Editor’s note: Stephen Weatherill is the Jacques Delors Professor of European Law at Oxford University. He also serves as Deputy Director for European Law in the Institute of European and Comparative Law, and is a Fellow of Somerville College. This blog appeared first on eulawanalysis.blogspot.com and is reproduced here with the agreement of the author. 

The crumbling of the ‘SuperLeague’ is a source of joy to many football fans, but the very fact that such an idea could be advanced reveals something troublingly weak about the internal governance of football in Europe – UEFA’s most of all – and about the inadequacies of legal regulation practised by the EU and/ or by states. This note explains why a SuperLeague is difficult to stop under the current pattern of legal regulation and why accordingly reform is required in order to defend the European model of sport with more muscularity.

The creature that will not die

What, again?

It is over twenty years since since ‘Project Gandalf’, a plan for a European Football League prepared by Media Partners International, was notified to the Commission (OJ 1999 C70/5). Since then football in Europe has been played with a regular rhythm in the background: the threat of a breakaway ‘SuperLeague’ driven by the richest and most successful clubs. UEFA, the sport’s governing body in Europe, has responded. Alterations made periodically to the structure of its principal and most lucrative club competition, the Champions League, have favoured the interests of the richest and most successful clubs and, in a macabre dance, those changes have typically followed those clubs’ well-briefed grumbling and plotting. And Monday 19 April 2021 was glumly anticipated by football fans as the latest reel around the fountain: UEFA, media reports confidently predicted, would further compromise the structure of its competitions in order to give the richest and most successful clubs more of what they want – more games and firmer guarantees of participation.

But Monday 19 April instead brought the ‘SuperLeague’ clattering out of its murky background as threat and into the harsh light of day as execution. A group of twelve clubs from England, Spain and Italy announced the creation of an entirely new competition which would operate beyond the authority of UEFA. The self-chosen clubs are all rich, though several groan under mountainous debts. There is no plausible world in which this dozen would count as Europe’s undisputed finest in terms of sporting merit: their status is commercially driven. The plans guarantee the long-term participation of the founding clubs, and so would remove the threat of relegation from the new SuperLeague. This is entirely alien to the orthodox model of football Leagues across Europe. And the clubs plan to have their cake and eat it. They intend to play midweek games in the brand new SuperLeague while remaining members of their national associations, and so continuing to play in the Premier League, La Liga and Serie A as well as selected national Cup competitions. But they will no longer play in UEFA’s Champions League, which will therefore be robbed of most of its richest and most successful clubs, and also Arsenal and Spurs.

And then it crumbled.

Within 48 hours of the new competition’s announcement its proponents were racing each other from West London across East Manchester and beyond to see who could put most distance between themselves and a plan which had attracted almost universal derision and dismay. No longer a League from which its founder members could not be relegated, the SuperLeague had turned into a competition from which its clubs were desperate to knock themselves out. This Italian, Spanish and English Job had been intended to cause an explosion within European football, yet they couldn’t even blow the bloody doors off.

Gleeful mockery has its short-term place. This SuperLeague is dead. But the idea behind it and the people who drove it are not. A breakaway league in European football is the creature that will not die. Now is the time to think about the inadequacies of legal regulation of sport in Europe, in order to be prepared to defend the European model of sport the next time that a plan of this disruptive type is advanced, likely with greater strategic cunning. 

Why the law is not currently adequate

UEFA was doubly offended by the SuperLeague. The traditional regulatory model of European football was cast aside. No longer would qualification on merit be the sole criterion for participation. The infusion of fresh blood ensured by the system of promotion and relegation would be stopped. UEFA oversight would be precluded. The commercial model of recent years would be gravely imperilled too. UEFA’s Champions League is a spectacular success and provides UEFA with a valuable source of income. The ‘SuperLeague’ is a huge threat.

What could UEFA do?

The key insight is that UEFA is doubly offended because UEFA has a double function. It is a regulatory body but it is also a commercial actor. It protects the structure of the sport but it also makes money out of the sport. Most governing bodies in sport began in the days of well-meaning amateurs, carrying out the task of imposing routine and order on the rules of the game and the conduct of competitions, but in recent years, largely as a result of changes to the regulatory and technological shape of the audiovisual media sector, sport has increasingly become commercially lucrative to a dazzling degree. Governing bodies have typically added these new commercially sensitive functions to their longer-standing regulatory role by an incremental process of accumulation. UEFA, like many governing bodies in sport, sets the rules of the game but it has also become highly profitable. 

