“Defender ready?” the announcer calls out.
A thumbs-up follows, and in mere moments, two imposing figures—devoid of any protective equipment—sprint towards each other at full speed, colliding with a sickening thud of flesh and bone.
The crowd erupts in a cacophony of sound, a mix of cheers and winces.
This is the moment they’ve been anticipating, and it’s precisely this adrenaline-charged atmosphere that organizers of the Run It Championship League are counting on to catapult what they’re billing as the “world’s fiercest, new collision sport” onto the global stage.
The sport is a high-octane iteration of a one-on-one tackling game, with roots in the backyards and schoolyards of Australia and New Zealand, particularly within Pacific Islander communities.
The rules are simple: one player, carrying a ball, must “run it straight” at the defender, who is also sprinting towards them. Evasion tactics like ducking, hurdling, or sidestepping are prohibited.
Videos of the game have recently achieved viral status, and the founders of the Run It league have seized upon this surge in interest. They claim to have amassed millions of online views, cultivated a devoted fan base, attracted prominent sponsors, and even sparked rival competitions.
Following events in Melbourne and Auckland, the league held another competition in a Dubai arena, with the winner claiming a prize of A$200,000 (£98,000). Expansion plans now include the UK and the US.
However, the growing support for the league is increasingly challenged by critical voices. Medical professionals and sports figures are raising concerns about the potential physical and mental health consequences of the game, which has also evolved into a broader social media trend already linked to one fatality.
“It’s like shaking a baby,” says Peter Satterthwaite, whose teenage nephew died after replicating the game at a party.
The game’s objective is straightforward: to “dominate” the contact, as determined by a panel of three judges.
Two of the league’s seven co-founders, Brandon Taua’a and Stephen Hancock, shared with the BBC their fond memories of playing the game as teenagers in Melbourne.
“I used to ‘run it straight’ at Brandon all the time,” Hancock says, adding that they often tried to avoid direct, head-on collisions.
This weekend, however, there will be no such avoidance as the eight finalists compete for the substantial cash prize in the United Arab Emirates.
Hancock maintains that Run It is a “game of skill,” emphasizing the importance of “footwork.” Nonetheless, the inherently violent nature of the sport is undeniable.
A cursory glance at the league’s social media accounts reveals numerous short videos showcasing the explosive impact of two men colliding.
Additional videos from these events depict several competitors being knocked unconscious and requiring immediate medical attention.
Taua’a acknowledges the inherent risks of the sport but asserts that the league has implemented safety protocols to mitigate them.
Competitors undergo a screening process that includes medical assessments, such as blood tests and physical examinations. They must also submit a recent video of themselves participating in a sport involving tackling. Furthermore, medical personnel are present at all events.
“There’s an element of danger with surfing, with boxing, and many other sports as well,” Taua’a contends.
For Champ Betham, who won NZ$20,000 at the Auckland competition and is vying for the title in Dubai, the element of danger is a secondary consideration.
“This is a massive blessing to a whole heap of us to pretty much try and win 20K or whatever for a couple hours’ work,” he told Radio New Zealand.
“We got to pay off some debts and stock up the fridges and the cupboards, food for our little ones, especially with the economy and stuff like that here in New Zealand. Nothing’s cheap these days.”
The financial investment in the league, which has only been around for six months, is considerable. In addition to the prize money, competitors’ travel and accommodation expenses are covered. A 1,600-seat arena has been booked, and the league boasts a polished social media presence, a public relations representative, and a network of promoters, including prominent sports figures from Australia and New Zealand.
While its initial financial backers were described as “a group of local investors who believe in the product,” larger entities are now emerging. Days before the Dubai event, the league announced a significant sponsorship agreement with online gambling platform Stake.com, which is banned in key markets like Australia and the UK.
Discussions are also underway with potential US investors, including a contact associated with American podcaster and UFC commentator Joe Rogan, which Taua’a believes “will definitely help” the league establish a presence in the US.
