Maybe it was coincidental that the verdict on an eye gouge by one of South Africa’s top players was postponed on the day the 2027 Rugby World Cup draw was also happening.
Wednesday was the day when a panel asked for more time to consider Eben Etzebeth sticking his thumb in a Welshman’s eye in last weekend’s Wales-South Africa mismatch. Wednesday was also the day World Cup fever was being whipped up in Australia as the group stage names came out of the hat.
But if anyone in rugby thought they were burying bad news by releasing it 24 hours after the show, today’s announcement of a 12-week ban was no less shameful. Etzebeth’s offence was deemed to be “intentional.” It was admitted by the accused. There was only “a degree of provocation” from the victim “pulling him down violently” prior to him sticking his thumb in.
And yet – endangering the eyesight of Wales’s Alex Mann was considered a “mid-range” offence – hence the lenient three-month penalty. Etzebeth can play again in March next year. If a thumb “intentionally” rammed into an eye out of revenge is “mid-range,” you wonder what Etzebeth would have needed to do to qualify for a “top-end” punishment.
It sure looked calculated. It was also bizarre – in the dying minutes of a 73-0 massacre. Naturally social media lit up with alternative theories suggesting a prior assault on Etzebeth by Mann, who had already been officially cleared of wrongdoing. He didn’t “ask for it,” as old rugby folk might have said. It wasn’t an eye for an eye. Even the Springboks coach Rassie Erasmus called his man’s red card “justified.”
It’s an anomaly of sport down the ages that crimes that would get you thrown in a police van are managed with red cards, marathon-length hearings, legal jousting and conscious or unconscious concern for “the image of the game.”
No sport wants to light a fire under itself – especially one already in the brace position over brain injuries, as rugby is, with huge class actions pending.
Sometimes self-interest doesn’t bother to disguise itself. Strikingly soon after dining with Donald Trump, Cristiano Ronaldo was the beneficiary of Fifa’s moral acrobatics, in the form of a suspended sentence that cleared him to play for Portugal from day one of the 2026 World Cup. Ronaldo had a three-match ban for violent conduct commuted to a one-game penalty, with the other suspended. Hey presto: sitting out Portugal’s 9-1 win against Armenia cleared him for the Trump-Infantino jamboree.
Context or mitigation is one of the first ports of call for lawyers seeking to keep sentences low, so you can see why Etzebeth’s supporters might have tried to portray his gouge as a quest to right a wrong. In the court of public opinion – aka whataboutery – it isn’t hard for perpetrators to be recast as victims.
The trouble is, there’s no legal or moral right to get your own back by endangering a person’s sight.
Crime and punishment in sport was always complex. Most governing bodies loathe the thankless task of imposing discipline. They’d rather be singing deals and “driving revenue.” There’s no real upside to throwing the book at star names. A doping bust in track and field or cycling will win you a few days' grace from outraged fans. But kicking off a World Cup in America without Ronaldo, even though the penalties for elbowing are unambiguous? Nah.
The disconnect between criminal and sports law can be traced all the way to the 19th Century. Intervention vs non-intervention by law enforcement rears its head every time we see a clear-cut case.
The police have said countless times that they do not want to be feeling the collars of players for offences that fall within the scope of governing bodies. Except that sometimes they go far beyond the remit of glacially slow disciplinary panels.
In 1994, Duncan Ferguson, who had a history of violence, became the first professional footballer in Britain to go to jail for an offence on the field. He spent 44 days in Barlinnie prison for headbutting Jock McStay in a Scottish Premiership match. A year later Eric Cantona ended up with 120 hours of community service for kung-fu kicking a Crystal Palace fan.
Twenty years ago the Crown Prosecution Service decided sport needed to be brought into line with the law of the land. A catalyst was Newcastle team-mates Lee Bowyer and Kieron Dyer fighting on the pitch. “The growing feeling among the public is that players are getting away with crime, that footballers in particular escape punishment by criminal justice, and that's wrong,” an official said. The CPS’s zeal fizzled out.
Life bans weren’t uncommon in rugby’s amateur era. A 1980s Treorchy prop called Chris Jones, who kept an axe in his kitbag “in case things got out of hand,” was banned for life not once but twice. Technically that’s impossible – but it happened, after a comeback attempt.
In the professional age everyone you speak to in rugby agrees eye-gouging is the lowest of the low (worse, oh yes, even worse, than testicle-twisting). Etzebeth will suffer some income, image and reputational damage. But he won’t wake up in a police cell. And he’ll be back soon, from his “mid-range” misdemeanour.
Photography by David Rogers/Getty Images