FA in shock – there’s a woman giving an opinion on football!

The Last Word: Heather Rabbatts has broken the omertà, the stiff camaraderie that requires members of boards to nod and wink at one another across wooden tables regardless of the petty nonsenses or flagrant injustices being exhibited at the time

Heather Rabbatts upset her FA colleagues by supporting Eva Carneiro (Getty)

There must be a handbook at FA headquarters, well-thumbed and copiously illustrated, entitled: “How To Shoot Yourself In The Foot.” How else do you account for the latest farcical proceeding at Wembley where two FA council members have triggered an in-house inquiry against Heather Rabbatts for the offence of – what? Corruption? Discrimination? Crimes against biscuits in committee meetings? No, the worst offence of all in their eyes: speaking out.

Rabbatts, an FA board member and head of the organisation’s inclusion advisory panel, has become the subject of the inquiry after voicing “major concerns” regarding the disciplinary process in the Eva Carneiro case, when Jose Mourinho was cleared of making discriminatory comments towards the club doctor. She implied what many people believed: that Carneiro – “a highly qualified professional who’d lost the job she loved” – had been given a raw deal. But in the eyes of the councillors, Rabbatts had gone rogue.

She has broken the omertà, the stiff camaraderie that requires members of boards to nod and wink at one another across wooden tables regardless of the petty nonsenses or flagrant injustices being exhibited at the time. Betrayal of a sport, its ethos and its ethics, is considered a minor misdemeanour compared to betrayal of each other.

We see where that kind of group-think can eventually lead. There is a classic example before our eyes, and shortly before m’lud in court if prosecutors have their way, with the – alleged – cadre of chancers at Fifa. There’s absolutely no suggestion the FA, in this instance, are any more than bungling but this is yet another outbreak of small-minded pettiness that does harm to their reputation.

More than that, it will make Rabbatts question the wisdom of remaining in post as an independent board member as she tries to pry open certain minds to modernity. It is hardly an invitation to other reformers to get involved. This is probably what the old barnacles intend, sticking as tenaciously to the old order as crustaceans to the bottom of a boat.

The 21st Century, you feel, in all its diverse and inclusive glory, has not quite broken out in certain FA craniums. It’s still a bit Downton Abbey in there. “Mrs Hughes, the chops are not quite cooked to my taste – and, oh my god, there’s a woman running round with a football.”

The supreme irony is that the Lionesses have happened. The FA, some parts of the FA anyway, have presided over the greatest advance for women’s football in our history with the hugely celebrated bronze-medal success of the England women’s team at the World Cup this summer. Those women did not have breakfast with Prince William and take selfies with David Beckham for nothing on their return. They were heroines and duly feted.

The message being sent via the Lionesses, and Carneiro and Rabbatts, was that women belong in this sport: on the pitch, on the touchlines, in the boardroom. Now the message is that you are only welcome in the boardroom if you sit up and shut up. Do not ruffle feathers, do not say what you think, do not – on pain of ostracism – dare go public with your thoughts, cogent and uplifting thoughts they may be.

True, we have no idea about Rabbatt’s behaviour in meetings: whether she rustles her papers or coughs during the minutes. We know one thing, however. She challenges the status quo. For that reason alone, you hope she stays put, and may this benighted inquiry fizzle out from sheer embarrassment.

Beware flexing muscles

Tradition decrees that “Faster, Higher, Stronger” is the Olympic motto, proposed by the founding father of the IOC, Pierre de Coubertin, in 1894 (the spiritual time zone of certain FA council members, but that’s another story).

Now, though, it seems that players at this Rugby World Cup have appropriated it for themselves. The sheer colliding tonnage of aggravated human muscle is quite awesome to see. It’s as though scenes from superhero films are leaking into every-day sporting life. It’s hard to tell where Ironman ends and Tendai “Beast” Mtawarira begins.

The quality of play has been quite compelling, but surely the rugby authorities are going to have to devise some ingenious means of keeping the size of players within human bounds lest the sport turns into sumo on speed. You fear for the aggregate injury toll by the end and eventually for the long-term quality of the sport. There could be a dramatic reduction in grassroots participation if parents fear exposing their children to a game that – at the highest level – offers such impending threat to life or limb (see Welsh and Irish treatments rooms this tournament).

Right now it’s bullocks out there, and you really wouldn’t want that vowel to change.

Reduce sugar? Fat chance

If Mr Cameron is feeling harangued by “anti-sugaristas” like Jamie Oliver, who would like to impose a tax on the substance part-cited for making us fat, he should look around at what company he’s keeping. Some of the loftiest sports governing bodies in the world are in exactly the same boat.

Coke’s been sponsoring the Fifa World Cup since 1950, the IOC have been lapping it up for decades and our own Rugby World Cup is currently in cahoots with the soft-drinks giant, although the company would certainly point out that their Coke Zero has no sugar in it at all.

There seems to be a curious disconnect here. Sport is the finest vehicle for the promotion of health yet the crowds flocking to its door are encouraged to consume products, like fizzy drinks and burgers, that are not exactly carrot sticks and water. Athletes would have their funding cut if they lived on that diet. Come to think of it, athletes wouldn’t be athletes at all.

So far, our government have been resistant to the bat squeak of the health brigade – and so have the august emperors that run sport. Could it be that, for now, the march of Oliver’s army is drowned out by the gurgle and gush of gleaming coinage into coffers?

Michael Calvin is away