OK, so maybe the example of Scott Brown was stretching it a bit. But the point remains as valid today as it was when it was first floated a couple of weeks ago.
Perhaps even more so now that the data machine has selected Neil Critchley as Hearts‘ new manager. It was a tongue in cheek, facetious scenario used to stress test the logic behind the search for Steven Naismith’s successor. What if Tony Bloom’s laptop crunched the numbers and came up with Brown’s name as the best qualified candidate for the post?
Having appeared hellbent on ignoring the blindingly obvious choice, would Andrew McKinlay and Ann Budge allow themselves to be slaves to Bloom’s algorithms to such an extent that they would even be prepared to risk a monumental backlash from their own supporters? Well, at least now we have our answer. Because, while the reaction to the hypothetical appointment of Brown would have made for a fascinating case study, when Critchley was unveiled at Tynecastle in real life on Tuesday afternoon, his second name might as well have been Lennon such was the level of unrest among the rank and file.
The 45-year-old journeyman – sacked by both Queens Park Rangers and Blackpool over the last two years – is certainly not what they had in mind when Bloom’s fancy brochure first dropped through the door. McKinlay and Budge must surely realise this. It’s almost possible to imagine the look of horror and the blood draining from their faces from the moment the computer spat Critchley’s name out from its hard drive as the next front runner.
Having previously failed to tie up a deal for Per-Mathias Hogmo, how in the name of hipsterdom were they meant to sell this one to a support base which had been rubbing its hands at the very thought of being blessed by Brighton’s far reaching, all seeing technology? They didn’t need AI to come up with Critchley’s name.
The Hearts board could have done that all by themselves before summarily dismissing the idea as being marginally less inflammatory to their own people than approaching Ayr United, seeking permission to open talks with Brown. Or, God forbid, cutting the risk involved to an absolute minimum by picking up the phone to Kilmarnock instead and starting a conversation about the size of a compensation package for Derek McInness.
It’s this decision to believe a room full of programmers know better than McInnes how to fix a broken football club which really tests the theory. In fact, it’s utterly bewildering, especially given the club’s current predicament. Flirting with relegation from the top flight and anchored to the bottom of the table having won just two paltry points from a possible 24.
In other words, in case McKinlay and Budge haven’t quite noticed, they already are in all manner of trouble, with little room for manoeuvre never mind another mistake. Which makes placing such unflinching faith in a bunch of lab boffins seems like an act of complete and utter lunacy.
Time will tell, of course. Critchley might defy his own CV to prove himself as completely worthy of their backing. But if it turns out they’ve got this one wrong too they may be placed in the hands a of very different group of men in white coats.
Of course, it would have been different had Starlizard or Jamestown Analytics, or whatever else they’re calling it these days, come up with a much more fashionable alternative than a man whose managerial experience has been limited to the second and third tiers of the English game.
Had, for example, the name of Eidur Gudbluffersson, spluttered out into Budge’s inbox then at least the fans might have been willing to be persuaded by the somewhat weird science behind it all It wouldn’t even have mattered that they never once heard the name of Gudbluffersson before.
Within seconds they’d have googled the life out of it and discovered everything there is to know. ‘Eidur Gudbluffersson (born April 1, 1999) is a 25-year-old student from Reykjavik who has spent the last two years winning virtual promotion from Iceland’s third tier on football manager with URFKN Haffinarlaff, in between bingeing on Greta Thunberg podcasts. He drinks Kale and Kimchi smoothies, ordered online from a laptop powered entirely by recycled edamame beans.
‘Gudbluffersson is credited with the creation of ‘fraudism’ – a contemporary style of play based loosely on Malmo’s ‘relationism’ philosophy which was showcased last month in the Europa League against Rangers. In fact, it looks exactly the same if you stick a beanie hat and beard on it,’.
And, in an instant, this country’s self proclaimed army of online ‘football experts’ would be swooning all over the place while deep diving into Gudbluffersson’s gobbledygook in a breathless stampede towards new levels of self styled stupidity. But, a word of warning, it’s best to be careful where these blowhards and converted comic books guys are concerned.
They’d have the brass neck to call themselves journalists if only they knew one end of a story from the other which just goes to show that all walks of life are now being infiltrated by Gudblufferssons in varying shapes and sizes. It’s certainly not just exclusive to the football industry and nor for that matter are Hearts the first club in the business to have been bounced into believing that the time has come for the wheel to be reinvented.
These things used to be so much more simple before the world allowed itself to be convinced that the answer to everything could be found with a few taps on the nearest touchscreen It’s not a case of hankering for the days of Jurassic Park either. Advances in technology can still be fully embraced without the need to forget everything else that was learned before the internet ever came into being.
Starlizard and Jamestown Analytics are simply the current, rebranded trailblazers breaking new ground but on old frontiers. Had they called themselves something like findmeamanager.com they’d be dismissed as a vulgar, tabloid throwback to the turn of the century.
But the requirement to come up with a perfect match remains the same as it was back then. McKinlay, Budge and their lonely Hearts club were looking for a manager who sees commitment to achieving third place in the Scottish top flight as a minimum condition. Facial hair would have been a bonus but not a deal breaker.
To borrow a good old fashioned phrase, the dogs on the street know that manager is Derek McInnes. But, now that the computer has spoken and chosen Critchley instead, Hearts will have to hope it’s not been talking through a hole in its own analytics all this time.