I believe the Cambodia beer brand (my long-time favourite) was the first to kick the idea off. About 7 or 8 years ago, they started a lottery-style promotion on their products, printing a certain proportion of the undersides of the ringpulls on their cans with symbols indicating an 'instant win' prize. The majority of these wins were just 'one free beer', but occasionally there'd be a small cash prize (I've been lucky enough to catch a few $5 and $10 ones over the years, and $1 prizes are relatively common; I believe there were - much rarer - instances of $20, $50 or $100 windfalls as well). And, once-in-a-blue-moon - or so the marketers protested - you might even win a moped, or - even more vanishingly rarely - an SUV.
This initiative proved to be so popular that all the other beer companies eventually felt obliged to follow suit. And the idea even started to spread to a few other locally-manufactured products, such as soft drinks. But the beer market was its natural home, and it soon became central to Cambodia's drinking culture - and, indeed, to much of its social culture. Comparing your fortunes with those of your companions over the course of an evening's consumption, assiduously storing up your winners to redeem at your favourite corner store, or donating them to a favourite bar to help ever so slightly with their stressed bottom-line (it became a common moral discussion as to whether one was actually obliged to hand over winning ringpulls if you'd got them in a bar or restaurant; a few places started coveting them so greedily that they instituted a policy of opening your ringpulls for you and retaining them automatically...), or giving them to street kids who seemed to come to value them more highly than just small change - these engaging oddities were all a central part of the experience of life in Cambodia for the last several years. In rural villages, the ringpulls apparently even became a convenient medium of exchange for small transactions.
The beer companies, I suspect, increasingly felt trapped in a vicious cycle of competition: the promotions were boosting sales, but they felt obliged to keep increasing the number and value of the prizes offered to maintain their market position against competitors - and it may often have been costing them more money than it was actually earning from increased revenue. In the first year or two of the campaign, when it was an exhilarating novelty, it was pretty easy to redeem small prizes anywhere - at any bar or restaurant or mom'n'pop shop. But the beer companies got increasingly cranky about paying out, making the redemption process for retailers increasingly bureaucratic, and reducing the amount they'd get paid (or so I've been told a few times; obviously I don't have direct experience of this - and I've only been a visitor rather than a resident in Cambodia for most of this period): when they only started reimbursing the wholesale rather than retail price of the most common 'free can of beer' prize, not unnaturally small store owners were no longer willing to give you a can for a single ringpull, and before long it became fairly standard that you needed two 'one free beer' ringpulls to claim one can. And the whole thing was apparently such a hassle that the majority of stores stopped having anything to do with it quite a few years ago. It became a bit of a Grail Quest to find an amenable neighbourhood shop that would still give you free beers for winning ringpulls. And it got to the point where you could usually only redeem cash prizes, even the very small ones, directly from the beer companies at one of their offices (and they are few and far between, not easy to find or access; the Cambodia beer company used to have a small one right in the centre of Battambang, my 'spiritual home', and for a while that was my go-to for cashing in on my winning tabs - but it closed down a few years ago...). So, for many of us, the shine had gone off the idea somewhat quite a long time since. And yet... it was now such an ingrained part of daily life that it had the comfort of the faimilar about it: it was one of those distinctive things about being in Cambodia, one of those unique local quirks that you couldn't help but feel warmly about (even if you weren't a beer drinker).
Even though I'd always do my best to redeem or give away my accumulated winning ringpull tabs in the last days of any visit here, there always seemed to be a few that I'd forgotten about (scattered obscurely in pockets of trousers and the bottom of rucksacks) and a few more that I'd only acquired on my final night or two. And so, every time I come back I have a little plastic baggie of ringpulls that will make my first few days of beer-drinking here pleasantly subsidised. And for the past few years, there's been a cheery old bloke in a little corner shop in Battambang who has happily taken all of these tabs from me at a good rate, and even accepted my cash winners (at, I think, 75% of face-value). It's become one of the little rituals of life here that I really enjoy. Of course, the guy uses it as an excuse to boost sales, insisting that I can't really take less than a case for such a large number of discount ringpulls, and so I always end up having to pay a bit of cash as well; I don't mind at all. But then, of course, you're trapped in an endless cycle. The rate of winners, although very variable from case to case, is overall quite high. I'm guessing it's probably 30-40% for the 'free can' wins, and can occasionally be much higher. I think I have generally been particularly lucky (for possibly the one-and-only time in my life!), and have achieved an overall win rate well above 50%. So, for every largely 'free' case of beers I get from my favourite pusher in Battambang, I end up with another little baggie of ringpulls which has got me well on the way to needing to get another one.
Oh, but now this simple, silly pleasure is about to be squelched by the killjoy government. There have been dark rumours for two or three years now that, bowing to foreign pressure (the country is still heavily dependent on foreign aid to pay for most of its infrastructure, and foreign NGOs do a huge amount of work in the health and education sectors) to tackle excessive alcohol consumption, the Prime Minister was about to introduce measures to limit or ban these ringpull promotions. Indeed, it was widely believed that a complete ban was imminent in 2025, and many people told me then that a definite date for it had already been announced. It seems that was not in fact correct, and the government has been dragging its feet on announcing such legislation for a year or more, but.... finally, it seems, the ban really is happening. All such promotions are supposed to cease from October 1st. From what I've read online, it would appear that that is the date on which winning ringpulls should no longer be produced or sold. But, since it takes a while to clear out stocks, what actually seems to have happened is that the distribution of new winning ringpulls has already been phased out over the last month or so, and October 1st - or probably in fact September 30th - is being treated as the last day on which you can redeem them.
