The Book of Rugby, Part II: Different Class: the rise and rise of 1st XV rugby

The Herald has kicked off a series looking into rugby and its place in our national psyche - The Book of Rugby. While rugby at the top level - the All Blacks and Super Rugby - is humming ahead of the British & Irish tour, what is happening at lower levels - including club and provincial rugby - is a cause of concern for some.

Today: Schools have replaced clubs as the place where talent is identified and nurtured. With the rise of independent schools New Zealand might have inadvertently fostered an elitist structure in a sport that was noted for its egalitarianism. The search for new talent has reached even greater depths than before, with talent scouts targeting those in their early teens.

Monday: Rugby has evolved massively since the game was first played in New Zealand in the late 19th century. And the rate of change has increased even more rapidly since the sport went professional following the 1995 World Cup. Dylan Cleaver looks at the sport's attempt to woo audiences and the increasing concerns around safety.

Tuesday: Rugby is healthy at the elite levels - but what of the grassroots. As clubs struggle to remain the focal points of their community, Dylan Cleaver canvasses the view on the frontlines in the north, east, south and west of the country.

Wednesday: The Essay - The British & Irish Lions tour is four days from kicking off and will be our biggest rugby event since hosting the 2011 Rugby World Cup. Dylan Cleaver asks where the sport sits in our national consciousness and how is it likely to shift, if at all, in the future.

Chapter 2. Different Class: the rise and rise of 1st XV rugby

"We call it the whitebaiting scenario: you might scoop a lot up, but a lot still fall out along the way." - Daniel Kane, player manager

In the middle of a grey May day, in the middle of a long working week, Auckland Grammar 1st XV wing Rodney Tongotea received the ball with nothing on. Seconds later he was diving into the corner to score the first try of the match, having bumped off three overmatched New Plymouth Boys' High School defenders along the way. It would not be the last time he would spectacularly interrupt more sedate proceedings with an astonishing combination of speed and power.

In days gone past that would have been the talk of the school the following day and would probably have earned the teenager a mention in school assembly. Big deal, for many ambitious kids the conversation is only relevant if it spreads beyond the school gates: more specifically, to the personnel departments of the country's professional franchises and unions.

Make no mistake, schools have replaced clubs, and in many cases provincial unions, as the battleground for talent identification and development. That, unsurprisingly, has created a raft of issues most schools are ill-equipped to deal with.

Supporters during the School boys rugby, Auckland Grammar v New Plymouth Boys High School. Photo / Dean Purcell.

"Professional issues have now been brought into the school grounds," says Geoff Moon, head of rugby at Mt Albert Grammar, one of the traditional pillars of secondary school rugby.

The glamorisation of schoolboy rugby has been ramped up with widespread television and streamed coverage, while websites and Facebook pages ranking players and schools has highlighted the sector's increasing "professionalisation".

While this story may highlight some of the excesses of schoolboy rugby, it is important to remember that sport in school is an overwhemingly positive experience for most kids. At its best it teaches pride, humility, resilience, camaraderie and passion. In many instances isport provides a platform for the student to be engaged with the education sector. That should never be discounted.

"The story of college rugby's ascension to prominence is really the story of club rugby's struggle for relevance," says Scotty Stevenson, commentator, columnist and one of the game's more astute modern thinkers. "The schoolboy game has become the breeding ground for professional players in the same way the premier club game was once the proving ground for provincial representation.

"Contracting is now a schoolboy issue. Super Rugby teams, through stipend relationships with provincial unions or academy programmes, have by and large circumvented the traditional club pathway. More and more, players are aware of the need to shine at a younger age. To do so they seek schools that provide them with the best chance to be noticed."

Yesterday, we focused on the challenge for administrator's in keeping rugby relevant in an increasingly urban, digitised and diverse society, but the rise and rise of schoolboy rugby is arguably New Zealand Rugby's greatest double-edged sword.

"What we've seen over the past three years is more intensity around the performance aspect of schools," says David Gibson, the former Blues and Maori All Black halfback who works for the Players' Association. "With that brings a lot of other influences. We have agents in the environment. We're bringing professionalism into schools, the good and the bad."

The best schools have become talent factories that continue to supply our professional franchises with a seemingly endless supply of world-class athletes. On the flip side, some schools have become obsessed with the idea of a strong 1st XV, triggering a chain reaction where elitism is fostered and less wealthy schools simply stop trying to compete.

Talent spotters and player managers have become a constant on the sidelines and not all of them are beneficent presences, raising the expectations of kids and parents and, in some cases, inducing them to sign agency agreements that are possibly unethical and often disadvantageous to the athlete.

