How nationalism can fend off the mercenaries
‘‘Racist,’’ they cried. When Agustin Pichot sent out a tweet defining how many foreign-born players were being selected for the top rugby nations, you would have thought from the river of foaming outrage that he had just committed genocide. And yet Pichot made no comment. He put no slant on the tweet. He just put the facts out there.
The fact is that a number of countries in the world are supplementing their playing base by picking blokes who are rugby mercenaries. We know it’s wrong. We know it makes a nonsense of international sport. We know that even the extension of the residency qualification to five years at the end of 2020 is nothing like enough.
When Keith Quinn saw Brad Shields, lately of Wellington, wearing an England shirt, he posted the comment ‘‘sad picture’’. Pichot responded: ‘‘Algo se esta perdiendo. We are losing something . . . the game is losing something . . .’’
I think Pichot is right. If international rugby is to mean anything, then surely, by its very definition, nationalism has to be a part of it. People dress up in their national colours. Peru play New Zealand at football and fans come from Lima to the streets of Wellington.
In our heart of hearts we know Shields should not be playing for England, not least because he represented New Zealand at the 2011 under-20 world championship. Gareth Anscombe, currently occupying the No 10 shirt of Wales, was also a member of that team. But next year they will be trying to beat New Zealand at a World Cup.
Indeed a lot of New Zealanders will be trying to beat New Zealand at the 2019 World Cup. Joe Schmidt will be coaching Ireland and Bundee Aki; Warren Gatland will be coaching Wales and Anscombe and Hadleigh Parkes.
John Mitchell will be coaching England’s defence and Shields and Ben Te’o. John McKee will be coaching Fiji. Sean Maitland will be playing for Scotland who were led out of the wilderness by Vern Cotter. Five of the top eight teams in the world (not including New Zealand) are heavily influenced by Kiwis. It speaks to me not just of a failure of World Rugby, but of a failure of New Zealand Rugby.
Look at that New Zealand team which won the 2011 Junior World Cup: 15 Beauden Barrett, 14 Mitchell Scott, 13 Francis Saili, 12 Lima Sopoaga, 11 Charles Piutau, 10 Gareth Anscombe, 9 TJ Perenara, 8 Luke Whitelock (capt), 7 Sam Cane, 6 Brad Shields, 5 Brodie Retallick, 4 Steven Luatua, 3 Ben Tameifuna, 2 Codie Taylor, 1 Solomona Sakalia.
Tameifuna is now playing for Tonga and Piutau is hoping to. Shields turns out for England and Anscombe ‘represents’ Wales. Seven of that winning team now play their rugby in Britain and France. The coach, Mark Anscombe, was in charge of Canada and his defection has become the new norm. Most of New Zealand’s junior world championship coaches soon head overseas.
Dave Rennie (2008-10) is in Scotland. Anscombe (2011) has trotted the globe. Rob Penney
(2012) is in Japan. Chris Boyd
(2013-14) has gone to England. Scott Robertson (2015-16) is here for now, but for how long?
People aren’t just leaving for
the money, they are leaving because they are feeling alienated.
Some of those players and a lot of those coaches have been poorly treated. They have not been loved and valued and cherished. They have felt that there is little left for them in New Zealand rugby.
Iunderstand why countries like New Zealand will not select players who are overseas, but I also wonder if that is any more right than the decision of the mercenaries who play for whichever country will pick them.
Ben Toolis played under-20 volleyball for Australia. He was in the Australian rugby academy with Samu Kerevi. Now he plays against Australia for Scotland. WP Nel, a South African, is another of many.
And yet . . . we live in a migratory world. Joe Cokanasiga, the new star on England’s wing, said: ‘‘Being Fijian and being around Fijians, you already know about rugby before you play it.’’
So he’s Fijian? Well, yes. But he’s also something else. Cokanasiga’s father was in the British army and they moved to England when he was aged three. His upbringing has been shaped by British culture. It is the same with the Vunipolas whose father moved them to England when they were boys.
The question of nationality is no longer simple. When Ben Ryan, a flame-haired Englishman, became the coach of Fiji sevens, he started something beautiful. He lived in the Fijian community. His friends were all Fijian. And he guided a band of joyful Fijians to the Olympic gold medal.
The rugby that Fiji played that day in the 43-7 thrashing of Great Britain was an expression of something pure Fiji. Ryan said he wasn’t at all nervous. When he saw his players smiling beforehand, he knew what was coming. It was spiritual, it was happy, it was wonderful. And it changed Ryan for good.
He found he much preferred Fiji ‘‘even with a dictator in charge, a boss who was convicted for manslaughter, my phone being bugged, the bankruptcy and black magic, than my last year at the RFU (with all its rules, reviews and technology).
‘‘You almost have to apologise these days when you say you don’t feel very English . . . I don’t. I guess with Irish and Welsh backgrounds, three years in Fiji and I’m a Fijian chief now, I kind of don’t feel English any more and you feel like you just want to be nice to people and treat people with respect.’’
Now that doesn’t seem a bad way to be. And it is worth keeping in mind that Ryan’s experience is far from unique when we look at this whole business of international rugby. It is worth keeping in mind when we consider if Shields should be playing for England or Anscombe for Wales.
I’m confused. I agree with Pichot that international sport can only retain its integrity if the players are truly representative of the country they turn out for. And then I look at Ben Ryan and Fiji and think it is the most beautiful story that rugby has told in 25 years.
‘‘People aren’t just leaving [New Zealand] for the money, they are leaving because they are feeling alienated.’’