Disney erased FiveThirtyEight

Last Thursday night, I was working late, trying to put some of the finishing touches on our forthcoming World Cup model — and actually looking up an article I’d written for FiveThirtyEight in 2014 about my previous soccer model, SPI. Although the quality of the archive has gradually deteriorated since Disney shut down the site in 2025 (I left two years earlier in 2023), at least our text-based articles were mostly still there, or so I thought. Instead, I was auto-redirected to ABC News’s home page, which looked something like this:Sometimes weird things happen on the internet late at night, so I resisted the temptation to tweet something about it. But one of my former colleagues noticed the same thing on Friday. ABC News hasn’t made any public comment that I’m aware of — they declined to make a statement to the New York Times, which wrote about FiveThirtyEight’s disappearance. It’s possible that they have something up their sleeve, I suppose. But presumably, this was either intentional or willfully neglectful. All of the former FiveThirtyEight site from my nearly decade-long tenure at ESPN/Disney/ABC is gone.1It’s common to read things like: “what happens on the Internet stays on the Internet”, the notion being that you can never escape your digital past. But this isn’t really true. A Pew study of a random sample of Internet links conducted in October 2023 found significant “link rot”: almost 40 percent of links that had been active 10 years earlier were broken. And that’s probably an underestimate: the study was based on the Common Crawl web archive (the same one that AI labs use to train their models), which is quite comprehensive but probably contains some bias toward more prominent sites. Another study by ahrefs found a two-thirds attrition rate for web links after 11 years.Yes, you can still access (for now) Disney-era FiveThirtyEight content via the invaluable Internet Archive, and pre-Disney-era content from The New York Times (which I partnered with from 2010 through 2013). And obviously, we’re trying to recreate some of the most popular parts of FiveThirtyEight at Silver Bulletin.

The election models and polling averages are here, and new-and-improved versions of the sports models (PELE, ELWAY, COOPER) are gradually returning too.2 Galen Druke, Clare Malone and I have even been getting the old podcast crew back together for live shows.To be clear, we’re not trying to create a full-fledged version of FiveThirtyEight. Having a smaller team gives me more time for creative work, such as writing and building models. In fact, post-Disney life is better along pretty much every quantifiable and intangible dimension.Still, these abstractions about “link rot” don’t quite capture the feeling of seeing so much hard work erased.Here are some numbers roughly in the right ballpark: during the Disney era, which lasted about 10 years, FiveThirtyEight published about 20 stories a week. Let’s say that each story took about 20 hours to produce between research, writing, graphics and editing.3 Do the math, and that works out to about 200,000 person-hours of work that ABC News just deleted.What’s probably harder to see from the outside is that none of this was ever smooth sailing: that content was produced through a lot of blood, sweat, and tears (sometimes literally on certain election nights).Maybe the deletion of the site has me feeling wistful, but I thought I’d write about the various phases of FiveThirtyEight, including some inside-baseball stuff that I’ve never really talked about publicly.I’m just going to speak from my vantage point, not on behalf of the several dozen people who worked on the site in its various iterations. I’m not going to talk about competing editorial visions or personality clashes or any of that, though we had our fair share of newsroom drama. Instead, this is intended as more of a business school case study: a study of a large corporation, The Walt Disney Company, behaving in an incredibly neglectful way toward a smaller brand it acquired, with dozens of employees who worked exceptionally hard despite constant existential uncertainty.ShareI want to state one thing up front: I think FiveThirtyEight could have been a highly valuable business if it had been managed more carefully. I know the New York Times considered FiveThirtyEight a valuable part of its subscription offering. I know some of the sharper minds behind subscription-based businesses tried to acquire FiveThirtyEight at various times.