Rob Nichol from the New Zealand Rugby Players Association. Photo / Dean Purcell

"Our belief is no kid at school should sign any agency agreement," says Rob Nichol, head of the New Zealand Players' Association, which has been instrumental in introducing an accredited agent scheme to try to keep some of the more unscrupulous operators out of schools.

"The big worry we have is young kids and their parents getting carried away and committing to an agent on terms that are completely unreasonable. We've got kids signing five-, six-year agency agreements.

"I don't sign an agreement that binds me to my accountant. I don't sign an agreement that binds me to my lawyer. So why on earth would the New Zealand education system be comfortable about kids signing six-year agreements with someone giving them the rights to commercialise a minor," Nichol asks. "It's absolutely disgusting."

The most voracious representatives were those claiming to be connected to NRL clubs, said most of those talked to by the Herald.

"We have rugby league scouts looking for 14-year-olds in schools, trying to tie them up until post-school. We have rogue agents on the sidelines, talking to naïve parents in the carparks," says Moon, who said he welcomes accredited agents at MAGs "because they walk through the front door", not slip in through the back.

"Professional rugby has put the race for talent a lot younger. League, as a result, has gone ridiculously young."

As the competition for signatures has got younger (scouts are agents are routinely spotted on the sidelines and in the car parks at the national AIMS tournament for intermediate schools), it has also become haphazard. The welfare of the athlete has become secondary to the act of securing signatures itself.

Feeding frenzy might be a loaded term but there are sharks out there looking for the next helping of talent, say even those who could themselves be called predators.

Daniel Kane, talent manager at global agency Esportif.

"The NRL is the biggest concern," says Daniel Kane, a talent manager at global agency Esportif. "They're aggressive. They're targeting even below 1st XV level. They're securing commitments from families and taking them out of the rugby environment.

"We call it the whitebaiting scenario: you might scoop a lot up, but a lot still fall out along the way."

Moon has seen it all. A South Aucklander by birth and attitude, he has progressed - our word, not his - from the Struggle Streets of Mangere to the more leafy surrounds of Mt Albert. At MAGs, which counts Bryan 'Beegee' Williams, Olo Brown and Sonny Bill Williams among its famous rugby sons, expectations are high.

Last year, as director of rugby and the coach of the 1st XV, he delivered, winning the ferociously competitive Auckland 1A competition and the national championship. He says, however, that what defines success for him and what defines it for many of the parents of kids at his school differs wildly.

"For us it's about giving the boys a love of rugby that will keep them in the sport forever," he says in the chaotic Portacabin that serves as his office. "Whether they kick on and go professional, or to club, coaching, administering or supporting, we've got a role at this age group to give them a heartbeat for the game.

"That's a major priority here. We focus on the fun and enjoyment. The friendships. Love for your school. All the tangible stuff. If you love your school and you love your sport, man you're going to do well in the classroom too."

That philosophy means he is prepared to ride out down years as his team travels the roller-coaster of strength and weakness, depending on the influx of Year 9 talent in any given year. That puts him into conflict with those who see other schools circumvent that cycle by "importing" talent to fill the gaps and implore him to do the same.

"The win-at-all-costs belief is more in parents than kids," Moon says.

When MAGs don't win, Moon and his school-first policies have come under attack from parents who feel their son's progress on along the professional pathway has been stunted. While Moon says he now has "fantastic buy-in" from parents and alumni, it took time.

"I've been here five years and have had conflict alright," he says, "but you have to have a philosophy and stick to it. Don't deviate. We had a great season last year and won everything, but it took three or four years, and it took three or four years of a lot of people challenging what we were doing.

"For us, it was about what 'right' looked like."

What right looks like is a neat line. It is also interpretative. What becomes clear is that what right looks like to Rosehill College in Papakura might be fundamentally different to what right looks like on the moneyed lawns of St Kentigern College, Pakuranga.

Those two schools were not plucked out of the hat, either. All Black captain Kieran Read was a Rosehill boy until tempted to leave on scholarship to the independent St Kents. As it turned out, Read preferred the public system and soon returned to Papakura, but many, many more - like Jerome Kaino, another Papakura boy - don't.

New Zealand's continued dominance as a rugby nation is partly attributed to its egalitarian appeal, so any trend towards it becoming a rich man's playground is looked upon with suspicion. The rise of the independent schools is ruffling feathers in some quarters and inducing weary resignation in others.

Brian Evans, Kelston Boys' High School principal. Photo / NZPA

"The complexities of school sport are huge," said Kelston Boys' High School principal Brian Evans. "It's going to be a massive issue for New Zealand sport in the next 10 to 20 years. There was a time when you'd get All Blacks out of [low-decile state schools]. I think that will become a thing of the past, unfortunately.

