Authors: Ken Auletta
Tags: #Industries, #Computer Industry, #Business & Economics
Googled (37 page)
Almost daily in 2008, old media announced new media efforts. Seeking to extend its programming to other platforms, NBC said in January 2008 that it would customize shorter content that it called promo-tainment and sell ads on nine other platforms, including screens in gyms, subways, and the backseats of taxicabs, on gas pumps, and at supermarket checkout counters. In its competition with YouTube, NBC and News Corporation’s Hulu video site had, by October 2008, signed up Sony and Paramount and other studios. Hulu offered a choice of about a thousand network shows, and reached an estimated 2.6 percent of the online video market—far below You Tube—but in a promising ad-friendly environment that would soon make it the second ranked video site. CBS, which declined to join Hulu, later established its own site, TVcom, to serve as an online platform for its present and past programs and for those of other content creators. Disney sold ABC programs and movies to iTunes, defending Apple’s then policy of a single price for programs, movies, or music on the grounds that it was simple and clear and better served consumers. In April 2009, Disney’s ABC gave a boost to Hulu by joining NBC and Fox as an equity partner. By mid 2009, Hulu—like You Tube—was still not profitable.
Local stations scrambled to create Web sites for their news and weather and to lower their ad rates in order to sell inventory to small businesses. A consortium of the six largest cable operators started Canoe Ventures, an effort to forge a single national digital cable platform to sell and target ads and collect the kind of user data Google gathers. HBO experimented by offering some of its programs for free online. Viacom joined with MGM and Lions Gate to create Epix, a premium cable channel with a Web site to stream their library of movies. All the movie studios sought to improve picture quality by offering films shot in high definition and by replacing costly reels of film they sent movie theaters with digital copies. Trying to demonstrate that it was not “a dumb pipe company,” Verizon rolled out its cable video service, called FIOS, and announced plans to spend twenty billion dollars by 2010 to ensure its success; by the summer of 2008, FIOS was available in one million homes. AT&T promised to offer video services for mobile phones. Spurred by the success of Apple’s iPhone, mobile phone companies moved to transform their devices into PDAs that were really powerful minicomputers. People who had grown up in the television business, such as Disney’s former CEO, Michael Eisner, or MTV’s Albie Hecht, and Jason Hirschhorn and Herb Scannell, switched careers to become Internet programmers.
And yet all of these efforts failed to answer two lingering questions: would these efforts make money? And would storytelling change on the Web? Eisner said he believed it would not, that though there are many more platforms to display stories, stories need space to be told. He didn’t believe attention spans had shrunk, that multitasking diverted attention, or that interactivity would reshape storytelling. “If the story is really good, they’ll stay with it,” Eisner said. “I don’t think a lot of the rules for storytelling are unique for the Internet.” I think Jason Hirschhorn was closer to the truth when he said that the way storytelling will change is that the audience—as Google’s YouTube demonstrates daily—will “do a lot of snacking.” Everything will speed up, probably including the decline of old media.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Compete or Collaborate?
T
o achieve a balance of power against Napoleonic France, Prince Metternich of Austria helped organize the weaker European monarchies—Austria, Prussia, Russia—into an alliance. And in the Congress of Vienna, which followed the defeat of Napoleon, he maneuvered to maintain peace in Europe by forging an agreement among these nations to prevent the rise of another superpower. They would achieve a delicate balance of power among European nation-states, with no nation dominant. As in nineteenth-century Europe, today’s traditional media companies must decide how to deal with the new superpower, Google. Do they aggressively compete or do they collaborate? Can they achieve a balance of power? The strategy media companies choose will pivot, as it did in Metternich’s day, on whether they assume they are strong or weak. If executives of old media believe their business model is strong—that content is king—their strategy will likely veer from those who believe they are gravely threatened. If executives feel particularly vulnerable, convinced that they require substantial financial and security guarantees before risking their copyrighted material, they are likely to focus on these fears rather than on their best hopes for the Internet. And if they distrust Google’s intentions, cooperative agreements will be elusive.
o achieve a balance of power against Napoleonic France, Prince Metternich of Austria helped organize the weaker European monarchies—Austria, Prussia, Russia—into an alliance. And in the Congress of Vienna, which followed the defeat of Napoleon, he maneuvered to maintain peace in Europe by forging an agreement among these nations to prevent the rise of another superpower. They would achieve a delicate balance of power among European nation-states, with no nation dominant. As in nineteenth-century Europe, today’s traditional media companies must decide how to deal with the new superpower, Google. Do they aggressively compete or do they collaborate? Can they achieve a balance of power? The strategy media companies choose will pivot, as it did in Metternich’s day, on whether they assume they are strong or weak. If executives of old media believe their business model is strong—that content is king—their strategy will likely veer from those who believe they are gravely threatened. If executives feel particularly vulnerable, convinced that they require substantial financial and security guarantees before risking their copyrighted material, they are likely to focus on these fears rather than on their best hopes for the Internet. And if they distrust Google’s intentions, cooperative agreements will be elusive.