And I know the economics of Silver Bulletin, and they’re good. There are challenges: our traffic is highly cyclical, increasing severalfold around major elections and sporting events. Still, my guess is that FiveThirtyEight could have had north of 100,000 paying subscribers by this point: in the same general ballpark as The Free Press, which recently sold for $150 million.The thinking at Disney is presumably that they invested a lot of money in FiveThirtyEight and were left with nothing to show for it. But to my mind, however much they spent on FiveThirtyEight, they never invested a dollar in it. There was never really any effort, or even any pretense of trying, to make it a profitable unit of the company. At one point, other senior staffers and I basically begged Disney to turn on a paywall, figuring this could provide some security, and were told, essentially, that it just wasn’t worth Disney’s bandwidth to figure out the mechanics of one. Essentially, we were treated like an unused gym membership: you don’t want to cancel because you think you ought to be hitting the gym, but every month a charge hits your credit card statement and you aren’t getting any fitter.I founded FiveThirtyEight.com under the pseudonym “poblano” in March 2008 as a spin-off from a popular series of posts at the progressive blog Daily Kos. For the previous several years, after quitting my corporate consulting job in 2004, I’d had two main sources of income. One of them was building statistical models like PECOTA for Baseball Prospectus, an early adopter of a subscription-based business model that still exists today and has graduated dozens of staffers into Major League front offices. BP had good timing going for it — this was the dawn of the Moneyball era in sports. But the subscription-based offerings were relatively rare at the time. BP churned out enough revenue to support a middle-class income for around a dozen co-owners/stat nerds/writers but not much more than that.However, I didn’t really care because my real source of income was playing online poker. Yes, there really was a time when you could click buttons for a living and make a pretty good income by working the late shift against what I imagined to be drunk Scandinavians. It seemed too good to be true, and ultimately it was.

The passage of the UIGEA in late 2006 essentially cut off new money flowing into the game, the remaining players were getting sharper, and the format I specialized in at the time (limit hold ‘em) was gradually losing ground to no-limit hold ‘em, which I wouldn’t become proficient at until years later.The UIGEA, passed on the last day before Congress adjourned for the 2006 midterm elections, did pique my interest in American politics, however. I wanted the bastards who had deprived me of a living to be voted out of office, and they largely were, including the chief sponsor of the bill, the 15-term Iowa Congressman Jim Leach.“Moneyball, but for elections” was a logical enough pitch, but I didn’t anticipate the degree to which FiveThirtyEight.com would become a viral hit in 2008. It helped that the election featured a number of compelling personalities, including a guy whose name I’d vaguely remembered from my time at the University of Chicago: Barack Obama. I ran ads on FiveThirtyEight, and the money wasn’t fantastic by any means, but digital advertising rates were comparatively healthier back then, so it was enough to pay the rent.FiveThirtyEight, de-anonymized midway through the 2008 cycle, drew a lot of media attention, particularly after the model’s highly confident “call” that Obama would defeat John McCain proved correct. On a train platform on my way back from the MIT Sloan Sports Analytics Conference conference in 2009, I encountered a senior editor at the New York Times who had been in attendance. I’ve long been an admirer of the NYT — my parents in East Lansing, Michigan even had a ritual of walking to the bookstore every day to buy the print edition. Long story short, the NYT made a good-enough offer. The finances weren’t fantastic, but it was an extremely clean deal: I was a contractor, not an employee, so I was free to pursue other sources of income, and I regained full ownership of the models and the other IP after I left the Times.Honestly, I expected to renew with the Times.

At the risk of being immodest, the 2012 election forecast had been a smashing success, with the FiveThirtyEight model famously “calling” all 50 states correctly that year in a stroke of luck that later felt like a bit of a curse. (There was only about a 3 percent chance this would happen, according to the model’s internal logic.) The Times had launched a digital paywall midway through my time there, and its subscription revenues had grown significantly in the 4Q of 2012, coinciding with the Obama-Romney election. How much FiveThirtyEight was responsible for this was hard to say — the Times has had a lot of success without us, obviously — but I had a lot of leverage.“We” (my attorney and I) basically decided to give the Times an exclusive negotiating window before exploring the market. My keen sense at the time was that the NYT would not be the highest bidder, but I really did like working there, and they deployed me creatively on everything from the Magazine to the book review. The Times was a deeply factional place in those days, though, and the FiveThirtyEight product had both internal champions and internal critics.4 The Times was also in the midst of a leadership transition, and new management tends to want to move on from the old regime’s pet projects, even if they were successful. Although I’d moved to an apartment within walking distance of the NYT office in anticipation of a new deal, the Times dragged its feet to the point where we eventually felt like we had no choice but to test the market.We wound up signing up with ESPN. It doesn’t seem like the most obvious fit now, but this came during an era when ESPN basically thought of itself as the best business in the world, guaranteed an annuity based on cable rights fees. Its then-president, John Skipper, had highbrow ambitions for premium products, notably Grantland. Grantland, built around another spiky founder, was quite explicitly a precedent for FiveThirtyEight @ Disney. I don’t catch up much with Bill Simmons these days, but he was a helpful consigliere during the negotiations, offering reliable advice on navigating any and all things Disney-related.For the record, other offers we seriously considered came from NBC News, Bloomberg and the Times.