Monopoly player tokens underpin our financial system and should not be toyed with
The academic James Flynn once explained how urban people think differently from tribal folk. His explanation goes like this: on being asked what connects a horse, a dog and a rabbit, a tribal person will say “I use a horse and a dog to hunt rabbit”, while an urbanite is more likely to say “they are all mammals”.
Recently when I asked a sample group of city slickers and tribesmen a similar question about what connected a dog, an iron, a top hat, an old boot, a racing car and a ship, almost all of them said: “they are all property investors”. (Although some tried “a dog wears a boot and a hat while doing the ironing on a car ferry” and a few, having heard the first question, chanced their arms with “they are all mammals”). The first answer is the correct one.
And people know it because of Monopoly, a board game in which children are encouraged to act like cruel and rapacious landlords. According to Hasbro, the makers of Monopoly, the game was invented in the 1930s by Charles Darrow.
Like many people, Darrow began that troubled decade wearing a barrel and braces (a look currently making a comeback), but was soon flaunting the black tie, monocle and handsome obesity of an industry fat cat as his game of parlour capitalism became a huge success.
Unreal currency
In Monopoly, players are given unreal currency to purchase notional real estate (see also: the Irish property market 2001 to 2007).
Crucially, each player is also given a metal token to represent their rent-seeking interests, traditionally a dog, an iron, a top hat, an old boot, a car, a ship, a thimble and a wheelbarrow. Taken together they are a triumph of worrying randomness.
For fans of capitalist mysticism, these sacred icons are up there with Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand (a famous vaudeville act which usually concluded with proto-economist Smith winking and saying: “Sorry luv, must have been my invisible hand!”).
Their presence in the game triggers many distracting questions. Is the dog a giant dog the size of a ship? Or is the ship a tiny ship the size of a dog? Is there a little man driving the little car? Does the iron envy the dog’s capacity to feel emotion? Does the dog admire the iron’s steely grace under pressure? And could I pull off wearing a real top hat? I’d say I could actually; I have that sort of face.
Diamond ring
This week Hasbro announced it would be replacing one Monopoly token with an item from a new list including a diamond ring, a guitar, a toy robot, a cat and a helicopter, based on the whims of its fans.
This understandably spooked skittish investors and markets went into freefall (I haven’t actually checked because I’m a columnist). At the very thought of this new paradigm, George Soros, a hat-man, started to cry.
There are different views on the importance of Monopoly tokens to the free flow of capital. Jungian economists believe that there are eight types of people, each corresponding psychologically to the pieces on the Monopoly board and that we shouldn’t mess with this careful balance.
(The dog is a wolfish investor, the ship a business mogul, the old boot is Alan Sugar, and so on.)
Radical thinkers such as Paul Krugman feel that there are only two kinds of people: those who can ignore the troubling metal tokens in order to play the game, and those who can’t stop thinking: “Why am I an old boot? What does an old boot know about real estate? What would a piece of footwear want with a water utility?”
Meanwhile, those people’s less-philosophical friend Cormac amasses red hotels and must be cheating in some way. He always wants to be the Scottie dog. It’s not fair. I want to be the Scottie dog.
Next week: Buckaroo and its role in western philosophy