Although Google appears less vulnerable than Napoleon turned out to be, many traditional media companies chose to stick out their chests. Viacom filed a lawsuit, as the book publishing industry had. Fox and NBC refused to join Redstone’s lawsuit but teamed up to create Hulu as a rival to YouTube out of fear that YouTube would cannibalize their audience and cheapen the value of their content. “The economics around these digital properties are not yet fully formed—that’s five years away,” NBC Universal CEO Jeff Zucker told a Harvard audience in early 2008. “We can’t trade today’s analog dollars for digital pennies.”
Zucker’s dollars-for-pennies claim is “not the right way to look at it,” said David Rosenblatt, Google’s then president, global display advertising, and the former CEO of DoubleClick. “That implies that the preservation of your existing business is more important than understanding what the new economy will be. My great-grandfather was in the ostrich-feather business. He went out of business in the early part of the twentieth century because ostrich feathers, which women wore attached to their hats and had worked well in carriages, no longer fit into automobiles. He could have said, ‘I need to find smaller feathers to preserve my business.’” Despite these entreaties, Zucker, like many of those in traditional media, viewed Google as a frenemy.
Microsoft, like Viacom, treated Google as an outright enemy. This was never more evident than during the winter of 2008, when it made a Murdoch-like bid of $44.6 billion to acquire Yahoo, a valuation of $31 per share, or 62 percent more than Yahoo’s stock price at the time. The battle that ensued left Microsoft and Yahoo bloodied and embarrassed, each wounded by self-inflicted blows.
There were reasons for Microsoft to pursue Yahoo. On paper, it was a way to increase Microsoft’s then meager 9 percent share of the search market and to boost the $3.2 billion in online advertising Microsoft totaled in 2008, a figure dwarfed by Google’s more than $20 billion; it was a way for Microsoft to piggyback on Yahoo’s lead over Google in display advertising; it was a way for Microsoft to combine its MSN portal and e-mail with Yahoo and achieve a dominant market share; it was a way to shore up Microsoft’s defenses against Google’s cloud computing offensive.
Yahoo clumsily resisted. After initially rejecting the offer, Yahoo CEO Jerry Yang and his board feigned interest; then again said they were not interested; then swallowed a poison pill so costly—saying at first that it would award each of its fourteen thousand employees a two-year window in which, if Microsoft won, they could quit and pocket generous severance benefits—that Yahoo was later compelled to abandon it. Yang and his board then said they’d accept thirty-seven dollars per share; then lowered this to thirty-three dollars; then said they’d consider selling just their search engine and not the rest of Yahoo. Microsoft’s moves were equally maladroit. Steve Ballmer called off discussions, then put them on, then off again; he sought partners to make another run at Yahoo; then threatened to mount a proxy fight to remove the Yahoo board; then said he was no longer interested in Yahoo. By the end of 2008, the general he had placed in charge of Microsoft’s battle plans, a man named Kevin Johnson, had left the company.
This comedy continued at the Dow
Jones/Wall Street Journal’s
annual D Conference in San Diego. Ballmer and Yang met privately that day, May 27. In the opening session that evening, Ballmer, answering pointed questions from
Journal
columnists Walt Mossberg and Kara Swisher, insisted, “We are not rebidding for the company.” But he opened the door a crack, saying, “We reserve the right to do so.” The next day on stage, Jerry Yang answered their questions and said the opposite, declaring that Microsoft had slammed the door shut and “was not interested anymore in buying the company.” In November, Ballmer told his annual shareholders’ gathering that Microsoft had “moved on” and was “done with all acquisitions discussions” with Yahoo. In December, he said he was interested in acquiring Yahoo’s search business “sooner than later.”
Jones/Wall Street Journal’s
annual D Conference in San Diego. Ballmer and Yang met privately that day, May 27. In the opening session that evening, Ballmer, answering pointed questions from
Journal
columnists Walt Mossberg and Kara Swisher, insisted, “We are not rebidding for the company.” But he opened the door a crack, saying, “We reserve the right to do so.” The next day on stage, Jerry Yang answered their questions and said the opposite, declaring that Microsoft had slammed the door shut and “was not interested anymore in buying the company.” In November, Ballmer told his annual shareholders’ gathering that Microsoft had “moved on” and was “done with all acquisitions discussions” with Yahoo. In December, he said he was interested in acquiring Yahoo’s search business “sooner than later.”
