Jonah Lomu's son reveals the reason he'd turn down the All Blacks for Six Nations call-up

Dhyreille Jonah Lomu, a winger like his dad, was born in France during Jonah’s brief stint with Marseille, meaning international eligibility wouldn’t be an issue.

Nicknamed ‘Frenchie’ at school in New Zealand, Dhyreille is already turning heads at age-grade tournaments and is showing early signs of serious talent.

Jonah’s time in France came towards the end of his glittering career, which also included a spell at Cardiff Blues. Tragically, the global rugby superstar passed away in 2015.

Jonah finished with 63 caps and 37 tries for New Zealand – and is still widely regarded as the game’s first global megastar.

But while Jonah lit up the rugby field, his teenage sons Brayley and Dhyreille are carving their own path – with a tennis ball, not a rugby one.

Their dream of becoming professional athletes led to a switch four years ago from traditional schooling to Te Kura, New Zealand’s correspondence school, so they could maximise their training time.

“Professional sport is hard, but playing tennis is our life. I love all kinds of exercise, and doing online school means we can fit in a lot more training,” says Dhyreille, who strongly resembles his famous dad.

Their mum Nadene, and grandfather Mervyn, play a huge role in their development – with Mervyn often coaching and shuttling the boys across Auckland for court time.

“The love within our family is pretty special,” says Nadene. “Dad and the boys cruise and gym together. I’m very grateful to have parents who love me.”

The brothers are humble and well-mannered – quick to help, respectful, and focused. Brayley is the quieter of the two, but admits:

We highlight five specific laws that, with thoughtful updates, could better reflect the way rugby is played today. These ideas come from a deep respect for the game and a desire to see it flourish for players and fans alike.

World Rugby has shown it’s willing to adapt in recent years—these could be the next steps in that evolution.

Rugby is one of the most thrilling sports in the world, but draws often leave players and fans frustrated. After 80 minutes of hard-fought action, neither team winning can feel unsatisfying and anticlimactic. Introducing golden point—where the first score in extra time wins—would give matches a clear, decisive ending.

Golden point also encourages attacking rugby. Teams would be pushed to take risks, go for tries, or attempt drop goals rather than playing safe for a draw. Every possession would matter even more, and fans would be treated to the kind of high-stakes drama that other sports, like rugby league and AFL, have long enjoyed.

It would make competitions simpler and fairer too. League tables, knockout tournaments, and international fixtures often rely on tiebreakers to separate teams after draws. Golden point ensures there’s always a winner on the scoreboard, rewarding performance rather than chance or points difference.

Player welfare concerns can be managed by limiting extra time to short bursts—say two five-minute halves or a first-score-wins rule within 10 minutes—keeping the game exciting without overtaxing athletes.

Golden point wouldn’t just make rugby more exciting—it would make it fairer, more competitive, and in tune with the modern expectation that every game should have a winner. With more tight contests in both club and international rugby, there’s never been a better time to adopt it.

Rugby has changed significantly over the years, and one of the biggest shifts is how the bench is used. These days, teams often bring on almost an entirely new forward pack late in the game. Big, fresh players crash into tired defenders, making the final 20 minutes less about skill and endurance, and more about brute force. Many fans and former players feel this has turned rugby into a collision sport rather than a contest of stamina and intelligence.

Reducing the number of substitutions would encourage players to pace themselves. Space would open up in the second half, creating more opportunities for creative play rather than endless phases of pick-and-go. It would reward fitness, smart decision-making, and those capable of performing for the full 80 minutes.

Fewer substitutions wouldn’t just make the game more exciting—it would make it fairer, safer, and more in line with the spirit of what rugby has always been about.

With the rise of 6–2 and even 7–1 bench splits, pioneered by Rassie Erasmus, the trend seems to be heading in the opposite direction. That’s all the more reason to act now.

The caterpillar ruck is one of those tactics that, while legal, just doesn’t sit right with many who love the game. It involves players lining up behind a ruck in a queue, giving the scrum-half extra time and space to kick.

It slows the game to a crawl, gives the defence no real chance to compete, and often feels more like a way to kill momentum than build it.

It may be clever, but it’s not entertaining. Fans want to see fast, hard-fought rugby—not box-kick after box-kick with a queue of bodies shielding the kicker. Eliminating or limiting the caterpillar ruck would speed up the game and reintroduce unpredictability at the breakdown.

This isn’t about removing strategy. It’s about keeping the game flowing and true to what makes rugby exciting: dynamic, contested play.

Referees have improved at calling “use it” earlier, which helps speed things up, but more needs to be done. Getting rid of the caterpillar ruck would go a long way toward fixing the issue.

The 20-minute red card was introduced as a middle ground—punishing dangerous play without completely ruining a match. But let’s be honest: it sends the wrong message. If a player commits a reckless or dangerous act, 20 minutes off the field doesn’t always feel like enough—especially for serious offenses, like a high tackle that could end an opponent’s game or season.

Rugby has made major strides in protecting players, especially around the head and neck. Keeping the full red card—where the offending team plays a man down for the rest of the match—reaffirms that commitment. It makes the consequences clear: cross the line, and your team suffers. That’s how you change behaviour.

Yes, it’s tough. Sometimes it may seem harsh. But safety must come first. It’s about respecting the game and the long-term health of every player on the field.

In many ways, the 20-minute red gives officials a cop-out. It’s often seen as the easy option to avoid controversy—even when a full red card is justified.

Few things in rugby divide opinion quite like the driving maul from a lineout. For some, it’s a show of power and coordination. But for many fans, it feels like a loophole — a near-guaranteed way to score that sucks the creativity and unpredictability out of the game.

A well-drilled pack can set up a maul five metres out, trundle forward almost unstoppably, and fall over the line for a try. Where’s the skill in that? It’s become rugby’s cheat code — more about physics and numbers than ingenuity or flair.

Outlawing the maul as a direct scoring weapon would open the game up. Instead of endless rolling rucks towards the try-line, teams would need to find inventive ways to use space, pass under pressure, or outsmart the defence. That’s what gets fans on their feet.

Defenders, too, would benefit. At the moment, they’re often left with little option but to illegally collapse a maul, leading to a penalty or yellow card. Take away the automatic try-machine, and we’d see fewer cynical infringements, less frustration, and a fairer contest.

The maul will always have a place as a tactical tool in the middle of the pitch — but when it’s allowed to dominate the scoreboard, it turns rugby into something it was never meant to be.

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