Rugby is not just about large men destroying their ears, and other lessons recently learned

it's a strange sport to an outsider, but has some ideas that other leagues could adopt

Photo by Thomas Serer on Unsplash

I do not watch a lot of rugby. Until quite recently, I had watched almost no rugby at all. On a trip to Ireland once, my friend Mark and I went to a pub early in the morning to watch Ireland play on the other side of the globe in the World Cup, and we had a lovely time. We were never entirely sure what was happening, but it was easy enough to read the room. Guys would perk up and make excited noises and this was our cue to pay close attention. A low roar would build into a cheer and we’d clap along and order another breakfast beer. Good times.

I was watching rugby recently, a Six Nations match between France and Scotland, and during a break in play a French substitute came on. This man was, in the parlance, an absolute unit. The announcer said he was 19-year-old Posolo Tuilagi, and was 23-and-a-half stone. That sounded like an awful lot of stones. (Consults Google.) It is, in fact, 330 pounds. My word. What happens when he fills out? The announcer, somewhat offhandedly, said that young Posolo was the son of Henry “The Butcher” Tuilagi.

And I thought to myself: I really should be watching more rugby.

My interest in the Six Nations tournament this year came about in the modern fashion of learning about sports with which you are unfamiliar: from Netflix. The global streaming giant released a documentary series about the 2023 Six Nations a few weeks ago. The trailer featured an extremely swole Irishman with a spectacular mullet and ears that looked like balled-up little fists, and I was sold. Tell me more about this beefy man! I hope his name is Paddy! (It was not.)

The series was typical of the genre. You’re introduced to a couple of players on each of the teams, there’s some interesting behind-closed-doors stuff, the matches themselves unfold in a suitably cinematic way. There are large men with just horrible-looking ears who I guess sport these things as badges of honour, but also smaller lads who do more of the kicking and whatnot. Fun to watch, even if you are not quite sure how the whole Six Nations thing works.

And so, when this year’s edition of the tournament began in early February, I was curious to watch a match to see what it would look like relative to the glossy version presented by Netflix. And, it turns out: pretty similar! The beauty of the Six Nations format is that every team (Ireland, France, Scotland, England, Italy, Wales) plays everyone else once, and the team with the most points at the end wins the thing. There are no subsequent knockout rounds or championship games, so every match has high stakes.

The absolute unit in question. (Screengrab courtesy DAZN)

But what was particularly interesting to a rugby newbie was the number of ways in which rugby has figured out rules and procedures that North America’s major professional leagues should absolutely adopt.

First, the referees have microphones that can be heard live on the broadcast. Not how they do it here, where an official has to turn the microphone on to announce that number 73 has been flagged for holding, but in the actual run of play. So you can hear the referee explaining whistles and calls to the players as they happen — without the dead spots in broadcasts when the announcing crew is trying to figure out what is going on down on the field. This is the kind of innovation I can get behind.

In that same France-Scotland game that involved The Butcher’s kid, the result turned on a last-gasp play in which Scotland appeared to score a game-winning try, the rugby version of a touchdown. But the referee ruled that the ball had not touched the ground as required — ironically, not a necessary element of a football touchdown — and he immediately asked his video assistant to review that he was correct. No challenge flag, no appeal process, just the ref saying, “Here’s what I saw but there were about eight large bodies in a pile so can you check?” (I am paraphrasing.) Then you could hear the video guy — the Television Match Official — telling the ref what he was looking at in the booth in real time as he was studying the images. Just when it looked like he was about to say that the ball had touched the ground, he explains that there is no clear picture of ball in contact with grass. No try, game over, France wins. The Scottish crowd boos lustily.

It was the ideal way to handle such things. You didn’t have to listen to coaches grumble afterward about needing an explanation from the refs, or hoping there might be some kind of interview where the official explained the decision, it all unfolded for the viewer as the call was made. Genius. Good job, rugby.

The sport also appears to have figured out blows to the head in a manner that still eludes pro leagues here. In a match against Italy this past weekend, France’s Jonathan Danty tackled an opponent and his shoulder whacked the Italian in the head. Danty was given a yellow card for the dangerous hit, which was upgraded to a red during the halftime break. (Evidently there is no statute of limitations on video reviews of dangerous hits.) France played the entire second half down a man, with the red card meaning an ejection for Danty. It didn’t strike me as a particularly violent tackle, or that the Frenchman even meant to make contact with the head, but rugby treats the tackler as having absolute liability for his actions: you hit someone in the head, that’s on you, mister. Don’t want to accidentally blast someone in the head? Don’t tackle them up high. It’s perfectly simple. It also might seem harsh, but it’s hard to argue that the authorities are not taking head shots seriously. In the days since, a disciplinary committee suspended Danty for five games over the tackle. Rugby: not messin’ about.

Do not take all this stuff about rules and procedures to mean that the games themselves are not enjoyable as sport. It’s a good watch. Andrew Porter, the burly Irishman, has replaced his mullet with a tight, bleach-blonde look. I preferred the mullet, not that I would ever say it to his face. 

Posolo Tuilagi, meanwhile, was added to the French starting lineup for the Italy game. The broadcasters said a French coach was asked what his role would be. “Go forward,” was the explanation. “Stop the other guys from going forward.”

Sounds about right.