This is where and why the application of legal rules to governing bodies in sport becomes awkward. No one doubts that UEFA has a legitimate role. Sport needs a regulator, to set the rules, to impose order on the calendar, to protect the welfare of players and fans, and so on. But equally no one doubts that regulatory choices have direct commercial consequences. If UEFA decides to impose sanctions on those involved in a ‘SuperLeague’ it will be able to present such steps as a means to defend the integrity of the model of sport that has long dominated European practice. But it will stand accused of seeking to promote its own commercial interest in maintaining monopoly control over the Champions League by suppressing the emergence of a new form of competition, a SuperLeague, which might generate high levels of consumer demand and which, if the restless dozen are to be believed, had already generated lucrative financial backing. Both these perspectives contain their truths – regulatory and commercial motivations inevitably overlap in the governance of sport. 

Imagine UEFA had carried through its threats to impose sanctions, which, in their most vigorous form, would have involved banning participating clubs and players from any involvement in football other than the ‘SuperLeague’ itself. To achieve that would involve action not only by UEFA but also the relevant national football associations and, to exclude players form the World Cup too, FIFA. Would EU law oppose a response of this type, designed to protect European football’s traditional structures?

The problem in short is – it is not clear.

There is nothing explicit in EU law that addresses the matter. Sport was not even mentioned in the founding Treaties until as late as 2009, and the provision then inserted, Article 165 TFEU, is programmatic rather than precise. EU secondary legislation on sport is thin and of no relevance to the matter at hand. EU sports law largely comprises the patchwork of decisions of the Court and the Commission which have, since the very first in 1974 (Case 36/74 Walrave and Koch ECLI:EU:C:1974:140), addressed the compatibility of practices in sport with the demands of EU internal market law. This concerned initially the law of free movement, applied in the famous Bosman case (Case C-415/93 ECLI:EU:C:1995:463), and latterly competition law. And it is EU competition law which provides the most obvious objection to UEFA’s desire to take action against the promoters of and participants in a ‘SuperLeague’.

It is necessary to try to sift the existing practice of the Commission and Court to try to piece together an understanding of how EU competition law would apply in these circumstances. Nothing is predetermined. This, then, is already a problem – it is impossible to predict with confidence exactly how far UEFA’s autonomy of action is constrained by EU competition law.

Let us try. The most recent decision in which EU competition law has been applied to sport is also the one that is factually closest to the case of a governing body taking action to protecting its model against third party organisers wanting to offer competing events. It is the International Skating Union decision. 

The International Skating Union decision (ISU).

In December 2017 the Commission decided that the eligibility rules of the International Skating Union (ISU) were incompatible with EU competition law, specifically Article 101 TFEU on anti-competitive bilateral and multilateral practices (AT.40208). The Commission’s Decision was upheld on appeal to the General Court, which in December 2020 approved all the key findings made by the Commission (Case T-93/18 International Skating Union v Commission EU:T:2020:610).

The core of the objections in ISU were targeted at the governing body’s treatment of skaters who chose to take part in events that were not approved by the ISU. The ISU had power conferred on it as the sole governing body in the sport recognized by the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to ban such skaters from the Olympic Games and the World Championship. The ISU was able to act, and did act, in a way that protected and promoted the events which it organized at the expense of competing suppliers. The Commission’s Decision reached the conclusion that it reserved to itself powers in a way that exceeded what was necessary for the organization of the sport and for the maintenance of its integrity. It had pursued activities in the global market for the organisation and exploitation of international speed skating events in circumstances where its regulatory function overlapped with commercial motivations. The ISU had – according to both the Commission and the General Court - a conflict of interest. By stretching its activities beyond the regulatory domain into areas which prioritised its own commercial interests at the expense of third parties in the market, the governing body had acted in an anti-competitive manner contrary to Article 101 TFEU. 

The responsible EU Commissioner Margrethe Vestager, commenting at the time on the Commission ISU decision, was eager to treat the ruling as an expression of general principle, not simply one confined to its own particular facts. She explained that where a single federation organises competitions from local to international level according to the global pyramid structure which characterises the governance of most sports, ‘the penalties these federations impose should be necessary and proportionate to achieve’ goals associated with the proper conduct of the sport, but they ‘certainly shouldn't be used to unfairly favour the federation's own commercial interests, at the expense of athletes and other organisers’. 