This imminent disappearance of what has become a cherished national institution has had a lot of rather weird little effects in the beer market ecosystem and in the drinking culture over this past month or so.....
People have always been a bit superstitious about certain stores or bars having a greater incidence of 'winners'; or about certain times of year being more propitious (that belief is in fact well-founded: the beer companies do indeed dramatically increase the proportion of small-prize ringpulls just before major holidays); or about certain cases being overstuffed with lucky tabs (probably so; but no-one ever seems to have discovered a reliable means of identifying them). This sentiment has been acutely heightened in the last days of the promotions: people are moving around to different bars, to try to find ones where they seem to be 'luckier'; some are even (sacrilege!) switching away from their preferred brand in the hopeful belief than an inferior rival may yield a higher percentage of wins.
The beer companies have also started putting out openly advertised non-lottery cans, to wean people back on to the idea of beer without prizes. But at the moment these are so universally shunned, and such is the value that people attach (probably exaggeratedly) to the prize promotion, that they have had to sell these at a substantially lower price. Bars which have tried to save money by preferring to buy these no-win cases are now pressured by their thrifty - and probably gambling-addicted - patrons to pass this saving on to them rather than keeping it for themselves. Much ugliness and pettiness has suddenly broken out as a result of this seemingly trivial adjustment to the country's marketing laws.
But all of this stress and furore will soon be over. Few of the winning ringpulls are still in circulation. And it would probably be difficult now to redeem them, in the last week before the ban formally takes effect. If I should acquire any more now, I think I'll probably just keep them - as a souvenir of a strange but happy time.
'But what has any of this got to do with FPL?' I imagine my notional reader asking.
Well, I have often commented on my discomfort and distaste for the strong element of gambling addiction involved in the appeal of the Fantasy Premier League game. And in my sidebar profile here I have labelled my own devotion to the game an addiction (jokingly; but all jokes have a core of devastating truth).
And the ringpull lottery is one of the purest, simplest forms of gambling there is. Interestingly, you don't really stake anything in the conventional sense (you're paying for the beer, not the 'lottery ticket' that goes with it - although, in effect, the beer companies have been charging you a small, invisible premium to participate in this lottery). But it occurs to me that what you're really always staking in a bet is your hopes and dreams, the possiblity of disappointment; a cash stake is just a concrete manifestation of that; it's the emotional investment that you really feel, it's that which gives you the thrill of success or the despair of failure.
And it has recently struck me that this is at the root of FPL's hold over us. We don't have to pay money to participate; but we do put a very heavy emotional investment into it.
And this realisation has led to the further thought that although many people protest that they want to prosper in the game by 'skill', to be acclaimed for their superior insight and judgement, that's just not the case at all, they are deluded. The appeal of the game lies precisely in the fact that it is almost entirely a matter of luck: we want something for nothing, we want to feel 'lucky', we want to feel 'blessed', we want to feel that Fate or Destiny or God or the Universe has been kind to us for once in our lives.
I feel we can never, or only very rarely, experience anything like that intensity of joy and validation from being justly rewarded for our skill and effort. And this, I think, is because dissatisfaction is the fundamental motivator for all animal life. We can't help it: that's just the way evolution has built us, that's why we've survived so long and prospered so well as a species - we almost always feel dissatisfied with everything. That's what makes us constantly strive for more. Even when we do receive reward or praise for our achievements, we tend to overvalue our own abilities, and so we inevitably feel that the praise/reward falls at least somewhat short of the due mark. And even if we might occasionally acknowledge that the level of praise/reward we receive is absolutely appropriate, we feel that it is no more than our just desert - and we don't get much of a thrill from it. We can imagine what such a thrill ought to feel like; we desperately want to experience that. But our dissatisfaction threshold is set too high. We still crave more: we feel we somehow deserve to be over-rewarded. And thus the accomplishments of our intellect, capabilities, industriousness - they rarely give us full or lasting satisfaction: we never feel that we are getting due recompense for being so smart and wonderful.
But when we find a winning ringpull, when we win a bet, when we have a good gameweek in FPL,.... for one brief, rare moment we are getting the thing we seem to most crave - being over-rewarded. We're getting something for nothing: and that is the best bloody feeling in the world.
Fantasy Premier League is so ridiculously enjoyable - and so insidiously addictive - precisely because it's nearly all LUCK.
One further analogy comes to mind, though. Although the beer can ringpull lottery was heavily weighted towards customer satisfaction with a very generous win ratio, you could still occasionally hit a long succession of blank ringpulls. And those no-win experiences hurt, each and every one of them; every blank tab was a cruel taunt, it seemed to be scornfully jeering 'Loser!' at you. A long run of such blanks could be profoundly depressing. So too in FPL: a succession of low-scoring gameweeks, or even a single gameweek in which all of your top players fail to return.... deflates the spirits something awful. Getting that mood rollercoaster under control is, I think, the main challenge involved in playing the game: we have to try to learn to dismiss the bad results, to laugh them off; we can enjoy our occasional good gameweeks, but we must ignore the bad ones and not let them dishearten or annoy us.



