The Eternal Colosseum: How Sports Stadiums Are the Modern Arenas of Distraction
The following is as much a history lesson as it is an opinion piece.
If you’ve ever seen the movie, Gladiator, or dived deep into Roman history, you’ll already know that the Colosseum in Ancient Rome stood as a monument to power, entertainment, and control. Built around 70-80 AD under Emperor Vespasian, it was a marvel of engineering and a symbol of Roman dominance. With an estimated seating capacity of 50,000 to 80,000, it hosted gladiatorial combats, animal hunts, and mock sea battles. These spectacles were not merely entertainment; they were tools of political manipulation. Emperors including Julius Caesar used the games to distract the populace from economic hardships, political corruption, and social unrest. The Colosseum was the ultimate stage for bread and circuses—panem et circenses—a strategy to keep the masses content and compliant.
Gladiators, often slaves or prisoners of war, fought for their lives. History tells us that their battles were brutal, bloody, and often fatal. Yet, they were celebrated as heroes, their names chanted by adoring crowds. The gladiatorial games were a microcosm of Roman society: a blend of violence, spectacle, and escapism. The public’s attention was diverted from the empire’s crumbling infrastructure, widening wealth gap, and political scandals. Instead, they focused on the drama unfolding in the arena.
The duration of the gladiatorial games and other spectacles in Ancient Rome was not merely a matter of hours but often spanned days, even weeks, creating an all-encompassing distraction for the populace. These events were meticulously planned to ensure maximum engagement, effectively diverting attention from the empire’s systemic issues.
The most famous of these spectacles were the munera, gladiatorial games, which could last for several days. Emperor Trajan once hosted a festival lasting 123 days to celebrate his victory in the Dacian Wars. This marathon of entertainment included thousands of gladiatorial combats, animal hunts, and public feasts. The scale was staggering: over 10,000 gladiators and 11,000 animals were reportedly used. Such events were not isolated. Emperor Titus inaugurated the Colosseum in 80 AD with 100 days of games, during which 9,000 animals and countless gladiators were displayed. These extended festivals were designed to saturate the public consciousness, leaving little room for dissent or reflection on the empire’s problems.
The ludi, or public games, were another form of prolonged distraction. These events, often tied to religious festivals, could last for weeks. The Ludi Romani, held in September, originally lasted one day but expanded to 15 days by the late Republic. Similarly, the Ludi Plebeii in November grew from one day to 14 days. These games included chariot races, theatrical performances, and gladiatorial combats, creating a continuous cycle of entertainment. The Ludi Apollinares, dedicated to Apollo, lasted eight days, while the Ludi Megalenses, honoring the goddess Cybele, spanned six days. The sheer length of these events ensured that the public remained engrossed in the spectacle, with little time or energy to focus on the empire’s crumbling infrastructure or political scandals.
The venationes, or animal hunts, were another key feature of these extended events. These hunts often preceded gladiatorial combats and could last for hours, sometimes stretching over multiple days. Exotic animals from across the empire—lions, tigers, elephants, and even giraffes—were brought to Rome to be slaughtered in the arena. The logistics of transporting and housing these animals were immense, underscoring the lengths to which the ruling class went to maintain the spectacle. The venationes were not just displays of imperial power but also a way to keep the public’s attention fixed on the arena rather than the empire’s problems.
The naumachiae, or mock naval battles, were among the most elaborate and time-consuming spectacles. These events required the flooding of the arena or the construction of artificial lakes, a process that could take weeks. Julius Caesar famously staged a naumachia in 46 BC to celebrate his quadruple triumph, featuring 2,000 combatants and 4,000 rowers. The event lasted an entire day, captivating the public with its scale and brutality. Similarly, Emperor Claudius staged a naumachia on Lake Fucinus, involving 19,000 participants and lasting several hours. These prolonged displays were not just entertainment but a deliberate strategy, once again, to keep the public’s attention away from the empire’s systemic issues.
The duration of these events was not arbitrary. It was a calculated move by the ruling class to maintain control. By filling the calendar with events and other spectacles, the emperors ensured that the public remained preoccupied. The Roman poet Juvenal famously criticised this strategy in his Satires, writing, “The people that once bestowed commands, consulships, legions, and all else, now meddles no more and longs eagerly for just two things: bread and circuses.” The extended duration of these spectacles was a key part of this strategy, creating a near-constant state of distraction.
