Farrell said he was giving up his England duties partly for the sake of his family. Photo: Getty Images/Alex Davidson < p>In just one month since the end of the Rugby World Cup, the sport has pushed both its best umpire and its best Test scorer to the extreme to protect their state of mind.
No sooner had Wayne Barnes retired amid a chorus of «vile» abuse about his decisions in the final than Owen Farrell, who had received harsh treatment from England fans in France, saw fit to retire from the game. international game for an indefinite period. If rugby hasn't yet realized the psychological toll that those who reach the highest heights take, it certainly does now.
The shock of Farrell's absence from next year's Six Nations to «prioritize his and his family's mental well-being» cannot be overstated. Here is the captain who, moments after an agonizing World Cup semi-final defeat, said: “All I care about at this minute is how proud I am to be English.” Despite all the cavils about his form, the ferocity of his devotion to his country was never in doubt. So far, Farrell has been distinguished by his armor, his ability to remain stoic, stubborn and unyielding under the merciless gaze.
Now it needs to be looked at through a different lens. The language in which his Six Nations exit was announced, with its focus on mental health, is a reminder of how even the most unapologetic exterior can mask acute vulnerability. Farrell, 32, is at the peak of his professional career. But in a cutthroat trade, he can hardly predict with certainty how long he can stay on top. Thus, voluntary refusal to participate in a major tournament speaks volumes about how intolerable the external noise has become.
It seems inadequate to simply blame social media for Pharrell's admission of pain. Here was a player who had largely protected himself from the rancid online plague by having little to do with that world in the first place. When James Haskell tried to involve him in crazy videos during England's 2016 tour of Australia, he begged his incorrigible teammate to turn off the camera. But it also seemed like the attacks on Pharrell extended well beyond Twitter or YouTube. This made tangible sense, not least when his name was read out in the quarter-finals in Marseille to a chorus of jeers.
The mystery of why Farrell, the second-highest scoring figure in Test history behind Dan Carter, is not more beloved in his homeland has persisted for many years. Many explanations have been put forward, ranging from his lack of pyrotechnics with the ball in hand to his sometimes questionable tackling technique. There are other potential theories surrounding his rugby background and his sullen personality at Wigan, but they all seem redundant right now. The debate that rugby faces is not why Farrell is struggling to gain popularity, but why he sees no other option but to walk away, with no time frame to return, from the job he values so much.
Even the toughest rivals have a turning point. We saw this with Ben Stokes, who produced an indomitable performance at the crease but took a six-month break from cricket in 2021 after a series of panic attacks. He explored the reasons for his breakdown with ruthless clarity in a documentary with Sir Sam Mendes, revealing how the death of his father Ged briefly robbed him of his sense of acting. “You can’t hide behind it, you can’t change how you feel,” he said. «The more you try to squeeze it, the worse it will be.»It's a stretch to imagine Farrell making such a confession to an Oscar-winning director. He and his wife Georgie are very private and avoid posting anything about their family life on Instagram. But months of ill will from the stands have clearly paid off. The ordeal came to a head before the Fiji game last month when, although Farrell was still battling for a time-out penalty against Samoa, his very presence in the squad drew loud cheers. Richard Wigglesworth, England's attacking coach, came to his defence, saying: “The tallest trees seem to catch the most wind. It has proven itself time and time again and I don't understand why in England we feel the need not to celebrate it.»
At first glance, Farrell seemed immune to this tall poppy syndrome. He shrugged off violence as an occupational hazard. He adhered to the ancient wisdom of never attacking his supporters. But today it seems that it was all a carefully constructed façade, that behind the automatic responses there was a tortured soul.
It is a startling realization. Only last week Farrell optimistically insisted he could continue his career until the 2027 World Cup. There is now no guarantee as to when he will next represent England. At some point, the close attention to which he was accustomed turned into poisonous contempt, which had devastating consequences for the person himself. Let this be a watershed moment for rugby: a moment to understand that openly ridiculing world-class talent is not some harmless parlor game, but unnecessary cruelty with all-too-human costs.
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