Final word: Supporting the gerbil

James Griffin. Photo / Dean Purcell

Opinion

Of late, I have come to worry about a certain mega sporting event due to be staged in this country this year. I'm not even sure anymore if I'm allowed to mention, in print, the (trademarked) name of this event without first having cleared the right to do so from the organisers of said event, but it does involve the words "cup", "world" and "rugby" - though not necessarily in that order. To be on the safe side, lest I incur the wrath of their lawyers who might ream me from stem to stern, I will call this event the R#by Wo#*d C^p.

The R#by Wo#*d C^p is one of the biggest sporting events in the world, while New Zealand is among the smaller nations. And it is my fear that when something big gets involved with something small, inevitably it is the small thing that suffers. Imagine, if you will, a sperm whale mating with a gerbil. It is never going to end well for the gerbil. My worry that when it comes to the R#by Wo#*d C^p, we are potentially the gerbil in this relationship.

Specifically, I worry for the soul of this nation because where there are mega sporting events like the R#by Wo#*d C^p there are always big corporations and when big corporations get involved the soul is generally the first thing to get bypassed. What was once, in this country, a game where kids ignored the orders of their mothers and ran around in bare feet on frosty mornings kicking an oval ball and getting their school uniforms dirty, is now all about corporate packages, tourist numbers and keeping the official sponsors happy.

It's hard to ignore this process. Every time you turn on the television these days there's an ad for the official sheep drench, feminine-hygiene product or iced tea of the R#by Wo#*d C^p. Every second billboard you look at features an All Black looking back at you and every newspaper you open is full of stories about ticket sales, economic impacts and how the streets around Eden Park will be like the Green Zone in Baghdad during the tournament, barricaded off from the rest of the world.

Then there are the stories that filter through into the collective consciousness. Of the bureaucratic nightmares small businesses within the Eden Park Green Zone face trying to stay open later so they may at least profit somewhat from the weeks and months of inconvenience. Of the anticipating price-gouging when the hordes of tourists come rolling into town, flush with krugerrands and euros. Of how, if you try to buy a beer at Eden Park during a match with the wrong brand of plastic card, you'll be out of luck, because what the official sponsor wants, the official sponsor gets.

Now of course none of these may be true, but they do kind of ring true, which is precisely what has caused me to worry about our eternal soul. Where will the corporate intrusion into the heart of New Zealand rugby end during the R#by Wo#*d C^p?

Will all those people just outside the Green Zone who sell parking spaces on their lawn or on their school netball courts for $5 a car be slapped with cease and desist orders by roving bands of R#by Wo#*d C^p lawyers, unless they enter into a service-provider deal with the organisers?

Will those kids seeking to make a few bucks selling sausages in bread for $2 to people walking to the ground be set upon by other roving bands of R#by Wo#*d C^p lawyers protecting the franchise rights of the vendors selling food for a lot more than $2 a sausage within Eden Park?

Will anyone who turns up at Eden Park with face and/or body painting which includes trademarked symbols such as silver ferns or R#by Wo#*d C^p logos have to remove the unlicensed reproduction of a licensed image from their face and/or tummy before they are allowed entry into the ground?

Okay, there is a remote possibility I'm being a tad paranoid here, but when (a) vast sums of money and (b) lawyers are involved, paranoia is often an appropriate mindset. And it would be very sad if the whole corporate box culture of the R#by Wo#*d C^p totally overwhelmed the fact this is meant to be fun. When you stop and think about it there is no earthly reason why rugby (or any sport, for that matter) should exist, except that it is fun to play and watch. Even at the highest level of rugby, up there with the All Blacks and the Springboks, it should be about enjoyment, rather than who is coining it.

And it would be sad, I reckon, if at our very own R#by Wo#*d C^p the gerbil of fun gets dealt to cruelly by the sperm whale of commerce.