The huge fine imposed on Kobus Wiese has highlighted the problems associated with rugby becoming a pay for play sport
RUGBY: Jon Swift
THERE are any number of issues which remain unresolved following the massive R50 000 fine slapped on Kobus Wiese as rugby sets sail into the new and largely uncharted waters of professionalism.
That the Springbok lock, a huge man in both physical presence and playing talent, laid out his Welsh opposite number Derwyn Jones in the second minute of the test at Ellis Park two weekends ago, is not in question. The Wiese right hand which poleaxed the Welshman and led to Jones taking no further part in the proceedings of the first international of the paid era, has been replayed on TV too often for there to be any mistake about that.
It led to Wiese’s post-match citing and immediate 30-day suspension. This was right and just and, even if Wiese was provoked — as the video evidence tends to indicate — it was a sentence fully justified by the circumstances.
But then came the addition of the financial sanction against a man already tried and sentenced. It was, said Edward Griffiths, chief executive officer of the South African Rugby Football Union (Sarfu), a penalty “regretfully decided” upon. Yet it was a decision which one suspects the growing reputation of the Springboks for indiscipline had a lot to do with. It would be well for all concerned to bear in mind that nothing buys respectability.
If, as has been suggested, the average member of the South African side is on a three-year contract worth some R1,5-million and plays an average of five Tests a year, the fine amounts to something like 10 percent of Wiese’s annual salary or half his match fee.
Wiese is said to be contemplating legal action. Should this be the case, Wiese could well be the man who lays the ground rules for the handling of professional players, not just in this country, but worldwide.
One would tend to think Wiese has three causes for this: first, he has already been sentenced and is therefore a victim of double jeopardy. Wiese could also argue that the law of precedent must apply as it did in the James Small-Chester Williams trampling incident. Small was penalised by the refereee and Sarfu found that a player already penalised, could not be sentenced again.
Even though the Small-Williams incident happened under the professional dispensation, Griffiths was adamant when questioned on this aspect that it was constitutionally impossible for Small to be hit with further sanctions.
Second, Wiese seems to have been given no right to appeal. Perhaps such a mechanism does exist, but if this is so, Sarfu has made no mention of it.
And third, as a professional, Wiese’s right to earn a living may well have been compromised. This is surely something that Sarfu’s legal representatives must have measured against both the overall and match contracts they hold with the towering Transvaler.
But there is another, perhaps more serious, matter which the sentence imposed by Sarfu could have opened up.
Jones, the towering former policeman who was at the sharp end of Wiese’s displeasure, has said he has lost a great deal of earning potential as a result of Wiese’s actions. Like Wiese, Jones is now a professional player and can rightly claim that any illegal activities which cause him to suffer a loss of earnings are probably actionable.
It opens a huge can of worms and leaves a number of questions hanging. For example, is Wiese still able –with or without the backing of Sarfu — to cite Jones as some measure of self protection? And is Wiese personally liable for any damages Jones might claim if, as could be counter claimed, he was acting as a representative of Sarfu?
No one can condone Wiese’s rush of blood and the subsequent felling of his opponent, but by the same token, one would tend to feel that, by sentencing Wiese twice, it could be argued that Sarfu have effectively hung the big lock out to dry.
All round, it is a singularly inauspicious start to professionalism in the game of rugby football.