“Premier League football clubs don’t want to engage with fans. They want to sell them stuff.”

How business is throttling sport.

“Sport saturates everyday life.” That observation, made by Professor Stefan Szymanski in a video link address to Northampton University Business School’s Future of Sport conference recently, seems so obvious as to be bland. Yet it is worth thinking about the implications of that statement – what it means for people, and for sport itself.

Szymanski is a Professor at the University of Michigan Centre for Sports Management, and recognised as one of the world’s leading sports economists. Yes. A sports economist. Also at the conference were specialist sports marketing types, sports communication consultants, cultural policy and information studies academics, media technology wonks – and a smattering of sports journalists. There is, clearly, more to sport than a bit of fun.

That last line probably seems trite, but it’s there to make a point. Any critique of the modern sports industry risks being dismissed as the hankering for an imagined Corinthian past in which playing the game for its own sake outweighed vulgar commerce. It’s a dismissal that is too simplistic, although as the debate rages about the commercialisation of sport it is perhaps ironic to reflect that it was professionalism’s sweeping aside of the amateur ethos that helped football – the sport that dominates any discussion of sport or the sporting business in Britain – become a mass sport open to all.

But as the lines between sport and business become ever more blurred, sport risks losing the qualities that make it attractive to business. What appeals to many fans about sport is that it is not business. It does not, at its best, have the certainties that must make up a successful business plan, and it’s that element of the unexpected, of genuine competition, that draws an audience. I’m reminded at this point of the great footballer and journalist Danny Blanchflower irritating his producers in the early days of televised football coverage in typically contrary style by answering the question “Who do you think will win?” with the answer “I don’t know, that’s why they’re playing this game.”

The reason sports have become successful businesses, and the reason business wants to associate itself with sport, is because of what is perceived as the essential honesty of sporting competition. When that goes, so does the attraction. That’s why Lance Armstrong is such a hugely damaging figure, why many found it hard to watch athletics with the same enthusiasm after Ben Johnson’s astonishing sprint at the 1988 Olympics was revealed to be drug-fuelled. Sport is important to people. As conference organiser Alan Seymour said in his introduction, “The attention within the UK given to sport, its place in our lives and its contribution to language and culture makes it a major influence on attitudes, behaviour and community. The marketer who ignores sport as an influence on the consumer makes a major mistake.”

The buzzword of the day was “engagement”. Seymour spoke of “a growing necessity for sports properties and organisations to develop new platforms of association with their publics, audiences and loyal fan bases” and of a need to “understand the motivations that bring individuals to consume sporting events”. And exploring this ground threw up the tension that sits at its centre, a tension which boiled over into some lively exchanges throughout the day. Because for many sports fans, being treated as consumers who can be squeezed and sold to and exploited is not what draws them in. And seeing the sporting business appropriate the passion and culture fans have created in order to sell the "product" back to them really gets their goat.

After a slick opening presentation by US sports marketing expert Bill Sutton, full of talk of brands and positioning and opportunities, John Williams – the leading academic authority on fan culture in Britain and a Liverpool FC season ticket holder for 30 years – ventured the opinion that “a lot of what is wrong with sport is down to people like you”. When I spoke to Williams later he said that there was “too much technological determinism” on show. Engaging with fans surely had to mean more than seeing them simply as units to be sold at. Times football editor Tony Evans, who I was on a panel with, was typically blunt in his assessment. “Premier League football clubs don’t want to engage with fans,” he said. “They want to sell them stuff.”

The suspicion of many is that for all the high-falutin talk of achievement and passion and prowess, the bottom line is just about getting us to part with our money. And that makes sport just like everything else. That tension ran through the conference, through the demonstration by an unprecedented alliance of football fans at Premier League HQ this week, and through the huge demonstrations in Brazil, where a population sold by the marketers as football crazy is questioning the whole ball game.

Is engagement just another sales pitch, or could it, should it, be something truer to the word’s dictionary definition as something which involves? Would genuinely engaged fans help preserve the qualities that make sport attractive? In English Premiership football, as in America’s NFL, the crowd are “extras in a show put on at a stadium” said Szymanski. The product’s consumers have become part of the product, yet seem powerless to shape it. Over half of the Premiership’s revenues are generated globally.

