Henry, a steady eye on Spanish rugby’s future

Keith Chapman is a figure who moves with decisive clarity, and anyone who hopes to pin him down quickly learns that he values time and direct dialogue. An interviewer must earn his reluctant attention, because his years in rugby administration have sharpened his sense of what matters and what does not. Chapman’s influence spans multiple pillars of the sport: World Rugby, European Rugby, and Spain’s own federation, a breadth earned through more than a quarter of a century of service with the Spanish Rugby Federation, where he poured energy, and at times funded initiatives out of pocket. The first interview he granted in the From the 22s series, conducted with José Manuel Ibáñez after he was positioned as one of the most influential people in Spanish rugby, proved costly in terms of his standing, and in a plain, sometimes stark self-reflection he warned that Spanish rugby risked being stuck in the past. When Alfonso Feijoo, who reportedly did not read the interview, received a biased report from a board member and allegedly invited Chapman to resign from the vice-presidency, it underscored the delicate, often fraught balance of power within the sport. The chairman’s personal ties added a further layer of complication, because his son Pablo, who coaches the sevens team, resisted any move to remove Chapman from the managerial role, citing Chapman’s unique connections to the upper echelons of World Rugby as a crucial asset. In the years that followed, Chapman became more than a frontline political actor; he stepped into a role that allowed him to observe from a steadier vantage point as the federation underwent restructuring and entered a new era. The interview presented here sees him speak away from the center stage of controversy, offering a measured assessment of the federation’s uncertain path and the challenges that lie ahead for Spanish rugby. He articulates a belief in the potential of the new structure while acknowledging past fault lines and the need for reform, presenting analysis that often counters the official narratives circulating within the sport. His perspective speaks to a broader story about governance, leadership, and accountability in rugby, where history and future directions collide, and where genuine change depends on more than titles or positions. As he reflects on how the federation can move forward, Chapman emphasizes practical steps, a clear-eyed assessment of resources, and a commitment to safeguarding the sport’s integrity. The portrait he paints is not merely about personal legacy but about the health of rugby in Spain and the conditions required for continued growth, competitiveness, and relevance on the international stage. In this candid conversation, he outlines the tensions between tradition and progress, between loyalty to past allies and the demands of a modern administrative landscape, and he remains hopeful that a fresh federation can harness experienced leadership while inviting broader participation from clubs, players, and fans. The exchange invites readers to consider what it takes for rugby in Spain to thrive after a period of upheaval, underscoring the complex dynamics that accompany any significant transition. Chapman’s refusal to sugarcoat the realities of the sport demonstrates a willingness to engage with uncomfortable truths, offering a thoughtful, sometimes provocative, critique of how the game has been managed and how it might be steered toward a more stable and sustainable future. The discussion is guided by a steady belief in proof over rhetoric, and it leaves readers with a clearer sense of the strategic priorities that could determine whether Spanish rugby can capitalize on momentum, rebuild trust, and cultivate the leadership necessary to navigate the years ahead without losing sight of the game’s core values and competitive spirit.