In this context, the parallels to modern sport, particularly football, which is where I focus my research, are striking.
While the duration of a single football match is far shorter than a Roman spectacle, the modern football calendar is packed with events designed to maintain public engagement.
The football season runs for almost the entire year, with domestic leagues, international tournaments, and friendly matches ensuring a near-continuous cycle of entertainment week-in, week-out, 52 weeks a year. Major tournaments like the FIFA World Cup, the UEFA Champions League, and Europa League dominate the media for months, drawing billions of viewers (and revenue) across the globe.
The modern football/sports fan, much like the Roman citizen, is kept in a state of perpetual engagement, their attention consistently diverted from broader societal issues. And this phenomenon extends far beyond the sport itself. The global sports tourism industry, for example, is projected to become a $1.8 trillion market by 2030 which exemplifies how deeply intertwined entertainment and escapism have become in modern society.
Events like ?? Tennis Grand Slams ?? Tour De France & Giro Italia ?? Melbourne Cup & Kentucky Derby ?? Rugby World Cup ? FIFA World Cup & Champions League ?? Cricket World Cup ?? Summer & Winter Olympics ?? F1GP, are not just competitions—they are global spectacles designed to captivate.
An American Express study revealed that 67% of millennial and Gen Z respondents plan to travel to a sporting event in 2025. This trend underscores how sports have evolved into a powerful tool for distraction, drawing millions away from pressing global challenges. Just as the Colosseum’s games diverted attention from Rome’s crumbling infrastructure and political scandals, modern stadiums and global sporting events serve a similar purpose, keeping the public engrossed in the spectacle while the world’s deeper issues remain unaddressed.
The duration of these events, both ancient and modern, underscores their role as tools of distraction. Whether it was a 100-day festival in the Colosseum or a month-long World Cup, the goal remains the same: to keep the public’s attention fixed on the spectacle, away from the problems that truly matter. The more time spent in the arena or the stadium, the less time there is to question the systems that govern our lives. This is the enduring legacy of the Colosseum, a legacy that lives on in the stadiums of today.
Fast forward to the 21st century, and the Colosseum has been replaced by stadiums. In some cases, mega stadiums. The gladiators are now footballers, basketballers, tennis players, Formula One drivers, and the battles are fought not for survival but for trophies. The parallels are striking. Modern stadiums, like the Colosseum, are architectural wonders designed to awe and inspire. They are filled with tens of thousands of fans, all united in their passion for the spectacle. But beneath the surface, the same mechanisms of distraction and control are at work.
The Roman Empire was a society rife with inequality. The elite lived in opulence, while the majority struggled to survive. Emperors like Julius Caesar understood the power of spectacle. By providing free entertainment, they could placate the masses and prevent rebellion. The gladiatorial games were a form of social control. They reinforced the hierarchy, with the emperor at the top, and reminded the people of their place in the order.
The games also served as a release valve for societal tensions. The violence in the arena was a substitute for the violence that could erupt in the streets. By channelling the public’s aggression into the spectacle, the ruling class maintained stability. The Colosseum was not just a venue for entertainment; it was a tool of governance.
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Are Stadiums The New Arenas of Escapism?
Today, stadiums serve a similar purpose. They are places where thousands of fans can escape the pressures of daily life and lose themselves in the drama of the game. The parallels with the Colosseum are undeniable. Just as the Roman masses flocked to the arena, modern fans fill stadiums and tune in to broadcasts. The spectacle is different, but the underlying dynamics are the same.
It is undeniable that football has become a global phenomenon, with billions of fans, and revenues exceeding $50 billion annually. The sport is no longer just a game; it’s a business. Clubs like Real Madrid and Manchester City are multinational corporations, with revenues rivalling those of Fortune 500 companies. The players, once local heroes, are now global icons, their every move scrutinised by the media.
But beneath the glitz and glamour, football serves a deeper purpose. It distracts the public from the pressing issues of our time. While fans debate transfers and tactics, the world grapples with political instability and economic inequality. Football, like the gladiatorial games, is a form of escapism. It allows people to forget their troubles, if only for 90 minutes.