And as Szymanski observed in his summing up, “Advances in new media over the last 20 years are completely changing the way we consume sport.” Perhaps most worrying of all, those changes can shape the sport itself. Szymanski used the example of cricket’s Indian Premier League and its huge reach. “Kids growing up wanting to play cricket will want to play 20/20,” he said. “That means the skill that will be rewarded is hitting sixes.”

Business and media sought to link with sport because of the power of its essential qualities. As they tighten their grip on sport, they risk destroying those qualities, and therefore its usefulness to them.

Photograph: Getty Images

Martin Cloake is a writer and editor based in London. You can follow him on Twitter at @MartinCloake.

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By refusing to stand down, Jeremy Corbyn has betrayed the British working classes

The most successful Labour politicians of the last decades brought to politics not only a burning desire to improve the lot of the working classes but also an understanding of how free market economies work.

Jeremy Corbyn has defended his refusal to resign the leadership of the Labour Party on the grounds that to do so would be betraying all his supporters in the country at large. But by staying on as leader of the party and hence dooming it to heavy defeat in the next general election he would be betraying the interests of the working classes this country. More years of Tory rule means more years of austerity, further cuts in public services, and perpetuation of the gross inequality of incomes. The former Chief Secretary to the Treasury, Seema Malhotra, made the same point when she told Newsnight that “We have an unelectable leader, and if we lose elections then the price of our failure is paid by the working people of this country and their families who do not have a government to stand up for them.”

Of course, in different ways, many leading figures in the Labour movement, particularly in the trade unions, have betrayed the interests of the working classes for several decades. For example, in contrast with their union counterparts in the Scandinavian countries who pressurised governments to help move workers out of declining industries into expanding sectors of the economy, many British trade union leaders adopted the opposite policy. More generally, the trade unions have played a big part in the election of Labour party leaders, like Corbyn, who were unlikely to win a parliamentary election, thereby perpetuating the rule of Tory governments dedicated to promoting the interests of the richer sections of society.

And worse still, even in opposition Corbyn failed to protect the interests of the working classes. He did this by his abysmal failure to understand the significance of Tory economic policies. For example, when the Chancellor of the Exchequer had finished presenting the last budget, in which taxes were reduced for the rich at the expense of public services that benefit everybody, especially the poor, the best John McConnell could do – presumably in agreement with Corbyn – was to stand up and mock the Chancellor for having failed to fulfill his party’s old promise to balance the budget by this year! Obviously neither he nor Corbyn understood that had the government done so the effects on working class standards of living would have been even worse. Neither of them seems to have learnt that the object of fiscal policy is to balance the economy, not the budget.

Instead, they have gone along with Tory myth about the importance of not leaving future generations with the burden of debt. They have never asked “To whom would future generations owe this debt?” To their dead ancestors? To Martians? When Cameron and his accomplices banged on about how important it was to cut public expenditures because the average household in Britain owed about £3,000, they never pointed out that this meant that the average household in Britain was a creditor to the tune of about the same amount (after allowing for net overseas lending). Instead they went along with all this balanced budget nonsense. They did not understand that balancing the budget was just the excuse needed to justify the prime objective of the Tory Party, namely to reduce public expenditures in order to be able to reduce taxes on the rich. For Corbyn and his allies to go along with an overriding objective of balancing the budget is breathtaking economic illiteracy. And the working classes have paid the price.

One left-wing member of the panel on Question Time last week complained that the interests of the working classes were ignored by “the elite”. But it is members of the elite who have been most successful in promoting the interests of the working classes. The most successful pro-working class governments since the war have all been led mainly by politicians who would be castigated for being part of the elite, such as Clement Atlee, Harold Wilson, Tony Crosland, Barbara Castle, Richard Crossman, Roy Jenkins, Denis Healey, Tony Blair, and many others too numerous to list. They brought to politics not only a burning desire to improve the lot of the working classes (from which some of them, like me, had emerged) and reduce inequality in society but also an understanding of how free market economies work and how to deal with its deficiencies. This happens to be more effective than ignorant rhetoric that can only stroke the egos and satisfy the vanity of demagogues

People of stature like those I have singled out above seem to be much more rare in politics these days. But there is surely no need to go to other extreme and persist with leaders like Jeremy Corbyn, a certain election loser, however pure his motives and principled his ambitions.

Wilfred Beckerman is an Emeritus Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford, and was, for several years in the 1970s, the economics correspondent for the New Statesman