the commercial's second line of dialogue: in response to Incompetent Scout's rich and informative scouting report, the Unidentified iPad Executive responds: "How many strikeouts this season?" This sends Incompetent Scout into an over-exaggerated hysteria. But it's the executive who's at fault here. Asking how many strikeouts the pitcher has is an idiotic follow-up question for two reasons:
1) He presumably doesn't know how many innings the pitcher has thrown in this unidentified league. Any answer the scout could've provided -- eighteen, forty-five, a hundred and sixty, whatever -- would've been totally meaningless without knowing the pitcher's innings total. He should've asked for his strikeout rate, or something else. A total strikeout number without context provides no insight into the pitcher's skill.
2) He could probably look up this information on his own in about two seconds, and thus could have avoided inducing a panic attack in his employee. Presumably he has access to the Internet, right?
While Incompetent Scout fumbles around on his iPad, the viewer is introduced to our second set of characters. The larger scout with glasses and his video-conferencing executive are instantly framed as the more competent duo. Which make sense -- they're the ones using the Microsoft tablet! The Unidentified Tablet Executive asks a much more reasonable question ("What's this kid's ERA?") and gets the answer he wants ("One-point-seven-three") in a timely fashion. That's a good ERA. Things are moving along. Finally, some sanity.
But then everything comes crashing down.
Executive #2 asks: "How 'bout against lefties?" In other words -- he asked the scout what the pitcher's ERA is against left-handed hitters. Um ... say what now? His ERA against lefties? That's not even a real statistic. I'm not even sure that's calculable. If it is, it's still an utterly useless number, for reasons that can't even be articulated properly. Presumably, Unidentified Tablet Executive wanted to know how our pitching hero performs against left-handed hitters -- in the real world, one could use batting average against or strikeout rate. ERA against lefties? Good grief.
What's worse is the fact that the scout doesn't bat an eye when he's asked that asinine question. In fact, he has that information instantly accessible. "Two-point-eight-eight," he responds without hesitating, as if "ERA Against Lefties" is a statistic he works with on a daily basis. The best part about this is the incredulous look on the first scout's face when he hears this exchange:
Within the commercial, that face is supposed to represent this guy's resentment at having the inferior technology. But I like to imagine that it's his horrified reaction to hearing the term "ERA against lefties" being used as a key analytic tool.
Another point of contention: look at the "dugout" in the background of that picture. It's completely barren of any human activity. Where is everyone in this universe? Actually, you can't really blame them for flying the coop; it appears as though the protective railing -- typical of any baseball dugout -- has completely vanished. Things are falling apart fast.
Back to the riveting plot. The second, tablet-wielding executive remarks, "I think we've gotta pull the trigger on this kid." Great. This guy has made a decision based on the following information:
1. The pitcher's ERA.
2. The pitcher's ERA against lefties.
The scout, meanwhile, made his observations based on a few practice pitches with nobody in the batters' box. This is probably a really successful baseball organization.
More importantly, though: what does the executive mean by "pull the trigger"? The implication is that he wants his scout to sign the pitcher. But assuming this is taking place in the U.S., the guy can't be signed by a team on the spot. He has to be drafted. So this can't be a high school or college pitcher like one might assume (even though the executive refers to the pitcher as a "kid"). So ... where is this scene even taking place? Either it's an independent league, or we're overseas. This is getting more and more complicated.
The scout then replies, "All right, I'll go talk to his agent." This opens up a whole new can of worms, because the scout then runs out to meet the agent on the mound (thereby disrupting practice ... seems like poor scout etiquette, no?). So the agent happened to be hanging out with his client during a random throwing session? Who does that? Is the agent also a coach? That seems like it would be against the rules. Some background info would've been swell, Microsoft.
What have we been able to deduce from this maddening thirty-second advertisement? That a few Microsoft employees failed miserably in trying to depict a simple baseball scene. This entire exercise was headache-inducing. Now after watching that clip a dozen times, all I'm left with is a strange urge to purchase a Microsoft tablet. What's its ERA against lefties?
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