The ISU Decision shows that EU competition law restrains the autonomy of governing bodies in sport, but the assymetry of power between the ISU and skaters has little in common with the more balanced relationship between UEFA and the biggest football clubs. So, in the search to understand how EU competition law restrains UEFA, ISU is a clue, but not definitive.

ISU and past practice

ISU is not a one-off: this is not the only material on which we can draw to understand how EU law affects and restricts UEFA’s options in responding to the SuperLeague. A wonderful book published in 2015 bursts with relevant ideas (K. Pijetlovic, EU Sports Law and Breakaway Leagues in Football). And the structure of the ISU ruling fits comfortably into the EU’s track record in applying EU law to sport. The need for a regulator in sport is acknowledged. A game needs common rules, predictably applied and apt to secure the integrity of competition. But such activities shall not spill over beyond what is necessary for the proper organisation of the sport, and there is special suspicion of systems of governance which are structured or applied in a way that prioritises the commercial interests of the governing body in question. 

In Meca Medina and Majcen v Commission (Case C-519/04P EU:C:2006:492) the Court explained that the compatibility of rules with EU competition law cannot be assessed in the abstract. The legal assessment of practices that have the effect of restricting competition also includes examination of their objectives. The Court decided that the imposition of sanctions for violation of anti-doping rules did not necessarily constitute a forbidden restriction of competition within the meaning of (what is now) Article 101 TFEU, since they were justified by the legitimate objective of preserving healthy sport, though it added that attention would need to be paid in detail to fair procedure and proportionate sanctions. Bosman (Case C-415/93 ECLI:EU:C:1995:463 ), a free movement rather than a competition law case, similarly permits the interpretation of EU law to be informed by the sporting context in which it is applied. So, famously, the Court declared that ‘In view of the considerable social importance of sporting activities and in particular football in the Community, the aims of maintaining a balance between clubs by preserving a certain degree of equality and uncertainty as to results and of encouraging the recruitment and training of young players must be accepted as legitimate’. The Court ruled against the particular transfer system of which Bosman had fallen foul because it went too far to apply collectively enforced restraints to the contractual freedom even of players whose contracts had expired. But the Court was plainly receptive to an adjusted regime which addressed the legitimate concerns it had mapped in the ruling. The transfer system was duly amended to apply only to players whose contract has not expired, and it lives on today in that slimmed down form.

There followed Motosykletistiki Omospondia Ellados NPID v Elliniko Dimosio – commonly abbreviated to MOTOE and known as the ‘Greek motorcycling’ case (Case C-49/07 EU:C:2008:376). It was held that ELPA, a body granted legal authority under Greek law to decide whether or not to permit the staging of motorcycling competitions, had violated Article 102 TFEU by running a system in which ELPA itself was engaged in the organisation and commercial exploitation of motorcycling events. The problem was that in the circumstances ELPA had ‘an obvious advantage over its competitors’; its gatekeeping right allowed it to ‘distort competition by favouring events which it organises or those in whose organisation it participates’. 

Article 165(1) TFEU, introduced into the Treaty with effect from 2009, directs that the EU ‘shall contribute to the promotion of European sporting issues, while taking account of the specific nature of sport, its structures based on voluntary activity and its social and educational function’. But both the Court and the Commission have long been assiduous in interpreting and applying EU internal market law in a way that recognises the legitimate concerns that arise in sport. Article 165 merely codifies that contextual sensitivity. EU law has been shaped according to a model whereby sport enjoys ‘conditional autonomy’ under EU law (see S. Weatherill, Principles and Practice in EU Sports Law, 2017). Governing bodies are able to operate consistently with EU law on condition that they demonstrate why their practices are necessary for the organisation of their sport – to defend its ‘integrity’, as is asserted in ISU. It is when governing bodies reach beyond the sphere of legitimate and necessary regulation that they tend to come into conflict with EU law – for example by applying the transfer rules even to out-of-contract players or by leveraging regulatory power to enhance a position in the market at the expense of commercial rivals. 

