Too much shouty negativity and everyone loses: like all great drama, there must be moments of emotional light.
Sport brings out our best and worst qualities. The same can be said about sportswriting on occasion. The next minute, it’s all breathless hyperbole, florid adjectives, and poetic descriptions of our best days. Then it’s curtains for some sad-faced manager, and the purple prose becomes acid rain. As ex-Wallaby rugby coach Alan Jones used to say, “one day you’re a rooster, the next you’re a feather duster.”
Recently, social media has snatched this ancient art form and run with it like a demented William Webb Ellis. At Wimbledon, Nick Kyrgios appears agitated, but he has nothing on some of the Twitter trolls who are ranting about this week’s moon. This could explain why elite sport, in general, appears to be getting louder by the week.
The aforementioned Kyrgios is just one example of someone who sees no problem with acting like a complete jerk at work because, as he modestly told the Wimbledon chair umpire, “people want to see me, not you.” What a thoughtful, caring individual he appears to be. Former Australian grand slam legends such as Rod Laver and Ken Rosewall must be overjoyed.
However, he is, to some extent, a reflection of our tense times. And if he wants to be irritated, he should watch some rugby union. No other sport feels more fractious right now, not even politically riven, cash-bloated golf. To some extent, this is acceptable because contact sports are not supposed to be boring, but the naturally occurring “edge” that makes rugby compelling is in danger of devolving into something less healthy.
To be clear, this is not a rant about hair-pulling, yelling at opponents, gamesmanship, or any of the other isolated behavioral excesses that occurred during the weekend’s international games. Passions have always been high on the field and will continue to be so whenever two massive men deliberately collide.
No, it’s more about how the sport wants to present itself: through its players’ inspiring acts or lengthy, partisan show trials on social media. At the moment, the latter appears to be in control, with any fleeting feel-good factor buried beneath a mix of rising cynical “shithousery” and hair-splitting legal interpretations.
Consider the Australia vs. England game, in which Wallaby locked Darcy Swain and was rightfully sent off for an unsubtle butt to England’s Jonny Hill’s head. However, a video emerged later showing Hill yanking Swain’s hair and shoving him hard in the face. Is your behavior detrimental to the game’s best interests? The English lock, who could only see yellow at the time, is not even mentioned.
Then there are incidents like Scott Barrett’s illegal high cleanout on Peter O’Mahony in the New Zealand v Ireland game. It has been played on social media indefinitely, and the story of the tape is clear. Barrett should have been taken off the field and would have been had the All Blacks not be playing on home soil. Instead, the lack of a post-match citing charge merely fueled the raging resentment on Irish Twitter. Nowadays, if you hit someone marginally high on a rugby pitch, the final arbiter is not the referee.
All of this inconsistency only adds to the frustration. As a result, players are increasingly reporting even minor high contact to match officials in the hope that someone will be carded. At worst, there’s a break while the local TV director does his worst and the replays are scrutinized. If the complaints are loud enough, an opponent may be forced to walk.
If Ireland’s Johnny Sexton, who has a complicated concussion history, is declared fit to play in the series-deciding second Test, another major firestorm will erupt. In theory, he is an excellent test case for World Rugby’s new 12-day minimum stand-down period for concussed players. In reality, Ireland is now insisting that Sexton’s injury was not a concussion and that he is being evaluated further. What price World Rugby’s player welfare message if the fly-half plays this Saturday and takes another heavy blow?
All of this is noteworthy because it diverts attention away from what should be going viral: the actual sport. Wales may have lost in South Africa, but they put on an inspiring performance in Pretoria. Dewi Lake’s 77th-minute try, an equalizer with his team down to 13 men, was a fantastic display of mind over matter, not to mention epic belief and concerted passion.
Similarly, 19-year-old Henry Arundell tries for England in their defeat in Perth. To find a more striking teenage debutant, one must go back to Wales’ Keith Jarrett in 1967 or even Prince Alexander Obolensky at Twickenham in 1936. When the seasoned Eddie Jones mentions Arundell’s name alongside Bryan Habana and David Campese, it’s clear that special talent is on the rise.
So, did you catch what just happened? We’re back in purple prose territory with a few keystrokes. Isn’t it simple? Sport is meaningless if it only elicits rage. As in all great drama, there must be moments of warm emotional light. When there is too much shouty negativity, everyone loses. What is the moral of this sports story? The road to perdition awaits if you hack off your audience.
