Iatrogenic: Difference between revisions

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Now every now and then the [[JC]] can come on all a bit misanthropic, and this rainy Saturday afternoon in  March was just such a day.
Now every now and then the [[JC]] can come on all a bit misanthropic, and this rainy Saturday afternoon in  March was just such a day.


“Why on God’s barren earth,” he wondered, “would I want to pay money to be in an association with people like this?”
“Why on God’s barren earth,” he wondered aloud, “would anyone want to ''pay money'' to be in an association like this?”


The best answer the fellow presenting could give was, “because you would benefit from our public liability insurance policy. That is where the lion’s share of your membership dues go.”  
The best answer the fellow presenting — a member himself, of course — could give was, “because you would benefit from our [[public liability insurance]] policy. That is where the lion’s share of your membership dues go.” Now the “public liability” concerned was that of an amateur coach, on exercises with his team, when some accident befell one of the delicate little flowers in his charge, which might be attributable to the coach’s carelessness or lack of prudent regard.


The public liability concerned was that of a coach, on exercises with his team, when some accident befell one of the delicate little flowers in his charge, which might be attributable to the coach’s carelessness or lack of prudent regard.  
Now here’s the thing. Coaching [[cricket]] is a pitiless pastime, in every possible way. You are not thanked for it, let alone paid for it. You certainly don’t grow rich from it — except spiritually, of course. You do it out of the goodness of your heart, a vague sense of moral obligation to the forthcoming generation, and a forlorn hope that some of the little ingrates might grow to love the game, for it is a wonderful diversion from the encroaching enormity of growing old. So any parent who gets a Sunday morning lie-in while you stand in a wind-swept field explaining the rudiments of the back-foot drive to little Horatio, but yet has ''civil [[litigation]]'' uppermost  in his mind — and not profound, undying gratitude — should rot in hell. He should be ''grateful'', as a default disposition, rather than opportunistically ''extortionate''.<ref>He won’t be, of course — that’s just the cruel reality of the human condition for you — but he ''should''.</ref>


Now here’s the thing. Coaching [[cricket]] is a pitiless pastime, in every possible way. You are not thanked for it, let alone paid for it. You certainly don’t grow rich from it — except spiritually, of course. You do it out of the goodness of your heart, a vague sense of moral obligation to the forthcoming generation, and a forlorn hope that some of the little ingrates might grow to love the game, for it is a wonderful diversion from the encroaching enormity of growing old.
All the same, [[cricket]] is a perilous pastime. That 5½ oz leather-encased cork ball flies about at a decent lick. If it clocks junior, or he sprains his ankle, gets run over or somehow contracts hepatitis, then (a) that will do him the world of good, long term, and (b) unless you, coach, are some kind of pederast or have been egregiously delinquent when supervising young Tarquin, his adequately socialised parents<ref>They won’t be, of course: they named the pompous little sod Tarquin, after all, so you know they lack fundamental empathy, and any way the apple does not fall far from the tree, does it?</ref> — even neurotic North London ones — will shrug shoulders and figure that’s the price of being a lazy sod and letting other people look after their kids.  
 
So any parent who gets a Sunday morning lie-in while you stand in a wind-swept field explaining the rudiments of the back-foot drive to his little Horatio, but who has civil [[litigation]] uppermost in his mind, even over the social betterment of junior, should rot in hell. He should be ''grateful'', as a default disposition, rather than opportunistically ''extortionate''.<ref>He won’t be, of course — that’s just the cruel reality of the human condition for you — but he ''should''.</ref>
 
All the same, [[cricket]] is a perilous pastime. That 5½ oz leather-encased cork ball flies about at a decent lick. If it clocks junior, or he sprains his ankle, gets run over or somehow contracts hepatitis, then (a) that will do him the world of good, long term, and (b) unless you, coach, are some kind of pederast or have been egregiously delinquent when supervisining young Tarquin, his adequately socialised parents<ref>They won’t be, of course: they named the defenceless little babe Tarquin so they must be lacking empathy on some fundamental level.</ref> — even neurotic North London ones — will shrug shoulders and figure that’s the price of being a lazy sod and letting other people look after their kids.  


Will they ''sue'' you? Of course not. It is too much of a faff. For one thing, you are probably on the bones of your arse, and what judge is going to be in punitive frame of mind when considering a well-intended volunteer doing his best to look after someone else’s brat?
Will they ''sue'' you? Of course not. It is too much of a faff. For one thing, you are probably on the bones of your arse, and what judge is going to be in punitive frame of mind when considering a well-intended volunteer doing his best to look after someone else’s brat?


All that might change if you benefit from public liability [[insurance]]. Suddenly ''yours'' isn’t the pocket helicopter dad is going after. It is worth a claim. To be sure, inevitably the insurer will contrive to refuse the claim, as long as commercially plausible — that’s the business model for many of them — but in the mean time will put up premiums, citing actuarial data, because of its assessed dereliction of obligation of the insured. Your own membership for the ECBACO might only go up a fiver, but in the mean time the insurance company is ''creaming it''.
Yet all that might change, ''should you benefit from public liability [[insurance]]''. Suddenly it  isn’t ''your'' pocket that helicopter mum is going after. It is worth a claim. To be sure, the insurer will refuse the claim for as long as is commercially plausible, whatever its merits — that’s part of the funding model, for many of them — but in the mean time it will put up premiums, citing actuarial data, because of its assessed dereliction of obligation of the insured. Your own membership for the ECBACO might only go up a fiver, but in the mean time the insurance company is ''creaming it''.


So, yes: public liability insurance encourages shitty behaviour from everyone concerned:  ''You'' are disincentivised from taking suitable care because — hey, you’re insured, right? ''Helicopter Dad'' is encouraged to [[Noli mentula esse|be a dick]] and make a claim, since it’s not thou well-intentioned volunteer coach he’s going after but a faceless corporate insurer, and faceless corporate insurer, being little more than a faceless corporate mode of extortion, will tell Helicopter Dad where to get off ''and'' gouge the poor old cricket association by jacking up its premiums on account of its transparently negligent membership.
So, yes: public liability insurance encourages shitty behaviour from everyone concerned:   
*''You'' are disincentivised from taking suitable care because — hey, you’re insured, right?  
*''Helicopter mum'' is encouraged to [[Noli mentula esse|be a dick]] and make a claim, since it’s not thou well-intentioned volunteer coach he’s going after but a faceless corporate insurer, and  
*''Faceless corporate insurer'', being little more than a faceless corporate mode of extortion, will tell Helicopter Mum where to get off ''and'' gouge the poor old cricket association — and by extension ''you'' — by jacking up its premiums on account of its transparently negligent membership.
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*{{br|Antifragile: Things that Gain from Disorder}} by the perennially entertaining {{author|Nassim Nicholas Taleb}}
*{{br|Antifragile: Things that Gain from Disorder}} by the perennially entertaining {{author|Nassim Nicholas Taleb}}
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