Distraction Eventually Leads to Profit Over Trophies
If you understand the complexities of football and have explored the game as deeply as I have over three decades, fully immersed in its nuances, it becomes clear that the modern football industry is primarily driven by profit.
Clubs are no longer just sporting institutions; they are businesses. Although we’d like to think their main objective is to win trophies—after all, that’s why fans pour their hard-earned money into clubs through memberships and merchandise—the truth is, that’s not the case. Not entirely, anyway. Its sole purpose has become a platform to maximise revenue. This shift is exemplified by clubs like Tottenham Hotspur in the English Premier League. Under chairman Daniel Levy, Tottenham has become one of the most profitable clubs in the world. Yet, their trophy cabinet remains largely empty. The club’s focus is on financial success, not sporting glory.
Contrast this with Real Madrid, a club that combines financial success with on-field dominance. Real Madrid’s business model is built on winning. Love him or hate him, the club’s president, Florentino Pérez, understands that trophies drive revenue. By investing in star players and prioritising success, Real Madrid has become the most successful club in football history. The contrast with Tottenham is stark. One club prioritises profit, the other prioritises glory.
This leads me to my next point—a perspective that, while subjective and likely to spark debate, must be addressed: the decline of skill. Football has become the modern day gladiator sport.
The game has seen a shift in the type of player that dominates. What we are seeing is the rise of the modern-day gladiator.
In the past, football was a game of skill and tactics. That’s why we called it the “beautiful game”. Fans would be in awe of players like Zinedine Zidane, Paolo Maldini, Roberto Baggio, Diego Maradona, Xavi Hernández, Andrea Pirlo, Johan Cruyff, Lothar Matth?us, and Dennis Bergkamp. I believe Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi marked the end of an era, representing the final chapter of a bygone footballing age. This type of athlete was celebrated for their technical ability and creativity. Today, the emphasis is on physicality, gladiator-style. Players are taller, stronger, and faster. The game has become more about athleticism than artistry. So, are we correct in still referring to it as the “beautiful game”?
And this shift is evident in the rise of players like Erling Haaland (Manchester City), Kylian Mbappé (Real Madrid), Darwin Nú?ez (Liverpool), Dominic Calvert-Lewin (Everton), Jean-Philippe Mateta (Crystal Palace) and Tyrone Mings (Aston Villa) who are seen as athletic, tall, and strong—often praised for their physical attributes but sometimes questioned for their technical skills. It goes without saying that they are all exceptional talents, no doubt, but their success is built on physical attributes more so than technical skill. The modern game rewards speed and strength, often at the expense of creativity and flair. Football has become a gladiator sport, where the fittest survive.
The Global Circus
However, football is not alone in its role as a modern-day Colosseum. Other sports, like the NFL and NBA serve similar purposes. In the USA, the NFL is a cultural phenomenon, with millions tuning in to watch the Super Bowl. The game is a spectacle, complete with halftime shows and celebrity appearances. But it is also a distraction. While fans cheer for their teams, the country grapples with pressing issues such as gun violence, deep political polarisation, and staggering healthcare crises.
In Australia, the AFL is a national obsession. The Grand Final is a public holiday in its home state of Victoria where 1000,000 fans attend the event (Melbourne Cricket Ground– 100,024 capacity), whilst the game is broadcast to roughly 3 million. Yet, like football, it serves as a distraction from the country’s ongoing challenges of political instability, cost of living crisis, collapsing industries (manufacturing, construction), the demise of the Australian dollar, widening wealth gap and rising inflation.
So, my questions remain: do (football) clubs exist because of their fans? Without the backing of the masses, would they survive? Yet, the relationship between clubs and fans is increasingly strained. Fans want trophies, but clubs prioritise profit. The 2024/25 debacle at Manchester United is a clear example. This dichotomy is at the heart of modern football.
It raises questions about the true purpose of the sport. Is it a game, a business, or a tool of distraction?
The parallels with the Colosseum are abundantly clear. Just as the Roman masses were distracted by the games, modern fans are captivated by modern professional sport. The spectacle has changed, but the underlying dynamics remain the same.
Are we, as fans, complicit in this system? Do we allow ourselves to be distracted, or do we demand more from the sports we love?