The Invisible Hand, the Rise of Indian Cricket and the Severe Debasement of Barbie

“The propensity to truck, barter and exchange one thing for another is common to all men, and to be found in no other race of animals”
-Adam Smith, economist and philosopher

Saturday evening was somewhat traumatizing. It was a night that won’t quickly be forgotten by your grounded author and the thirty-odd other men who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It all started off innocent enough. Well, as innocent as any reasonable man can expect a buck’s night to be. Some heavy afternoon drinking had spirits up, as did the brief dalliance with transvestism by the soon-to-be-wed buck. The air was filled with mirth, reminiscence and childish giddiness.

And then came, what those in the business of adult entertainment call, the exotic dancing.

Having just enjoyed a drunken “Piano Man” sing-a-long, word was sent down the wire that it was time for The Show to start. Oh Lord, if only we had all walked away. To take back those twenty minutes, to permanently eradicate the trauma now entrenched in my memory and that of many others who will now require constant psychological assistance for many years to come. The monumental nature of such a seemingly small decision was soon realised. We were at a critical juncture yet none of us appreciated the seriousness of the fork in the road. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…” The die, however, had already been cast and everybody from Luke Rhinehart to some two-bit croupier at the Hooters casino in North Vegas will tell you that once the die has been cast, there is no turning back. Buy the ticket, take the ride.

There was a slight shock when we made our way upstairs. The overs-unders on the age of the so-called entertainment was 39 ½ and most were keen to bet the over. There was even more enthusiasm for the over when clothing was removed to reveal a stomach that resembled that of Henry Kissinger and cellulite that bought to mind slaughtered cattle in an abattoir. The over seemed a sure thing until my ever-wise poker associate Bennett leaned across and asked for a significant wager on the under. “Smoking meth all day can do some fucked up things to the human body…hell, that girl could be twenty-three”. I doubted it but his point was well made.

The so-called entertainment, once underway, proceeded to shock and repulse all in attendance. It is doubtful that there has been a more awkward stripper experience. Strange and terrible things were done with various fruits, vegetables, inflatable objects and candles that left all onlookers aghast and wondering how they had suddenly ended up in Thailand. A Barbie doll was also treated in such a degrading manner that one had to show great restraint in remaining seated. Ken certainly never got that kinky. In the end, The Buck walked out after a squashed banana was forced into his trousers in a none-too-becoming manner. The sheer awkwardness of watching The Buck walk out soon compelled, and most willingly I might add, the rest of us to follow.

We, of course, had nobody to blame but ourselves. We engaged in a simple commercial transaction. We demanded a certain form of entertainment and it was supplied to us for a sum of cash. The invisible hand of the market, for good or ill and in this case ill, had facilitated such madness. It was simple free-market economics.

And so, of course, is the much-maligned Indian Premier League.

High-minded journalists, self-interested commentators and a smorgasbord of self-professed experts have taken the simple-minded approach and criticised both the players and the league for greediness. Many were, for strange and interesting reasons, shocked and appalled at the money being paid by team owners for both the franchises and the players. Those who participated were cast as villains, greed-heads who had joined the darkside.

Critics are obviously not inclined to support the notion of the free market as the best indicator for the price of labour. Engels and Marx are the idols of these fools. It is only the ignorant, the lazy and the leeches that would argue against a free market.

The cricketers who signed, quite rightfully, were acting out of self-interest. Dear reader, there would not be too many among us who could say with the sword of truth in our hand that we would not have done the same. The actions of those who joined the IPL are not like those of Lote Tuqiri, whose whorish behaviour betrayed a sport as well as himself. By entering the player auction, all players threw themselves at the feet of the market, a market officially sanctioned and supported by the powers-that-be. There is no shame in that. Players were bid on, like all other commodities. Anybody who thinks the cricketer is any different from sheep or gold or a Bill Henson photograph is ignorant and should be beaten without mercy.

And those who opted against playing in the IPL should not be lauded as heroes. The likes of Michael Clarke, Brad Haddin and Mitchell Johnson made a decision and they will be rewarded for it just as those who did sign will be. Labour is a matter of choice. Those in the market have a right to sell themselves to the highest bidder and they are entitled to collect the cheque of those willing to write it. They also have a choice to sell themselves to anybody for any sum. That is the free market in all its glory.

It must also be remembered that Twenty20 cricket came into existence because of economic considerations. The micro-format was designed to attract those not traditionally interested in cricket, those who consider Test match cricket and even the fifty-over game too long and too boring. Twenty20 cricket hoped to lure women and kids who were seemingly not interested in spending great amounts of time watching a game that can at times be somewhat tedious.

The fact that the BCCI is running the preeminent domestic Twenty20 competition in the world should also not surprise. This is the latest power play by Indian cricket, the latest attempt to wrest control of world cricket from the traditional power of England and Australia. Those who hold the keys of power in India are aware of their economic strength and are not afraid to get heavy, as many in the business of stand-over would say.

The Indian Premier League will, without a doubt, be a rampaging success in India. The country now has the preeminent domestic competition in the world of a sport that borders on religion. India now has its own NFL, its own English Premier League, its own NRL. Indian cricket fans will patronise the games, purchase the merchandise and watch on television in the millions.

It is not an overstatement, however, to suggest that the competition will resonate very little with Australian fans. Channel Ten rolled the dice and God bless them for doing so but it is quite difficult to imagine Australians in the throes of footy season getting particularly excited about the Chennai Super Kings (who are hopefully named after that oh so delicious cigarette) and the Delhi Dare Devils in a meaningless fourth round clash. There will be some initial interest but that will wear off sooner rather than later.

Your sports-loving author will certainly not pay too much heed to the Indian Premier League. Twenty20 cricket is most unfulfilling and there is very little attraction in supporting an Indian domestic league. If, however, my natural cricketing abilities were realised earlier and life as a professional was to be my path, I would be most grateful. And as always I would be grateful to the free market and Adam Smith and common sense. Even if it does mean that occasionally you are led down a road to nasty ice-ravaged strippers.