It was darn near Pavlovian.
As the players jogged off the field and into the dugout, the fans in the stands focused their eyes on the scoreboard high above the right field wall.
It was cap shuffle time.
An image of a baseball appeared on the scoreboard. Then suddenly, a stylized baseball cap appeared, covering it up. Two identical-looking caps emerged on the big screen to flank it.
Music blared from the stadium speakers as the baseball caps shuffled around the screen. All the while, the fans tried to keep track of the cap with the ball underneath it.
Finally, the music stopped. The baseball caps froze in place across the scoreboard, the numbers 1, 2, and 3 displayed underneath them.
At the top of the screen, a question now appeared. Which cap has the ball?
There was a momentary pause. Then a murmur rose to a dim roar.
Two! Two! Two!
A few seconds later, the cap over the number 2 on the scoreboard lifted. The baseball re-appeared.
The crowd went wild.
The cap shuffle has long been a staple at ballparks.
It’s long proven to be a cost-effective way to keep fans engaged, even when the ballplayers are off the field. And it’s an easy contest to win.
Now, that’s not to say the shuffle is easy to follow. The scoreboard maneuvers can even flummox the fans with the keenest eyes and sharpest attention spans.
But those who lose the ball get a second chance. With only three options to choose from, guessing is simple. And the roar of the crowd can nudge those guesses into the educated column.
Indeed, I’ve rarely kept track of the winning cap when I’ve gone to the ballpark. I’ve guessed nearly every time. But I’ve rarely guessed wrong.
The wisdom of the crowd carried me through.
The cap shuffle is just a bit of amusement. No more. No less.
But it illustrates an entrenched element our society – The Rule of Three.
The Rule of Three is a principle that was first articulated by the Boston Consulting Group (BCG) in the 1970s. It states that most corners of commerce, there are only three significant competitors. Think Chrysler, Ford, and General Motors in the automotive space. Or Burger King, McDonald’s and Wendy’s in the fast-food sector.
The market might have started out with more competitors in these industries. But over time, those three frontrunners rose from the fray.
Such market domination has as much to do with human nature as business strategy. You see, our brains can only consider three to four options at a time. We simply cannot process a Big Six of automakers, fast-food proprietors, or nearly anything else.
But the Rule of Three only partially explains the world we live in. For while there might technically be three dominant options in just about any industry, only two of them tend to get the lion’s share of attention.
Consider soft drinks. In Texas, Dr Pepper is an immensely popular option. But once you leave the state, it’s barely relevant. Coca-Cola and Pepsi carry the mail.
The same is true in the world of computer operating systems. Linux is one of the top three options in that realm, but it doesn’t hold a candle to Apple and Microsoft.
Binary choice reigns supreme. For better or for worse.
The better refers to reliability for consumers, and a predictable revenue flow for providers. When there are only two dominant choices, each party knows what to expect.
But the worse feeds directly from those advantages. With so few dominant options, consumers must contend with the trappings of monopoly power – including higher prices and lower levels of innovation. And the main providers must contend with each other – leading to polarization and its associated ugliness.
Sound familiar?
Yes, American politics also follows the Rule of Three. Two parties have reigned supreme for generations, while a smattering of independent politicians have sat on the periphery. This dynamic has made rhetoric more extreme and consensus harder to come by with each passing year.
Representative democracy only seems to embody the most sinister corners of American existence. Elections feel like a choice for the least bad option.
And when those perceived least bad selections make it to the seat of power, precious little gets done. Accomplishments requires compromise. And compromise is a bridge too far.
This quagmire has proved demoralizing to many Americans. And the murmurs of their discontent have now risen to a dull roar.
Give us more choices, they say. Get rid of the two-party system.
It’s a seemingly sensible plea. But appearances can be deceiving.
What would a multi-party political scene look like?
We don’t have to dive into fantasyland to imagine this. Real world examples exist an ocean away.
Countries such as Germany, France, Israel, and Australia have relied on a parliamentary system for governance. That means citizens vote for parties, rather than individual politicians.
There are plenty of parties for voters to choose from, and diverse parliamentary bodies. To govern effectively in this environment, parties have traditionally formed coalitions with relatively like-minded legislators – offering a smidge of compromise in order to pool votes.
But recently, that strategy has become less of a sure thing. Voters in some of those nations have given fringe parties with extreme views a seat at the table. And traditional parties have focused on differentiating themselves in response.
Consensus has been harder to find. Coalitions have been fewer and further between. And government productivity has gone down.
The byproducts of this shift are far from pretty. Economies have stagnated. Protests have proliferated. And snap elections have become commonplace.
This is what politics would look like in America without the two-party system. But since voters select individual politicians in our nation, the dysfunction would be on another level.
Without compromise, coalitions, or consensus, bureaucracy could grind to a halt. With gridlock overwhelming funding deliberations, government shutdowns would be inevitable. Without a shared sense of accountability, dereliction of duty would weaken the nation.
Expansive choice is no panacea. Far from it.
It’s time we get used to that fact.
When I was young, my parents would ask me a question each evening.
Do you want one bedtime story, or two?
Bedtime was non-negotiable. But I still had some say over the proceedings.
I often went with the second choice. I’d listen intently to a rendition of one children’s book, then another. And by the end, I’d be down for the count.
I didn’t give this ritual much thought at the time. But I sure do now.
You see, I don’t have children of my own. But I know that kids can be a handful after the sun sets.
Crankiness, mania, hyperactivity – all are possible as youthful energy wanes. Children need their rest, but good luck getting them to acquiesce to it.
This is why my parents’ bedtime system was so brilliant. By consolidating options, they made the wind-down manageable for everyone. And they set me up for success.
I think the same is true for consolidated options in general. We might want more than Coca-Cola and Pepsi, or Republicans and Democrats. We may yearn to see 7 caps shuffling on the scoreboard.
But what we’ve got is manageable. What we’ve got is reliable. What we’ve got is familiar.
It might not work to our specifications. It might barely work at all. But it works.
And that’s no small thing.