Such robust financial backing will be necessary to support the league’s ambitions, which they argue extend beyond a fleeting social media fad.
“This could actually eventuate into a sport that could sit [in a class] with MMA and boxing,” Hancock suggests.
However, as Taua’a and Hancock focus on the competition’s future prospects, a growing chorus of voices is questioning its safety.
“They might as well set up smoking as a legitimate sport,” says neuroscientist Alan Pearce.
Speaking to the BBC from Palmerston North, New Zealand, Peter Satterthwaite is unequivocal in his assessment.
“It’s not a sport,” he declares, labeling it “a dangerous activity” solely intended “to hurt the guy in front of you.”
His 19-year-old nephew, Ryan, was celebrating a 21st birthday with friends at a local park when they decided to try the game they had encountered on social media.
Ryan participated in two tackles. Neither he nor his friend fell or experienced a head clash. However, as he walked away, he told his friends that he was feeling unwell, his uncle recounts.
“[Ryan] was coherent for a bit, then he lay down and his eyes just rolled back in his head.”
Friends rushed him to the hospital, where doctors had to “cut a sizable chunk out of his skull” to relieve pressure caused by brain swelling, Satterthwaite says.
“I saw him on the ventilator, his chest going up and down as he was breathing, and it was like ‘Get up! Open your eyes’.”
On Monday evening, just a day after playing with his friends, Ryan’s life support was withdrawn in a hospital room filled with loved ones.
“It was just an innocuous clash,” Ryan’s uncle says, “and it just shows you how fragile life is and how fragile your brain is.”
Run It says it recognizes the dangers inherent in contact sports and takes safety seriously. Weeks after Ryan’s death, the league released a video stating that the game is “not for the backyard, not for the street.”
“Do not try this at home,” they cautioned.
However, Satterthwaite doubts that this warning will have a significant impact.
“I don’t think there’s a sport in the world that people don’t do at the beach, or in their backyard, or at the park.”
Shenei Panaia is concerned about more than just the physical consequences.
As a Samoan woman who grew up in Australia, she often saw schoolchildren playing the game for fun. But as a mental health professional, she worries that it reinforces “a version of masculinity where silence is strength, and violence is proof of pride.”
“It sends a dangerous message to young men that their worth is based on how much pain they can take. That if you’re not tough, you don’t belong.”
Penaia adds that the league’s attempt to transform the game into a lucrative spectator sport contradicts the values of many in the Pacific Islander community.
“We are taught to look out for one another… and to make decisions that serve more than just ourselves.”
Concussion experts and sporting figures share these concerns.
For more than a decade, the world of high-impact sports has been introducing safety measures as research into brain injuries advances.
Official organizations, including Rugby Australia and New Zealand Rugby, have cautioned against participation, with the Prime Minister of New Zealand characterizing it as a “dumb thing to do.”
Neuroscientist Pearce argues that Run It amplifies “the most violent aspects of our established sport,” while the safety protocols do little to minimize risk. He asserts that blood tests and physical examinations cannot predict brain injuries, and catastrophic damage can occur even without a direct blow to the head.
“I can’t see how running at 25km an hour straight at each other without stopping is safe,” he tells the BBC. “It’s as simple as that.”
Dr. Pearce highlights the risks of immediate concussion, delayed-onset brain injuries like Ryan Satterthwaite’s, and chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a degenerative disease caused by repetitive head trauma. These conditions can lead to cognitive impairment, movement disorders, dementia, and depression.
“[They’re] basically using the collision as the entertainment value, which is, in effect, commercializing concussion,” he concludes.
However, a spokesperson for the league, while arguing that it is “not about masculinity” but “strength and skill,” states that organizers have no intention of slowing down and are not overly concerned about their critics.
Taua’a claims that what happens at their competitions is “not too much different” from what is seen in televised rugby matches and that, with their protocols, it is far safer than many of the games played in backyards worldwide.
“It’s quite new for viewers and it might take some time for them to get used to seeing what we’ve put together.”
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