• A sketch of Sri Lankan rugby

The appointments made last week (9 March) signal a significant ‘reset’ for the Tuskers. 

However, as the whistle blows on a new era, the sport of rugby finds itself caught between professional aspirations and a stubborn, amateur reality.

The new guard: High ambitions

The coaching staff looks formidable on paper, yet each leader faces a distinct uphill battle.

• Dushanth Lewke (XV): The man of the moment. Fresh off a historic ‘double crown’ with CR & FC, Lewke brings a winning pedigree to a national side desperately needing direction for the New Zealand U85 kg tour and the Asia Rugby Top Four.
• Shamly Nawaz (sevens): Reappointed after a podium finish in Asia, Nawaz possesses World Rugby Level 3 credentials. His hurdle? The perennial lack of cohesive, sevens-specific training time for a squad pulled in too many directions.
• Leonard de Zilwa (women’s): Tasked with reviving a programme that has lingered in the shadows, De Zilwa must build a foundation for the Asian circuit despite the glaring absence of a proper domestic programme.

The turf: An administrative reality check

While the coaches carry weight, the opening of the Dialog Schools Rugby Knockouts (President’s Trophy) on Wednesday (11) highlighted the logistical ‘rust’ plaguing the administration.

The ground-marking fiasco

At the Royal Sports Complex and CR & FC, the ‘tidy diagrams’ of the field were literally invisible. Matches were delayed because the pitch wasn’t marked – a vintage Sri Lankan rugby headache. Professional coaching cannot outrun an administration that forgets the white paint.

The commissioner gap

Under the new Sri Lanka Schools Rugby Football Association (SLSRFA) leadership of Buddhika Attanayake, the ‘hiccups’ of 2025 remain. 

Whether it is a lack of qualified personnel or a failure to conduct refresher workshops for masters turned commissioners, the result is the same: incompetence in the technical zone. As one wag noted, “Perhaps appointments are only for those who voted.”

The Kandy-sized void

The absence of Kandy SC from this season’s sevens circuit is a gaping hole. Without the hill country giants, the domestic landscape feels like a play without its lead actor.

The absence of Kandy SC from the sevens circuit isn’t just a statistical loss; it’s a loss of soul. Without the hill country giants, the tournament loses its ‘north star’. 

For Coach Nawaz, this is a tactical nightmare. How do you prepare a national squad for Asia’s best when the domestic ‘gold standard’ is sitting at home? The sevens circuit, once a trial by fire, has become a rehearsal in a half-empty theatre.

With both sevens legs moved to Colombo, Sri Lanka Rugby (SLR) has granted a dispensation for Kandy players to represent other clubs. However, the ‘club vs. country’ friction remains. 

Since national duty offers no compensation, players naturally lean towards the clubs that keep their home fires burning. Until the ‘Young Turks at Torrington Place can match the ‘Old Fox’ of Kandy in stability, patriotism will remain, as Samuel Johnson once quipped, the

“last refuge” for those seeking a way out of the chaos.

Sideline discord: The Nawaz metaphor

On the touchline, Nawaz is a portrait of desperate passion – a man shouting into a gale-force wind.

There is a fundamental ‘language barrier’ at play, but it isn’t linguistic; it’s tactical. Nawaz is trying to teach a PhD-level rhythm to players still grappling with the alphabet. His hoarse cries and frequent outbursts at referees send a damaging message to fans and young players alike.

He has the Level 3 brain with players who are still learning the Level 1 basics. Often, Nawaz gives vent to his frustration by shouting at referees.

His shouting gives the wrong impression to fans and provides greater impetus for them to shout at match officials. Which also gives a wrong message to young players – an impression that one cannot give as a national coach, a position where one needs to be a role model. 

When a player calls for a ‘mark’ off a bouncing ball while the coach is busy berating the official, the referee’s cynical laugh says it all: the basics are missing and the noise is just a mask for the disconnect.

The final whistle

If the national setup is a ‘theatre of noise,’ the school knockouts have descended into a farce. From invisible lines on the pitch to an official vacuum in the technical zone, the transition from league to knockout has been a structural collapse.

Until the chalk lines on the ground are as clear as the instructions from the bench, Sri Lankan rugby will continue to drift in the fog.

(The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the official position of this publication)