In the end the bullies went without a fight. The men who were responsible for emotionally and physically traumatising a generation of rugby people took the money and ran. In the circumstances R5-million might be seen as a very small price to pay.
”Rugby people” is a deliberately inclusive phrase, for now that Rian Oberholzer and Silas Nkanunu are out of the way, stories concerning their incompetence and abuse of power can be written at last. Some of those stories will make Kamp Staaldraad seem tame by comparison.
Oberholzer, for instance, shared some of Robert Mugabe’s ideas concerning the freedom of the press. Allegedly, on at least two occasions when he took exception to negative reporting, he sought to have the journalists concerned dismissed by contacting the MD of their respective organisations.
His technique on these occasions and countless others was to call into question the patriotism of the reporter in question. The Springbok brand was sacrosanct, he would argue, and criticism of anything relating to it was necessarily bad for all SA Rugby’s stakeholders.
Thus, under Oberholzer, the Springbok emblem became a brand, rather than a badge of honour, which may go some way towards explaining how under the successive coaching regimes of Harry Viljoen and Rudolf Straeuli it was so widely disseminated.
And what did Nkanunu do while the MD of SA Rugby was throwing his weight around? Nothing. Nkanunu was voted in as Sarfu President because of all the things he was not. He was neither white nor Afrikaans, most importantly at the time of his election he was not Louis Luyt and, as it turned out most important in the long run, he was not a threat. To anyone.
It was because of this latter trait that he lasted so long in the job. He happily acceded to Oberholzer’s request to split South African rugby into an amateur and professional arm, thereby giving the MD of SA Rugby unlimited power.
He could be counted upon to make trite speeches at vital moments and to trivialise important functions, such as the announcement of the Springbok squads to travel to both the 1999 and 2003 World Cup. The slightest criticism of Nkanunu would cause Oberholzer to remind anyone in earshot of the president’s vast intellect, successful legal practice and impeccable struggle credentials.
All of these counted for naught when Oberholzer ducked last week. Nkanunu’s praise singers disappeared overnight, like the melting snow, and wishing to avoid the embarrassment of being voted out by a huge margin, he stepped aside.
He paused only to send an intermediary to ask Brian van Rooyen if he might keep one small seat on the gravy train. This was the seat on the board of the IRB that he thought was given because of his dynamic organisational capabilities, but turned out to be dependent upon actually holding significant office in South African rugby.
This, presumably, was the moment when Van Rooyen knew he would be elected unopposed as Sarfu president. It would be some 36 hours before he had confirmation of that, but if it was his first decision as president elect he made the right one. He told Nkanunu’s intermediary to get stuffed.
Van Rooyen’s election has been widely seen as a good thing and he may indeed be exactly what our rugby needs, but what if we’re wrong again?
Has anyone considered the fact that the same system that ”chose” Nkanunu has chosen Van Rooyen?
How can it be that a man who was chased away from rugby by Luyt in 1996 is now, thanks to the departure of Oberholzer, the most powerful man in the sport in this country?
It was Douglas Adams who pointed out the key fact regarding political appointments: namely that anyone capable of getting themselves elected to a position of authority should on no count be allowed to do the job.
Whatever you may think of Van Rooyen’s abilities and motives, does it not seem more than a little strange that he could get the job merely by announcing to the press a few weeks ago that he intended to run? Where were the officials with vested interests to stand against this Johnny-come-lately?
Now that England are the World Cup holders it is fashionable to admire their structures. England’s Kamp Staaldraad was at a five star resort with wives and girlfriends admitted. They refused to sack Clive Woodward in the wake of failure at the 1999 World Cup and were rewarded tenfold.
What no one mentions, of course, is that England too, took the bold decision to split into a professional and amateur arm some years ago and that it has been the cause of much internecine wrangling ever since. That’s because the amateur arm still wields considerable power, having refused to invest Francis Barron, the CEO of the professional arm, with the sweeping powers accorded Oberholzer.
Barron can’t cosy up to the president of the RFU in the way that Oberholzer did with Nkanunu, because England operates that most sensible of power pyramids: up and out.
The difficult bit is to be nominated as junior vice president. Once that’s achieved the incumbent has three years: the first as junior VP, the second as senior VP and the third as president. Then he’s thanked for his contribution to the game and pensioned off, to be replaced by his senior VP, who is replaced by his own senior VP and so on ad infinitum.
What this system avoids is the tendency power has to corrupt. From Danie Craven, through Luyt and Oberholzer, men who were initially perfect in their positions were allowed to become too powerful to the ultimate detriment of the game. It would be wonderful to think that Van Rooyen will be the exception that proves the rule, but don’t hold your breath.