A rebel league selling glitz and “player IP,” a beloved flanker facing MND, and a Prem weekend that swung on packs, pressure, and poise—this one has layers. We open the hood on R360’s promises and ask the only questions that matter: who sanctions it, who plays when international camps clash, and who still cares after the marketing burn wears off. Pre‑contracts aren’t contracts, and IP only pays if the audience is real. Best case, it nudges the established game to modernise; worst case, it’s n...
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