While pondering the myriad problems afflicting the world the other day, I came across my esteemed colleague Geoff Parkes’s latest column, and immediately it gave me a brilliant idea: I should write a column too.
But what should it be about? Naturally, that took a good deal longer, but eventually it came to me, thanks again to Geoff, and the pertinent question he raised therein: what happens when the Lions’ money runs out?
As Geoff pointed out, the windfall from this year’s Lions tour, plus that from the World Cup in two years’ time, is what is presented to us as the means by which a new golden age can be achieved.
But then what? How will rugby in Australia sustain itself once the two big lump sums run out?
It seems a difficult question, but actually the answer is very simple.
It won’t.
It just won’t. Rugby in Australia will get the cash from the Lions, and the RWC, and it will spend it, and also the handful of shiny coins tossed its way by the latest broadcast deal, and then it will be out of money, and it will just sort of…stop.
As Geoff wrote, “The overwhelming desire within the rugby community is for the code to break free of its financial and structural shackles, the Wallabies to be a credible top-four nation, and for rugby to be positioned for a healthy future.”
All true. And the overwhelming desire within the Kastom people of Vanuatu is that one day Prince Philip will return and rule over them as a god-king. But desires, alas, do not become fulfilled in order of how overwhelming they are. Some dreams are simply doomed. Prince Philip isn’t coming back. Rugby in Australia will one day wither and die.
Of course, it’s all going terribly well right now. Super Rugby Pacific is thriving. The Australian franchises are all in the top six, even the Waratahs, who are well-known to be history’s worst sporting team.
Many local players are excelling, and some of them aren’t even already signed to French clubs. There is genuine hope that within the lifetimes of our children, Australia might win the Bledisloe Cup back, and many are even saying that the Lions, when they arrive, might actually have to turn up to win.
Kurtley Beale of the Wallabies makes a break against the British & Irish Lions. (Photo by Chris Hyde/Getty Images)
But how long can this last? A lot of people think the problem with Australian rugby is just mismanagement: that if the idiots in RA had been a bit less idiotic, things would be fine. This is an optimistic view because it suggests the possibility of things being fine in the future, provided a less bountiful supply of idiocy.
But what if the problem isn’t idiots? What if the problem is just that people don’t want rugby anymore? What if, when asked the question, “What would you rather do: watch the Brumbies execute a perfect driving maul to the tryline from a lineout 15m out, or something enjoyable?” the current generation inexplicably opt for the latter?
What if there’s no way to boost crowds, or viewership, or revenue, because rugby is simply yesterday’s product? What if we are all relics of a bygone age, raging against the dying of the light and stubbornly refusing to recognise our own dying breed status?
What if the true idiots aren’t in RA, but out there, in the public, too stupid to appreciate a contested scrum or a deft box kick?
What if their stupidity is incurable?
If the above is true, then frankly, we are stuffed, and it’s best to accept that and make preparations to live as best we can in the cold, cold winter that is coming.
That’s not to say that there is nothing to look forward to. No, I do believe there is some hope for rugby.
It just doesn’t lie in all the different ideas bandied around at regular intervals, for national leagues and engagement with Asia and coaching pathways and pre-school recruiting raids and so forth.
What rugby must do, if it’s to survive at all, is adapt. Rugby must transform into something quite different if it’s to have a future. I call this “post-rugby” – the rugby you have after you’ve finished having rugby.
Len Ikitau of the Wallabies. (Photo by Matt Roberts/Getty Images)
It’s important, when we consider what post-rugby might look like, that we allow everything to be on the table. We must be willing to change rules, have fewer players on the field, or have more players on the field, or not even have a field.
The only non-negotiables are that the game must remain open to players of all shapes and sizes, and that it still carry an enormous risk of crippling injury.
If that means that in future, the Rugby World Cup consists of hundreds of people running blindfolded across a motorway, so be it: we’ll at least have kept the essential spirit of the game we love alive.
I don’t mean to be negative, just realistic. Like an old man and his ducks, it could be that the modern world simply has no place for rugby. It’s too complicated, too much like hard work.
It’s too hard to convey to the ignorant masses the fact that if you put in the effort, rugby brings amazing rewards. Especially when we, as Wallaby fans, know in our hearts that if you put in the effort, rugby actually brings clinical depression.
That’s the good news. For when rugby finally dies, or is bought out by the NRL, or morphs into a hybrid game combining elements of soccer, Australian rules, trap shooting and Masterchef, it will in a way be a liberation for us all.
No more feeling the kick in the guts of another flowering of hope, followed by bitter disappointment. No more angst as another promising star of the game leaves.
No more wondering why every referee has dedicated himself to ruining our lives. No more scratching our heads over why highly paid professionals cannot make the right decision under pressure when we, complete amateurs, do so every time.
No more of the exquisite pain that being a rugby fan brings. We can finally live our lives free from care and take up a more productive hobby, for example, sourdough.
So don’t despair, rugby fans. It may seem bleak right now, but at least it’s not going to get any better.
