Five years ago, a bombshell revelation shook the rugby world: hundreds of former players were suffering from brain damage, their lives forever altered by the sport they loved. But despite the urgency of their plight, these athletes are still waiting for justice and the support they desperately need.
This harrowing journey has unfolded within the labyrinthine walls of the Royal Courts of Justice, a sprawling complex built over 125 years, where legal battles are fought in a maze of twisting staircases and endless corridors. For the past three years, three separate lawsuits—one in football, one in rugby union, and one in rugby league—have been inching their way through this system, often lost in the shuffle. All three are spearheaded by the small but determined firm Rylands Garth, and each hearing feels like a fleeting moment in a never-ending saga. Some take place in the modern, worn-down rooms of the east block, while others are held in the cold, wood-cladded chambers off the great hall, lined with rows of leather-bound books. Progress is glacial, and many developments go unreported.
Though distinct, the rugby cases share so many overlapping issues that they’ve been merged for efficiency. But instead of streamlining the process, this decision has only entangled them further. The rugby league case has one defendant, the Rugby Football League, while the rugby union case has three: World Rugby, the Rugby Football Union, and the Welsh Rugby Union. This means every decision, even scheduling, must be negotiated in quadruplicate. And this is the part most people miss: the sheer complexity of these cases has turned them into a legal quagmire, leaving the players in limbo.
On Monday, it will mark five years since my colleague Michael Aylwin and I first broke the story. In the aftermath, a wave of former players came forward to share their struggles. World Cup winner Steve Thompson, Alix Popham, Michael Lipman, Dan Scarbrough, and Alex Abbey all bravely spoke to the Guardian about their diagnoses. Soon, hundreds more joined the lawsuit. By the agreed deadline, over 1,000 people had signed on—313 in rugby league and 787 in rugby union. These are not just professionals; they include amateurs, internationals, club players, men, and women. Some have been diagnosed with probable chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), others with Parkinson’s or motor neurone disease. Their conditions vary in severity, but all are neurodegenerative. For many, the clock started ticking the moment their test results arrived. Despite their suffering, most still love the sport they believe caused their pain. What they seek is a settlement to secure their future care and provide stability for their families.
Yet, the cases remain far from trial. One solicitor optimistically predicts the rugby union case might reach trial by 2027, though others doubt even that. Everything is stuck in the case management phase, where claimants and defendants must agree on how to structure trials involving hundreds of claimants, three defendants, and hundreds of thousands of pages of documents. At times, proceedings devolve into tedious arguments over evidence, with barristers bickering like navigators disputing directions. But here’s where it gets controversial: while the legal battle drags on, the sport itself has begun to change. Smart mouthguards, reduced contact training, harsher penalties for dangerous tackles, and a new brain health service have all been introduced. World Rugby insists these changes would have happened regardless of the lawsuit, but it’s hard not to wonder: would they have moved so quickly without the pressure?
Outside the courtroom, progress is evident. Inside, it’s a different story. The claimants are growing restless. Some are disillusioned, others furious. “They’re just kicking it down the road,” says Popham, accusing the defendants of stalling tactics. World Rugby denies this, but from the press seats, it feels like both sides are jockeying for position, each trying to expose the other’s weaknesses. Early on, it was agreed that a small number of test cases would represent the whole. In rugby union, this means both sides will select 28 cases, which will then be narrowed to around 20 to represent the full spectrum of players and conditions. This requires cooperation, which has been hard to come by, despite Judge Cook’s efforts. During proceedings, he often looks like a man trapped in a never-ending debate, exasperated by the lack of progress.
Despite Popham’s claims, the delays aren’t solely the defendants’ fault. They blame Rylands Garth, and Cook has shown sympathy for their argument. A year-long dispute over whether Rylands Garth has disclosed all medical records has become absurd, with arguments hinging on the meaning of the word “all.” Cook’s attempt to clarify—“All means all”—fell flat. The claimants argue that “all” is an impossible standard, as it would require records from birth, many of which are held by the clubs themselves. They accuse the defendants of sending them on wild goose chases for irrelevant documents. The defendants counter that they need all records to fairly select their cases, pointing out that even a childhood bicycle accident could be relevant.
Rylands Garth, a small firm, has taken on a monumental task. Their lead, Susan Rodway, compares it to rolling a boulder uphill, only to have it pushed back down. Yet, it often feels like they’re playing catch-up, having entered the case expecting a settlement. They’ve since assembled one of Europe’s largest legal medical teams and secured £3.5 million in funding for neurological testing. But it’s as if they’re laying tracks while the train is already moving. And this raises a bigger question: if Rylands Garth is struggling, what does that say about the rugby authorities’ own efforts to address player welfare?
The firm’s methods came under scrutiny when they sued former player Will Green for withdrawing from the litigation, leaving him liable for testing costs. Both sides have PR teams, and it’s no coincidence that Green’s case, which led to Rylands Garth being referred to the Solicitors Regulation Authority, received so much attention. The defendants often frame themselves and the players as part of the “rugby family,” subtly suggesting Rylands Garth is an outsider. It feels like an attempt to drive a wedge between the claimants and their legal representatives.
In court, Cook eventually lost patience with Rylands Garth and issued an “unless order,” demanding full compliance with disclosure or risk having cases struck out. The deadline has passed, and the decision is being appealed, requiring new hearings and a new judge. This will be the third judge for the rugby cases alone, with a fourth set to oversee the trial next year. A Rylands Garth spokesperson remains hopeful, stating that the claimants look forward to the trial judge taking over in 2026. But for now, the players—Thompson, Popham, Lipman, and countless others—continue to wait, their lives on hold as they fight for the help they need.
What do you think? Are the rugby authorities doing enough to protect players, or is this legal battle a necessary wake-up call? Share your thoughts in the comments.
