Steve Morris : Rugby
As expected, Louis Luyt has shaken off the hands which would grasp the tiller of South African rugby administration and confirmed himself as the kingpin of the South African Rugby Football Union (Sarfu) by retaining his presidency.
He did so in his accustomed imperious manner, ridding himself in the process of the two-pronged threat of Border’s Mluleki George and Natal’s Keith Parkinson.
“Now,” said Luyt, “I can leave on my terms and when I think the time is ripe.” Truly, would anyone have expected any other reaction?
For here was a signal lesson in Luyt’s mastery of the art of power politics in rugby, an overwhelming majority of 33 of the 47 votes due to be cast on the issue of who would chair the board, and a demonstration of the unsubtle strength of moving the money and the influence into the circles where it helps most.
In truth, Luyt had wrapped it up long before the vote, although many believed it would be a far closer run thing than the facts would show. The smaller unions were bound to the incumbent president through the largesse Sarfu has spread their way and the seven provincial presidents, who were co-opted and given a vote, merely made the home straight that much longer for the challengers.
George, who lost his voice on the executive and his senior vice-presidency in the abortive attempt at a palace coup, seemed not to have fully comprehended just how deeply the Luyt faction shafted him. For, not only did he not come close to denting Luyt’s armour, he also suffered the indignity of seeing votes he thought he had successfully lobbied for prior to the vote swing the other way on the winds of expediency.
George, as a veteran of the political factionalism of this country, must surely have expected some wavering from those who had promised him their support, but, if he is right in his figures, more than half who had committed their support had spoken with some disregard for either honour or truth.
The man who carried the fight to the government with enough conviction to earn incarceration on Robben Island, has vowed that the struggle is not over. In this he has the presidency of the Border Rugby Union as his base for continuing the battle. One would have to add the rider “for the moment”.
Parkinson’s reaction was more subtle and perhaps what you would expect from a man who only took to the lists reluctantly and at the urging of the union he still has to carry the interests of, by congratulating Luyt in victory and pledging his support. One feels the former hooker had lost the tight-head, conceded the ball to the carrier and backed off to plan the next scrum.
But there remain two more frightening aspects to the outcome of the annual meeting at Newlands on Tuesday than the simple underpinning and confirmation of the Luyt regime.
First, there is the thought that the vote gave the Sarfu executive the mandate to slam through virtually any changes to the way the game runs in this country with only minimal opposition. This has already been demonstrated in the decimation of the provincial system by “regionalising” South African sides in the next Super 12. It has the effect of rendering the Currie Cup meaningless in terms of anything outside pure provincial boundaries, leaving sides like Free State with nothing more to fight for than local honour.
The suggestion that finishing in the top four in the Currie Cup will mean anything to the rest of the world in future becomes a nonsense.
It will also become increasingly apparent that the big sponsorships – and the commissions that go with them no doubt – will no longer be fed the way of the provinces, but negotiated at national level, putting even more of the financial muscle in the hands of Sarfu. For, even in the wildest stretches of the imagination, would any big buck sponsor talk to a Natal, a Free State or a Western Province about pouring money into the game when the real plum is Super 12 and a regional side which will be under Sarfu’s thrall? The question remains unanswered in any form but pure logic.
The second aspect of the insidious changes being made to the game was the institution of a national body of provincial chief executives and general managers, no doubt under the chairmanship of Luyt’s son-in-law Rian Oberholzer, who carries the chief executive title at Sarfu.
It is well to examine at this point the role of a chief executive in the game. It is his job to ensure that the books are balanced, the paperwork done and the fixtures filled. It should not be his task to impinge on the playing aspects of rugby in any way other than those already mentioned.
This, one fears, is not the case with the institution of the new body who will report direct to the executive. It smacks very largely of the establishment of a broederbond within the game that the already obvious lack of transparency can only be increased.
Sarfu face the Browde Commission before any real changes can be implemented. Luyt is shrewd enough to realise that, by challenging them on the validity of the judicial inquiry, he has bought the time he needed to be confirmed as president.
But one feels that, should the aspects emerge which have enraged and irritated rugby followers for many years be revealed as running counter to the interests of the game, the Luyt dynasty will come to an end.
As Luyt has said, he will go when the time is ripe. In the meantime, he holds the high ground.