Imagination only – well – politicians enjoying the perks of the VIP box at the racetrack, with a powerful gambling executive glad-handing in the corner.

Well, knock me over with a feather—who could have *possibly* guessed that a gaggle of Australian politicians, all squeaky-clean and morally unshakable, would be swayed by a few free tickets to the Melbourne Cup or a cushy seat at the Australian Open?

But don’t worry, folks—none of this luxurious hospitality is swaying them in the slightest. Nope, nothing to see here. Just a harmless chocolate box from the gambling industry, a friendly AFL match invite, and a cheeky race day at Randwick. Because, as we all know, there’s *absolutely* no correlation between being showered with gifts and the kind of unwavering loyalty that leads to… let’s say, zero restrictions on gambling ads.

But wait! Isn’t this all perfectly fine? The politicians certainly seem to think so. They’ve dutifully filed all their free tickets, luxury boxes, and Melbourne Cup suites in the parliamentary register, because transparency equals innocence, right? Who cares if the gambling lobby is drowning Australia in a tsunami of incessant ads every time you turn on the TV?

If anything, we should all be thanking them for generously funding the economy—by plastering betting odds across every sporting event known to man.

After all, what’s a family-friendly cricket match without the thrilling suspense of whether you’ll lose your house in the next bet?

The Alliance for Gambling Reform is clutching its pearls, calling these gifts “an undemocratic opportunity for lobbying,” but our politicians, bless them, reject the very *idea* that they could be influenced.

I mean, who among us hasn’t accepted a free five-star meal and a few VIP box tickets without feeling so much as a *whiff* of obligation? Certainly not these stalwarts of integrity.

According to them, the real scandal is not what’s declared, but what isn’t. Yes, you heard that right—their noble transparency is being undermined by the *audacity* of anyone suggesting a few perks might bend their decisions on, say, gambling ad reform.

Let’s just take a quick roll call of our unflappable leaders. Michelle Rowland? Why, she’s been gifted hospitality and a Melbourne Cup ticket or five by Tabcorp. But don’t worry—after a *brief* epiphany in 2023, she declared, *no more freebies for me*! Bill Shorten? Front-row seats at the Australian Open courtesy of Sportsbet. But rest assured, his policy decisions are rock-solid, immune to the charms of complimentary tennis matches. And David Littleproud? He’s clear on his stance: against the *amount* of gambling ads, not the actual gambling itself. You see, folks, it’s the *sheer volume* of ads that’s the problem, not the fact that your 10-year-old now knows what a “multi-leg bet” is.

Meanwhile, politicians from both sides of the aisle are lining up to declare just how rigorously they follow the rules—rules conveniently written by, well, other politicians who love a good freebie. Of course, those cozy dinners, chocolates, and VIP sporting events are all strictly “within guidelines.” And why would a few high-stakes gifts sway them from their *staunch* commitment to public service? It’s not like they’re rubbing elbows with corporate lobbyists at these events or anything. Oh wait…

So, while Tim Costello and the Alliance for Gambling Reform continue their Sisyphean task of convincing the government to clamp down on gambling ads, the politicians are busy enjoying the perks of office, utterly confident in their ability to resist being led to slaughter by the very industries lining their pockets.

Let’s face it: if they can walk out of a luxury box at the Melbourne Cup and still think they’re *not* influenced by corporate interests, maybe we need to start betting on *their* level of self-delusion. Now that’s a gamble worth taking!