THE INTERNATIONAL Rugby Board (IRB) has blundered. Its well-intentioned zero tolerance policy towards players’ frenzied footwork clouds the shrouded state of play at the breakdown because it fails to address the real problem — the timeless cynicism of defenders willing to throw their bodies between ball-carrier and support in a bid to pinch possession or slow it down sufficiently for a defence to reorganise. Last weekend, New Zealand’s Richie McCaw muscled on to the wrong side of contact on the first three breakdowns. On the fourth, his fellow back-row forward, Chris Masoe, manipulated himself between ball and English support.

Throughout the sport’s history, the attacking team has used the feet of the pack to peel them away from the contact situation while serving a few reminders that heroic cheating comes at a price. Back-row forwards are legends because they have never been afraid of the consequences. Players such as McCaw may be cheats in the minds of opponents but when Lawrence Dallaglio hurled himself into an offside position to prevent quick ball for France in the dying seconds of a tight Test match in Paris, well that was straight out of Henry V.

The IRB has inadvertently supported these “heroes” of the game. In the build-up to the autumn internationals it was announced there would be straight red cards for players seen to trample on opponents. Referees have been ordered to take action against the inappropriate use of feet on bodies. It sounds fine, but in the real world it is not. It is a charter for cheats. Paddy O’Brien, an outstanding recent referee and rugby man to his core, said: “The game has a history of fair play and respect and the IRB is determined such characteristics are maintained.”

These words are softly dealt wounds to the brutal integrity of the sport. Surely O’Brien knows it has been the sheer physicality dished out to cheats that has helped maintain the sport as an attractive proposition when the frequency of huddled masses comprises a constant threat to its grace. No country “cleared bodies” like Paddy’s New Zealand, and 99% of it was never questioned.

The stud-torn shirt across the back, the pain of the iodine, was all part of the sport’s badge of honour. The use of feet was allowed because it was — and continues to be — the best way to provide quick ball and, with it, free-flowing rugby. There were and still are a few thugs who stamp on heads, ankles, knees; areas that were deliberately targeted and a real risk to the health of the illegally located forward. Nobody has ever endorsed vigilante style justice. The referee should red card such dangerous and malicious play.

But these psychopathic tap dancers have always been a tiny minority of the breakdown problem. So small that effective officiating, in tandem with the ubiquitous eye of television, which has played a fundamental role in outlawing the more vicious elements that once bestrode the world’s rugby fields, can readily erase the unacceptable face of stamping. Yellow cards were introduced a few years back to punish not so much clumsy footwork but the cynical killing of ball. The speed with which most referees forgot this and dished out cards for swinging arms and incidents that were borderline red-card offences was alarming.

Now we are turning full circle and offering assistance to the cheats for cosmetic purposes that have more to do with outsiders’ perception of rugby union than the reality of the game. Admittedly O’Brien did attempt to clarify the situation and differentiate between the backwards motion of rucking a player out of the way and the downward agony of a stamp. If only it was that simple.

Touch judges are trigger-happy with flags. They see a stamp where a man has been legitimately cleared from the contact area. Players are nervous enough as it is, but heaping villainy on those who use their feet will only embolden the cheats and make those touch judge eyes sharper still. Alas, too few officials, especially with bodies all around, cluttering the clarity of their view, can make the right call between a ruck and a stamp.

And they are not the only problem. While O’Brien was clarifying the situation, a citing commission was meeting to judge two Toulouse players, cited against Ulster, for breach of law 10.4, which states players must not stamp or trample an opponent. Your average touch judge is not going to delve into the semantics of what constitutes a “trample” as opposed to rucking. If the word is for “zero policy” they are bound to take tough action and signal for overzealous footwork.

The citing commissioner, Iain Goodall, saw his case against Omar Hasan thrown out and it was decided Trevor Brennan’s 10 minutes in the bin was sufficient. What this indicates is an alarming degree of confusion. In the cold light of day a citing officer cannot tell the difference between a stamp/trample and the backwards motion of a rucking boot; worse, if Brennan did stamp, why did the panel deem the 10 minutes in the bin sufficient punishment? Probably because the initial decision was perceived as draconian.

“Zero tolerance”, be it on the streets of our cities or our fields of rugby, does not address the real problems. It is a good soundbite and an easy term of reference for those who administer the laws. But is it just? It only stands a chance if every referee and touch judge has the requisite degree of empathy for each individual circumstance. Where the sweat really reeks and the knees get dirty, it will only aid and abet the very players who would do the real damage to the game which O’Brien would protect.

The sport’s wounds have always healed over, however many times forwards have raked the shirts off opponents’ backs. A jagged sport, it has never needed to bow to the soft-hearted, soft-headed element. It need not do so now.