Global culture is all about marketing. The bigger the numbers the bigger the success. Events are measured in viewership. In fact, if nobody tunes in to watch, 'reality' doesn't happen at all.

The wheel has come full circle since the days of early Rome where the Colosseum hosted battles to the death to titillate an insatiable hunger for more extreme entertainment. In the year 2000, we have Jackass. We have a list of extreme dare, Fear Factor-style shows and we have, through exponential marketing, created a lust for the old freak show mindset.

Now, this freak show mindset has infected a quiet corner where sanity has previously prevailed - cricket!

'It's a sad day when true talent and accomplishment take a back seat to the freak show'


Marketing cricket has put the sport on a slippery slide into the gutter of the glitteratti. The new Rodeo cricket, branded for increased viewship, see's a reversal of the value systems that have been the foundation of the game for 200-plus years.

Flash-in-the-pan big hitters are one example. I fear the day a hack cricketer, complete with tats, earrings and psychedelic shades (Brendon McCullum) is hailed as the greatest of an era. We've seen it before, why not in cricket?

In contrast, in Ethiopia, Maselam Alibi, gets out of bed and runs to his neighbouring village to call the doctor for his pregnant wife. Alibi, returns, smashing the world record for the 43 kilometre marathon distance in both directions by 5 mins. Has anyone here heard of Alibi?

Who's accomplishment do you value? McCullum, who will be raking in obscene amounts of cash for his 10 minutes of glory, or for something that contains a simple truth.

Cricket isn't about truth anymore. The designer pitches, the designer players, the designer outfits and designed outcomes are less and less appealing to anyone other than extreme freak show, thrill-seeking adrenaline junkies. The sport is lost to the PlayStation, McDonalds generation.

It's a sad day when true talent and accomplishment take a back seat to the freak show. How long will it be before we have cyborg bowling machines pitching perfectly designed balls at triple-breasted Pamela Anderson clones in cricket?

The way I look at it, and judging by the hunger of the thrill-seeking hordes, we are already there.