Picture this: a rugby powerhouse that's practically unstoppable on the pitch, dishing out bone-crunching tackles and dazzling plays that leave fans gasping, yet it's plagued by cavernous, soul-draining empty seats that scream neglect. That's the heartbreaking paradox facing Sale Sharks, and it's raising serious doubts about whether creating a dominant rugby union force in the North West is nothing more than a far-fetched fantasy. But here's the twist that might surprise you – it's not just about the game itself; it's a deeper issue that could reshape how we view the sport's future.
Let's dive into the numbers to paint the full picture. Over the weekend, a massive crowd of 68,853 supporters packed into Manchester's stadium for the Rugby League Grand Final, where Hull KR emerged victorious against the Wigan Warriors, proving once again how electric that sport can be. Fast-forward to the previous evening, and the scene at Sale Sharks' match against the beleaguered Newcastle Falcons was a stark contrast: just 5,785 fans showed up despite the Sharks racking up over 50 points in a commanding win. Zoom out a couple of weeks earlier, and another 6,256 spectators witnessed them overpower Gloucester in what should have been a thrilling display. Now, I get it – Thursday and Friday night fixtures aren't everyone's cup of tea, but let's not kid ourselves: these pitiful turnouts are unacceptable. If you've tuned into Bath's away games at Harlequins or their home clash with Sale during the opening rounds of the Gallagher Premiership, you'd know that evening kick-offs alone can't excuse the lifeless, sparsely populated atmospheres. For newcomers to rugby, the Gallagher Premiership is the top-tier league in England, packed with intense, high-stakes matches that promise big hits and adrenaline-fueled action – think of it as the elite division where the best teams battle it out.
Sale Sharks embody the very essence of Premiership rugby's self-image. They're not just strong; they're a physical force, with pre-season hype all about those brutal collisions and relentless energy. Watching them on TV is like feeling the ground shake – a visceral experience that makes you appreciate the sport's raw power. At the helm is fly-half George Ford, a veteran playmaker whose skills harken back to a golden era of rugby, and their back three? Lightning-fast, fiercely aggressive, and incredibly talented. It's almost unthinkable they won't be contending for the playoffs this season. Yet, despite this on-field brilliance, there's a glaring problem staring us right in the face: those massive, unoccupied spaces in the stands that broadcasters politely ignore to protect their investments.
Just 5,785 fans witnessed Sale's demolition of Newcastle on that Friday night. (Credit: TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER BRADLEY ORMESHER)
You see, while the Sharks dominate on the field, off the field, there are 'elephants in the room' – or rather, on the terraces. These aren't literal animals, but metaphorical giants: the embarrassingly vast empty seats that make games feel hollow and uninspired. Broadcasters are paid to showcase the product, so they won't point out the desolate, spiritless voids. So far this season, Sale has played in front of disappointingly small crowds at their newly renamed CorpAcq Stadium, which can only squeeze in 12,000 people at most. This hits hard for a team that perfectly represents the Premiership's bold, ambitious vibe. Personally, I adore watching Sale for their ferocious tackling and razor-sharp backline moves – I've been immersed in rugby my whole life. But imagine a newcomer flipping on the TV last Friday, seeing those gaping, unoccupied expanses, and thinking, 'This sport must not be worth my time,' before switching off. It's a real barrier to attracting fresh fans.
On the pitch, Alex Sanderson's squad is beyond question. But off it, those not part of the elite circle might pause and ponder the irony of the Gallagher Premiership. The fight against automatic promotion and relegation – where teams are mechanically moved up or down based on standings – is being won by the clubs, favoring stability. A playoff system between the Premiership's bottom team and the Championship winners (the second tier, no matter how we try to fancy it up) seems fair, and some entry standards are essential. And this is the part most people miss when debating rugby's structure: chief among these standards should be a minimum stadium capacity of 10,000 seats for new Premiership entrants. We need genuine faith and a forward-thinking plan to grow the audience – both in person and via television. Sale drew an average of 6,619 fans in 2022-23 and 7,589 last season, which aligns more with the second-tier French Pro D2 league (averaging 5,388) than the top-flight Top 14 (15,500). For a team of Sale's caliber in a league with clear aspirations to expand and corporate goals, this discrepancy is deeply concerning.
The vision of a North West rugby giant remains just that – a dream for now. But dreams can morph into nightmares if left unchecked. Sale isn't turning a profit, although they're blessed with Simon Orange, a dedicated owner. It's frustrating to see them lagging so far behind in off-field metrics. The stadium itself isn't ideal – let's put it mildly. Add to that the region's deep roots in rugby league, and the looming presence of Manchester United and Manchester City, whose average attendances soar at 73,815 and 53,249 respectively. There's space for the nostalgic charm of Sale's amateur past, but if they were a lower-tier club today, would the Premiership prioritize Manchester for rugby union growth, or dismiss it as a lost cause?
The strategic expansion of the sport, including nurturing young talent and new markets, often assumes a focus on 'the north' is inevitable. Yet, from the tail end of amateur rugby into the early professional era, union has struggled beyond the River Trent. Sale enjoyed a triumphant 2005-06 season, and Newcastle had their moments too, but neither has truly captured their local communities' hearts. Manchester United and City tower over the local sports scene like giants, with rugby league a strong contender as well. (Credit: ROBBIE JAY BARRATT – AMA/GETTY IMAGES)
Ironically, Newcastle's steady base of 5,809 average supporters offers more tangible hope for their revival than Sale's higher but still modest 7,589. This kind of investor backing, as seen with Red Bull's involvement in Newcastle, mirrors the vision Bruce Craig, Bath's owner, champions for English club rugby's future. Initially, I imagined a clear divide across England – Yorkshire and Lancashire as rugby league strongholds, the south and midlands as union territory. But history shows that such artificial lines, like those drawn by Shakespeare's warring kings, often lead to disorder. Rugby league and union could coexist peacefully, but football is the insatiable beast overshadowing everything. Sale suffers the worst of this in Manchester, caught in the crossfire of competing giants.
Saracens' struggles highlight that the issue isn't purely regional but spans the entire sport. Rebranded as 'the original club of north London,' they've been a polarizing force in English rugby, dominating controversially, yet they can't fill their intimate 10,500-capacity stadium amid the shadows of Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur. Other clubs like Bath, Bristol, Northampton, Gloucester, Exeter, Harlequins, and Leicester – mostly unaffected by Premier League football's pull, except perhaps Leicester's one anomalous year of success – thrive outside that orbit. Sale, however, is isolated in the fiercest competitive arena imaginable. As a longstanding Premiership fixture, they'll receive backing from sponsors, but it's tough to view them as a growth opportunity rather than a beleaguered outpost. Their success in spite of Manchester's heritage, rather than because of it, is a compelling tale, but it should alarm those shaping English rugby's path.
And here's where it gets controversial: Is the Premiership's resistance to automatic promotion/relegation holding back true competition, or is it a necessary safeguard for financial stability? Should regions like the North West be written off as rugby union battlegrounds, or could innovative strategies, like better marketing or community programs, turn the tide? Moreover, does the dominance of football and rugby league mean union is doomed in places like Manchester, or is there untapped potential in blending the codes? What do you think – can rugby union ever break free from these shadows and build that North West powerhouse? Do you agree with the push for stadium capacity rules, or should the focus be elsewhere? Share your opinions in the comments; I'd love to hear what you believe!
