AI Takes the Helm: Oakland Ballers' Experimental Game Sparks Fan Backlash

The Oakland Ballers, an independent baseball team in the Pioneer League, recently made headlines by letting an AI manage their game in real time—a move that sparked both fascination and backlash from fans. The experiment, part of the team’s ongoing effort to blend innovation with community, aimed to explore how artificial intelligence could support decision-making in a sport already steeped in data analytics. Founded by edtech entrepreneur Paul Freedman as a response to the Oakland A’s departure from the city, the Ballers quickly became a symbol of resistance and local pride. After just two seasons, they captured Oakland’s first baseball title since 1989, building a passionate fanbase that values both the game and its cultural significance. The AI experiment came after the team’s success in clinching a postseason berth. Partnering with AI firm Distillery, the Ballers trained a version of OpenAI’s ChatGPT on over a century of baseball data, including historical stats and past Ballers games. The goal was to create an AI system that could replicate the decision-making patterns of their human manager, Aaron Miles. “The AI didn’t replace the human,” Freedman explained. “It learned from Miles’s strategies and used data to make choices about pitching changes, lineup construction, and pinch-hitting—just like he would.” In practice, the AI made nearly all the same decisions as Miles, with one exception: when the manager had to step in to replace a sick starting catcher with his backup. The moment became iconic when Miles, during a pregame handshake with the opposing manager, extended his tablet—running the AI—instead of his hand. The gesture was playful but underscored the experiment’s core idea: AI as a tool, not a replacement. Yet the reaction from fans was mixed. Many saw the AI use as a troubling alignment with big tech—particularly OpenAI, a company often criticized for prioritizing rapid innovation over safety and transparency. For fans who already feel alienated by corporate decisions that drove major sports franchises out of Oakland, the AI experiment felt like another betrayal. “Now they’re trying to appeal to Bay Area techies instead of real baseball fans,” one fan wrote. “It’s so over for Oakland.” Freedman acknowledged the backlash and confirmed the team has no plans to repeat the experiment. Still, he sees value in the conversation it sparked. “It’s not a bad thing that people are questioning the role of AI in sports,” he said. “It’s better to have these discussions now, before the technology becomes entrenched.” The episode reflects a broader cultural tension: how much innovation is too much when it comes to traditions and community values. While baseball has long embraced data-driven decisions, the idea of letting an AI call the shots—no matter how closely it mimics a human—challenges the emotional and cultural fabric of the game. For now, the AI game remains a one-off experiment. But it’s a powerful reminder that even in the world of sports, technology doesn’t just change how games are played—it changes how they’re felt.