For the average bettor enjoying the best odds on liontips.com, success is largely measured by the profits his bets yield. It is different for movie producers who measure success on how many eyeballs feasted on their movies.
For the latter category, Squid Game was a resounding success by all metrics, and Netflix couldn’t be happier for the massive adoption it enjoyed.
More than 142 million households globally watched the movie. What is more, Squid Game recorded an enormous impact value of $891.1 million. This was 41.7 times its budget (which sits at a relatively lowly $21.4 million).
But what stands this movie out? For many, it is the suspense and the way its gruesomeness was garnished with thrill.
But underlying all these, the Squid Game reflects the fundamental survival instinct of man. It reveals the levels of apathetic competitiveness and savagely inhumaneness we can fall to when our lives are on the line.
Interestingly, the Squid Game amply dramatizes the fierce competitiveness in today’s sports.
Think about some of the biggest sporting tournaments in the world. If we take soccer, for example, then we would mention the epic likes of the World Cup, Champions League, Premier League, Seria A, and Bundes Liga.
On the outside, football in such premium competitions is portrayed as a “team” sport. From the outside, it can be assumed that teams are one united family with one common goal where everyone is trying to help each other.
The truth is, such unity exists only on paper. In real life and in the dressing room, it is a tense – and at times uncivilized – competitive arena where everyone is competing against everyone for the starting eleven that plays.
Like Squid Game, everyone can’t win, and some people’s losses will be someone else’s gain. Players battling for a position on a team profess to have healthy competition between them.
Yet, Player B rejoices internally when Player A sustains an injury or any other misfortune that causes him not to play.
Player A, when injured, shamelessly wishes within him that Player B doesn’t deliver too outstanding performances so as not to keep him (Player A) out of the team when he recovers.
Yet, these players, farcically profess comradeship and try to demonstrate an environment of camaraderie for the journalists’ cameras and the newspaper headlines.
We have also seen players who profess to “want the best for their teammate” competing for the same spot with them But the same players “strangely” and openly demand a transfer when they are not starting.
The big – but often avoided question is – for the player demanding to leave to be restored to the team, who has to leave?
As typical of Squid Game, everyone wants glory FOR HIMSELF. And coaches are helplessly caught in these battles.
This often leads to dressing room mutiny, where a cabal of dissatisfied players forms.
Being the virus that it is, this small cluster of dissatisfied payers infects other teammates, denigrating the dressing room’s positive energy. There is no way this wouldn’t affect results on the pitch if not aptly controlled.
We also see Squid Games when a coach is about to be sacked. Yes, the coach is losing his job, his means of livelihood, and in some cases, his career as a whole.
Yet some players – who felt out of favor under the departing coach – are invigorated. The coach’s death (herein his sack) is their resurrection, giving them ample space to resuscitate their career at that club.
At the end of the day, as Seong Gi-hun showed us in Squid Games, it is every man for himself!