10 Things 7

GH on ignoring the IPL, Baby Reindeer, a mathematical genius and a neglected office comedy classic.

1/ The IPL is still going.

2/ To Anthony Downs, a pioneer in the field of rational choice theory, do we owe the useful concept of ‘rational ignorance’, classically defined as ‘refraining from acquiring knowledge when the presumed cost of educating oneself on an issue exceeds the expected potential benefit of the knowledge.’ Regular readers will be aware that this is the way I have been treating the IPL.  My confrere Sam Perry, as he explained last week, is following it closely as part of his portfolio of responsibilities for The Grade Cricketer, leaning against the counter view that ‘to many, the tournament is nothing but an emblem of saturation sports culture, appealing to our shallowest instincts, its mere existence an insult to our sensibilities, and the arch threat to the cricket many hold dear.’  But that is not why I am taking no interest in it.  Rather is there now too much of the IPL to absorb - in its souped-up version of seventy-four matches, growing inexorably - in any way that is useful to me. 

3/ In the matter of ‘rational ignorance’, Downs had the context of democracy in mind.  Wikipedia summarises for us: ‘Ignorance about an issue is said to be "rational" when the cost of educating oneself about the issue sufficiently to make an informed decision can outweigh any potential benefit one could reasonably expect to gain from that decision, and so it would be irrational to waste time doing so. This has consequences for the quality of decisions made by large numbers of people, such as in general elections, where the probability of any one vote changing the outcome is very small.’  My choice isn’t, of course, of quite the same nature.  But my not casting my consumer’s vote for the IPL will make zero difference to the outcome or to my life.

4/ It’s not like I’m paying no attention at all, for I do find the highlights quite more-ish - you can easily waste a half hour piling one colourful cascade of sixes and fan panoramas on one another.  These packages are a genre in themselves: T20 reduced effectively to a tight T7 of boundaries and wickets, one money shot after the other (‘That’s big!’; ‘That’s outta here!’ etc).  I enjoy the deafening cheers for any hometown feat and sullen mutedness for anything achieved by visitors too.

5/ Actually, there’s another factor: my lack of allegiance.  I don’t follow any team; I have no stake; it’s not a prerequisite for following sport but it certainly helps.  I used to take an interest in Sunrisers Hyderabad when David Warner was captain, but it lapsed when he left, and hasn’t been rekindled by the captaincy of Pat Cummins.  I also followed Royal Challengers Bangalore assiduously in 2021 when my co-author Daniel Christian was playing there, but I’m not signing up to see them get pumped every other day.

5/ The other trouble is that my favourite skill in T20, boundary fielding, sharpened to a effectiveness unthinkable even a decade ago, does not seem to be considered a highlight - maybe, by preventing fours and sixes, it even constitutes an anti-highlight.  Indian grounds are in any case too small, and the fielding culture too shallow; dew-soaked cricket balls probably don’t help either.  So listening to commentators creaming themselves steadily turns into a chore.  You tell yourself that there’s another game round the corner, that you can catch up later, that you’ll tune in for the finals, that’s it not exactly your last chance to see Marcus Stoinis hit a six or hear Danny Morrison climax, and move on to activities of greater marginal utility.  Cleaning the bathroom, for instance, or sorting the recycling.  So the IPL’s going to have to get on without me, and I dare say it will.

6/ The business of taking no interest in sport reminded me of some lines in Alexander Masters’ A Genius In My Basement, which chronicles the life of the mathematics prodigy Simon Norton. It’s reviewed here. In a childhood test, Norton was estimated to have an IQ of 178.  When he sat the entrance exam at Eton, his report read simply: ‘!!’  But a master found him woefully disengaged from sport: ‘During a game of cricket he spends his time counting blades of grass or calculating angles.  He takes about as much interest in the proceedings as Archimedes did during the Siege of Syracuse.’

7/ Meanwhile, I’ve watched three episodes of Baby Reindeer, Netflix’s radioactively hot new series based on its creator Richard Gadd’s experience of being stalked by a fixated middle-aged woman between 2015 and 2017 - sort of Stephen King’s Misery for the social media age, having taken the Fleabag route from one-person show to the screen.

8/ I dare say I’ll see it through, but so far it’s felt a bit trite.  Martha the stalker is so obviously mentally ill that the fascination can derive only from her escalating repulsiveness, and that has its limits.  It reminds me of Ian McEwan’s Enduring Love, where all the ambiguity, subtlety and suspense is dispelled by the deus ex machina that Jed suffers erotomania.  Sick person meets well person; sick person does sick things, is eventually taken away; well person lives more or less happily ever after; nothing really to think about afterwards.  Yes, Gadd has his demons.  But now he’s on Netflix.  Cured!

9/ This, I suspect, is because mental illness continues to defy popular characterisation and social patience.  Viz Joel Cauchi, Bondi Junction’s knife-wielding killer.  We’ve quickly defaulted to hand-wringing recriminations against the media, mass and social, for disseminating footage of his rampage.  But this is what media is designed to do: one might as well complain of a river running.  Of Cauchi we have been provided with only the lamest of speculations: police think he may have targeted women; police think he may have had an interest in knives etc. Gee, d’ya reckon?  Cauchi has exhausted our capacity for inquiry - and so the demonology of schizophrenia is reinforced. 

10/ Anyway, stand-up comedians and monologuists turning routines into movies and television will probably now also become a thing, although it has precedents too: Spalding Grey’s Swimming to Cambodia and Monster in a Box come to mind.  In a more cheerful vein I recommend Josh Kornbluth’s Haiku Tunnel, a deliriously weird 2001 office comedy derived from a stand-up show based on his experiences working in a legal firm.  Fun facts: Kornbluth’s screen test was performing his routine for Harvey Weinstein, who said he was going to make him a star; Haiku Tunnel then had the misfortune to be released on 9/11.  But it’s worth checking out: think David Brent in Law & Order. 

10 +1/ There’s also always Trailer Park Boys.  Ricky: ‘I mean how many fathers can give a nine-year-old daughter a car? I'm just happy I'm in a position where I can do something like that.’