ASTANA — For much of its history, rugby was never meant to be a vehicle for social mobility. Born in 19th-century England, it developed within the walls of elite private schools and universities, played by students for whom competition was not a path out of hardship but an extension of privilege. Discipline, restraint, and hierarchy were as central to the sport as physical strength.
Photo credit: Mukhammad Rasul’s personal archive
Rugby assumed security; it did not promise escape. That origin story stands in sharp contrast to the path taken by Mukhammad Rasul, captain of the national rugby team of Kazakhstan, whose relationship with the sport began far from manicured fields or inherited traditions.
With more than ten years of professional experience behind him, Rasul was raised in the lower part of Almaty, close to the city’s first railway station. It was a district shaped by movement, labor, and survival rather than status, where physical toughness was absorbed through everyday life rather than consciously cultivated.
“I grew up literally by the rails. That part of the city toughens you early. It wasn’t a bad place — just very real,” he told The Astana Times.
From the margins of the city to an elite sport
For Rasul, rugby aligns naturally with Kazakhstan’s cultural and physical landscape. Photo credit: The Astana Times
Sport was never guaranteed. Like many families in Kazakhstan during the 1990s, Rasul’s could not afford paid sports sections or private clubs. Training, when it happened, relied on improvisation rather than infrastructure.
“We trained however we could. Bricks instead of dumbbells. Basements, pull-up bars — whatever was available,” he recalled.
Rugby entered his life almost accidentally. A friend’s mother suggested that a group of boys try a local rugby section. Rasul was in the fifth or sixth grade at the time. The decision was driven less by ambition than by access: the gym was free.
“At first, I didn’t even fully understand what rugby was,” he said. “But free training was already enough of a reason.”
When the coach later announced that a tournament was approaching and that seven players were needed to form a team, Rasul went through his school recruiting classmates. By the next day, the team existed. What began as a coincidence slowly turned into commitment.
Why rugby never became football
To understand rugby’s global trajectory, Rasul noted, one should look beyond the field and into its social origins.
“Rugby and football appeared around the same time. The difference is not the sport itself, but who it was built for,” he explained.
Football spread rapidly through factories, ports, and working-class neighborhoods. It required little equipment, minimal organization, and quickly became a tool of mass participation. Rugby, by contrast, remained enclosed within private schools and elite universities.
“For a long time, rugby was played by people who didn’t need to ‘make it’ through sport. They already had stability, education, connections — what we’d now call old money,” he said.
This social structure shaped rugby’s economics as well. Even today, average rugby salaries lag behind football, except at the very top level.
“It’s not because rugby doesn’t deserve financial investment. It’s because, historically, the people who played it didn’t depend on sport to survive. Rugby was prestige, not a livelihood,” he said.
A hooligans’ game but played by gentlemen
Rugby’s physical brutality is impossible to deny. It is a sport of collisions, exhaustion, and pain. Yet internally, it operates under a strict moral code, one inherited directly from its aristocratic roots.
Mukhammad Rasul spoke to The Astana Times correspondent Aida Haidar. Photo credit: The Astana Times
“There’s a saying that explains everything. Football is a gentlemen’s game played by hooligans. Rugby is a hooligans’ game — but played by gentlemen,” Rasul said.
From the first training session, players are taught that the referee’s authority is absolute.
“You don’t argue. You don’t gesture. You don’t question decisions. On international tournaments, we’re taught to address referees only as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am — even when emotions are at their highest,” he explained.
This culture of respect, Rasul believes, is not decorative. It is foundational. The sport’s violence is balanced by restraint, and its chaos by discipline.
Athleticism over size
Modern rugby, particularly in its Olympic format, rugby sevens, has evolved far beyond traditional stereotypes. While size remains an advantage, it is no longer the defining factor.
“Rugby sevens is pure athleticism. Speed, coordination, endurance, power — all at once,” Rasul said.
He compared rugby players to freestyle wrestlers, known for their explosive versatility and physical intelligence.
“Look at how wrestlers train — flips, ropes, bars, acrobatics. That athleticism transfers. The same is true in rugby,” he explained.
Unlike many sports, rugby accommodates different body types and skill sets. Larger players absorb contact and perform what Rasul calls the “dirty work”: scrums, lineouts, and constant collisions. Smaller, faster players control tempo and finish attacks.
“I play as a front-row forward. We’re usually the ones who leave the field bruised, dirty, with cuts everywhere,” he said.
Why rugby fits Kazakhstan
For Rasul, rugby aligns naturally with Kazakhstan’s cultural and physical landscape.
“This is a country that understands endurance, strength, and collective responsibility. Rugby isn’t about individual stars. It’s about roles. Trust. Accountability,” he said.
Unlike sports driven by individual spectacle, rugby rewards discipline and cohesion: values deeply embedded in Kazakhstan’s sporting tradition.
Rugby in Kazakhstan, Rasul said, is not a new phenomenon, only a neglected one.
“During the Soviet era, teams like SKA and Dinamo were among the strongest. Older generations still remember that,” he said.
What disappeared over time was continuity rather than potential. Infrastructure weakened, international exposure faded, and the sport lost visibility.
Today, that momentum is slowly returning. Olympic recognition, professional coaching, and growing international competition are reshaping rugby’s place in Kazakhstan and across Central Asia.
“Rugby evolves fast. If you don’t evolve with it, you get left behind,” he said.
Today, Rasul is not only a product of that evolving system but one of its central figures. He serves as captain of Kazakhstan’s national rugby team and represents Almaty’s AsiaSport club, combining leadership at both national and club levels. One of the most significant milestones came with victory in Asia’s Division One, a result that marked Kazakhstan’s return to the elite tier of Asian rugby. That return now carries new ambitions.
With rugby sevens firmly established as an Olympic discipline, Kazakhstan’s focus has expanded beyond continental competition toward qualification battles for the World Cup and the Olympic Games in rugby sevens. Progress has also been visible in the traditional fifteen-a-side format. Earlier this year, Kazakhstan finished second in Asia’s Division One rugby-15 championship in Sri Lanka, reaching the final before falling to the host nation.