"Sport is simply dying in some schools. It's expensive and they don't have the resources to compete so they give up - and I am not going to sit here and blame them."

Kelston sits in low-decile league heartland in West Auckland but has managed to maintain its presence among the big rugby schools because of a tie-up with Auckland's most successful club, Ponsonby, and its willingness to throw resources at the sport because it provides a genuine career path for their students.

Without that commitment to rugby, and sport in general, Evans admits his programmes would be at the mercy of the independent schools who can offer glossy prospectuses, scholarships that are marketed as six-figure prizes to struggling parents, and the promise of the best facilities school sport can offer.

It is an intoxicating message many parents cannot afford to ignore.

"It's just not a level playing field any more," Evans says. "How do the other schools keep up? Should they even try to? It's so complex.

"You look at the All Blacks now and they're still from all over the place but I can see a time when they won't be. Rugby will become an elite schoolboy game. I have a feeling we're already on this pathway."

Kane, too, sees a pattern emerging. With increased television, and mainstream and social media exposure, he has seen some schools offer what is essentially a live-in, professional environment.

"The gap between schools is potentially going to get bigger. Perhaps we'll end up with a Mitre 10 Cup of schools. That's a scary thought but I wouldn't say it's out of the question."

The figurative pissing contest between schools can have a profound downstream effect on its student athletes. While some of these kids leave school and are physically and skills-wise ready to play professional rugby, many of them are still trying to come to terms with who they are as people.

Rugby, while having a massively positive effect on their lives, can also act as an identity thief.

"We deal with a lot of kids who've been labelled rugby players and are institutionalised," says Nichol. "Even the ones who've done well in their rugby, eventually it undermines them because of a lack of self-identity, a lack of growth, a lack of options outside the sport - not being known for who they are as opposed to what they do on the park."

Central to this is the idea that school should provide a balanced environment where education is placed at the centre and sport, culture and the arts branch out from that hub.

The School boys rugby, Auckland Grammar v New Plymouth Boys High School, played at Auckland Grammar. Photo / Dean Purcell

"Sport should not dominate a kid's outlook. It should be education that underpins everything a kid does at school," Nichol says. "The issue we have is when we see an environment that has lost sight of that; where it becomes about the 1st XV winning and being a brand for the school. Or where the school acquires players because they believe they won't be good enough to win the competition with what they already have."

The schools do it in part because the stakes are higher. Television has ramped up the exposure. That has re-engaged many old boys' networks who are happy to raise money in the knowledge they get to see a high-profile end product.

Like everything to do with the boom in the importance of schoolboy rugby, all that glitters is not gold. At one point MAGs banned television cameras from their grounds.

"We said no to First XV TV because we wanted to wait until the parents' expectations aligned to reality," Moon says.

"When you have a TV game every now and then, like with Sky, it's a learning experience. When it's every week, you're getting ahead of your station. You get the kids worrying about their haircuts and their celebrations rather than worrying about their homework. It can hinder development."

Nichol would go further: "If you ask a lot of our members, they'll tell you that the broadcasting of schoolboy rugby is a disaster. They'd like to scrap it, throw it out and have it never come back. It creates a complete distortion of what sport at school should be all about."

Although New Zealand's schoolboy talent is most densely concentrated in Auckland, this is not an Auckland issue.

In Canterbury recently, principals railed against what they described as an out-of-control local competition that was becoming professionalised, to the detriment of the competition and the athletes.

The principals said the schoolboy "arms race" was counter-productive. Not only was the "professionalisation" of schoolboy rugby undermining the values that schools were meant to be promoting, but it was not creating better kids and not creating better players.

While the last point might seem counter-intuitive, Moon agrees.

"In the 90s, we produced better players in the secondary school space," he says. "The competition was even. There were limited scholarships. You went to your school and that's who you played for. There's not as many good players coming out of school as there was in the 90s."

Perhaps the reality is that it is this point alone that will eventually encourage NZ Rugby to intervene and regulate. Not because some schools are placing ludicrous stock in the performance of their 1st XV and not because the pressure and expectation this puts on the players and their families, but because the uneven playing field will end up producing less players of quality.

That wonderful machinery that has supplied New Zealand's professional franchises and, ultimately, the All Blacks could start to splutter.

One interested onlooker, Stevenson, believes NZ Rugby's battle to gain control of schoolboy rugby will be a Waterloo of sorts.

"It could be," he says, "the defining battle of the coming decade."