Yahoo shareholders were bludgeoned by these gyrations. In January 2009, Yahoo’s stock was trading at around $12.00 per share, well below its $19.18 price on the day Microsoft made its initial bid a year earlier. Each company appeared indecisive. As the venture capitalist Roger McNamee observed, “The two biggest forces competing against Google have banged heads and knocked themselves unconscious.”
Microsoft was unaccustomed to losing. The ever-competitive Ballmer, a Microsoft adviser admitted, was filled with “jealousy” and rage that Google was doing what Netscape had done a decade before, not merely challenging but “mooning the giant.” Jealousy and rage are not the sturdiest foundations for rational decision making.
Microsoft seemed to affect Google’s testosterone level as well. Sergey Brin told the Associated Press that Microsoft’s takeover bid was “unnerving.” It would grant Microsoft near-monopoly power, not just over operating systems and browsers but would also “tie up the top Web sites, and could be used to manipulate stuff in various ways.” Eric Schmidt insisted that he believes in sitting down and talking to everyone. But did this include Microsoft? Reflecting a professional lifetime of being on the other side of the Redmond giant, Schmidt said, “If Microsoft wanted to do a business deal with us, we’d do it. You betcha. But we’d bring a tape recorder!”
Jitters aside, Google would find a way to gain advantage from the Yahoo-Microsoft melee, but not without getting bloodied itself. The company’s Executive Committee and Board of Directors held meetings to devise a blocking strategy. They discussed petitioning the Justice Department to obstruct the merger, using the same antitrust arguments Microsoft had employed to try to stop Google from acquiring DoubleClick. They wrestled with whether to make their own bid for Yahoo, but decided it would be difficult to integrate two large companies with different cultures and assumed, in any case, that the government would disallow on antitrust grounds a merger of the two dominant search engines. They reached out to Jerry Yang and in the spring jointly devised a roadblock strategy; they announced that Google would become the selling agent for a large portion of Yahoo’s search ads. “It gives them a tool to avoid being swallowed by Microsoft,” Eric Schmidt said at the time. Asked in September 2008 what was the most important Google event of the previous six months, Schmidt said, “the Yahoo business deal.... It was a setback for Microsoft.”
Google’s effort to have the Justice Department block Microsoft’s bid for Yahoo brought to mind Ralph Waldo Emerson’s delicious observation that “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” Like other corporations, Google and Microsoft extol the virtues of government’s leaving them unfettered, free to innovate—except when they call on government to intervene in order for them to gain a competitive advantage. But antitrust concerns were a real issue for others. The Association of National Advertisers, which represents major companies such as Procter & Gamble, petitioned Justice to block a Google/Yahoo alliance. The World Association of Newspapers, which represents eighteen thousand newspapers, urged both the Justice Department and the European Union to block the deal. This opposition unnerved Page and Brin. According to a member of Google’s senior management team, the idea that Justice was more concerned about Google’s becoming a monopoly than Microsoft provoked an uncomfortable discussion at a September 2008 executive committee meeting. The founders, this executive said, were “very upset” to be compared with Gates’s “evil empire.” They ranted about how Google was making the Web more accessible, not trying to kill competition. That the government could think they were trying to squelch search competition, or might possess too much leverage over advertisers, baffled them. They could not comprehend the anti-Google sentiment that was building.
This executive committee meeting coincided with the annual Google Zeitgeist press luncheon, and there I asked Brin and Page, “How do you feel when people accuse you of potentially doing evil?”
Not surprisingly, they didn’t really answer my question. “If you look at our products, search being our most popular one,” Brin said, “we don’t lock anyone into search.”
“The value to the world,” said Page, “of having access to everything for free everywhere, all the time, really fast, without degraded service anywhere, has really been a tremendous thing.”
A decade earlier, Bill Gates had felt similarly hurt that the government would call his motives into question by filing charges that Microsoft, which provided 95 percent of PC operating systems in America, was a monopoly. This blind spot to public fears, to emotion, prevented Gates from properly reading people, from anticipating the challenges that would materialize in Washington. Now Page and Brin seemed to have the same blind spot.
This emotional opaqueness was on display on the second day of the 2008 Zeitgeist. Al Gore was to conclude the conference by interviewing Page and Brin. The three men chatted on stage for a few minutes when Page interrupted to say that Brin wanted ten minutes to share something. Brin stepped to a microphone and riveted the audience for about ten minutes with a precise, impersonal account of his mother’s recent diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease. He explained that his wife, Anne Wojcicki, had cofounded 23andMe to study genetics, including the genetics of Parkinson’s. He said the evidence of a genetic link to Parkinson’s was at first slight, but studies had recently unearthed one gene, LRRK2, in particular a mutation known as G2019S, that in some ethnic groups creates a familial link through which the disease travels.
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