#1 ·
I was scrolling through some financial news earlier today, and I found myself spiraling into this weird, existential funk about the direction everything is heading. It wasn't even about a specific piece of news, but rather the underlying logic of how we value things these days. It feels like we’ve entered an era where nothing—absolutely nothing—is sacred or "pure" anymore. Everything is being looked at through the lens of an exit strategy or a massive equity play.
I remember being a kid, watching big tournaments or major sporting events, and the whole vibe was different. It felt like these things existed for the sake of the game, the tradition, and the collective experience of the fans. There was a sense that certain organizations were stewards of culture. They held these massive, global treasures in trust, and their job was to protect them, grow them, and pass them on. It was almost a civic duty, in a strange, globalized way.
But lately, it feels like the "stewardship" model is being systematically dismantled in favor of the "asset" model. We’re seeing this shift where entities that used to be defined by their mission or their community connection are suddenly being sliced up into investment vehicles. It’s as if the goal isn't to host a great event or foster a sport, but to create a high-valuation entity that can be leveraged, traded, or sold to the highest bidder.
What really gets me is the concept of "valuation" applied to things that don't have a price tag. How do you put a number on the magic of a once-in-a-lifetime moment? How do you quantify the passion of a fan base that has followed a team or a sport for generations? When you start treating these massive, culturally significant operations as mere equity stakes to be traded, you’re essentially saying that the "value" isn't in the experience itself, but in the potential for a massive capital return.
I see this happening everywhere, not just in sports. It’s in media, it’s in tech, it’s even in how we view community spaces. We are witnessing the "financialization" of everything. We take something that was once a shared human experience and we wrap it in layers of complex corporate structures, private equity interest, and speculative valuation. Once that happens, the priorities shift. The priority is no longer "How do we make this better for the people involved?" but rather "How do we optimize this for the shareholders?"
I worry that once you invite that kind of intense, profit-driven scrutiny into the core of a cultural institution, you can't go back. The incentives become fundamentally misaligned. The people making the decisions aren't looking at the long-term health of the sport or the fans; they're looking at the quarterly projections and the exit multiples. It creates a weird, hollow feeling, like you're participating in a giant, choreographed commercial rather than a living, breathing tradition.
I don't want to sound like a cynical old man, but I can't help but feel like we're losing the "why" behind so many of our most cherished global traditions. We are trading the soul of the spectacle for a seat at a very expensive, very exclusive table. If everything is an investment, then nothing is special. If everything has a price, then nothing has intrinsic value.
Do you think there's a point of no return when a non-profit or a cultural entity starts acting like a private equity firm, or can these organizations still maintain their "soul" once they've been restructured for maximum profit?
I remember being a kid, watching big tournaments or major sporting events, and the whole vibe was different. It felt like these things existed for the sake of the game, the tradition, and the collective experience of the fans. There was a sense that certain organizations were stewards of culture. They held these massive, global treasures in trust, and their job was to protect them, grow them, and pass them on. It was almost a civic duty, in a strange, globalized way.
But lately, it feels like the "stewardship" model is being systematically dismantled in favor of the "asset" model. We’re seeing this shift where entities that used to be defined by their mission or their community connection are suddenly being sliced up into investment vehicles. It’s as if the goal isn't to host a great event or foster a sport, but to create a high-valuation entity that can be leveraged, traded, or sold to the highest bidder.
What really gets me is the concept of "valuation" applied to things that don't have a price tag. How do you put a number on the magic of a once-in-a-lifetime moment? How do you quantify the passion of a fan base that has followed a team or a sport for generations? When you start treating these massive, culturally significant operations as mere equity stakes to be traded, you’re essentially saying that the "value" isn't in the experience itself, but in the potential for a massive capital return.
I see this happening everywhere, not just in sports. It’s in media, it’s in tech, it’s even in how we view community spaces. We are witnessing the "financialization" of everything. We take something that was once a shared human experience and we wrap it in layers of complex corporate structures, private equity interest, and speculative valuation. Once that happens, the priorities shift. The priority is no longer "How do we make this better for the people involved?" but rather "How do we optimize this for the shareholders?"
I worry that once you invite that kind of intense, profit-driven scrutiny into the core of a cultural institution, you can't go back. The incentives become fundamentally misaligned. The people making the decisions aren't looking at the long-term health of the sport or the fans; they're looking at the quarterly projections and the exit multiples. It creates a weird, hollow feeling, like you're participating in a giant, choreographed commercial rather than a living, breathing tradition.
I don't want to sound like a cynical old man, but I can't help but feel like we're losing the "why" behind so many of our most cherished global traditions. We are trading the soul of the spectacle for a seat at a very expensive, very exclusive table. If everything is an investment, then nothing is special. If everything has a price, then nothing has intrinsic value.
Do you think there's a point of no return when a non-profit or a cultural entity starts acting like a private equity firm, or can these organizations still maintain their "soul" once they've been restructured for maximum profit?