The legitimate reach of a governing body’s regulatory power

In ISU the objection was not to the role of a governing body acting as gatekeeper, in order to impose order on a sport’s calendar: the objection was to leveraging that regulatory power to achieve commercial advantage. The problem was a conflict of interest between regulatory concerns and profit-making, and it is an endemic problem in sports governance given the rising commercial value of sport alongside a reluctance among governing bodies to establish systems which sharply separate the regulatory from the commercial sphere. 

ISU insists on review of a governing body’s regulatory choices for fear that they may generate anti-competitive consequences. But it does not assume that the supply of competitive sporting events shall become a wholly unregulated market. Neither the Commission nor the General Court in ISU objects to the notion that sports governing bodies shall be able in principle to arrange the calendar, to decide how many events should be permitted, to ensure safety standards are met, and to perform a broader gate-keeping function. The Commission went out of its way in ISU to state that protecting the integrity and good functioning of the sport is a legitimate objective pursued by a governing body and this is confirmed in the ruling of the General Court. So too Commissioner Vestager, reflecting on the Decision, insisted that ‘we're certainly not questioning the right of …federations to do their job of organising the sport’. 

The question: where to draw the line between legitimate supervision and anti-competitive conduct?

SuperLeague

Would EU law have precluded UEFA from taking steps to oppose the SuperLeague? 

It is plain that UEFA would gain commercial advantage by killing off the SuperLeague. But the exercise of regulatory power commonly has some commercial consequence – that unavoidable overlap does not take the governing body’s activities over the line. The real issue is whether the exercise of regulatory power is necessary to secure the organisation of the sport.

ISU was an extreme case. The power imbalance between ISU and the skaters was very great; and the penalties envisaged by ISU went beyond any conceivable band of proportionate response. Given the aggressive suppression of third party organisers that was involved, disclosing a clear strategy of furthering the ISU’s own commercial aspirations in staging skating competitions, there was no need for the notion of protecting the ‘integrity’ of sport to be explored in any depth. The Commission and the General Court did not trouble to do so. Meca-Medina too, though the leading case, does not help to tease out the precise boundaries of the zone of legitimate action to police the integrity of sport, because anti-doping procedures plainly fall within it.

UEFA’s position in the face of rebellion by the major football clubs would have obvious distinctions from the situations found in MOTOE and ISU, most of all that its concern to defend the integrity of its existing structures would seem to carry much more weight given that the leading football clubs possess a destructive power which the third parties in MOTOEand ISU did not. The SuperLeague was clearly designed to reduce the Champions League to a sideshow, if not to destroy it altogether. 

Two questions structure the legal inquiry. What legitimate objectives may UEFA defend? And, assuming legitimate objectives have been identified, what are the permissible limits of action designed to defend them?

Once again the problem is that these are not matters set out cleanly in any existing legal texts. But let us try.

Can UEFA adopt measures to secure the integrity of its competitions' ability to produce the one true champion: that is, can UEFA take steps to stop European football looking like boxing? I think this is plausible, and it would justify action designed to ensure that UEFA’s Champions League has a higher profile and greater appeal than any breakaway competition.

Can UEFA adopt measures to suppress a competition where access is not based on merit and/or where promotion and relegation are curtailed: that is, can UEFA take steps to stop European football looking like sports leagues in North America? I think this is also plausible, and it would justify action designed to curtail the viability of any breakaway competition.

UEFA has other plausible legitimate objectives on which it may rely in responding to the threat of a SuperLeague. Protecting the calendar to prevent player overload would belong on this list; so too would protecting the pyramid structure of governance in order to ensure that all competitions are subject to the same rules globally rather than fragmented according to which organiser is in charge; and the re-distribution of income raised at élite level throughout the structure of the sport, in order to achieve some degree of vertical solidarity, is a further relevant concern. 

If (some or all of) those are legitimate aims, then one would need also to check whether UEFA's measures are proportionate and apt to achieve the end in view. The length of any ban would  be legally relevant, so too the breadth of its scope. The harsher the penalty, the less likely it is to survive proportionality-based review - yet of course the harsher the penalty, the more effective it is likely to be. Here too a detailed context-specific analysis would be required, but one may think that sanctions imposed on clubs would be more readily shown to be necessary and therefore justified than sanctions imposed on individual players. 

The implications under competition law would not be limited to measures taken directly by UEFA. The collective sale of broadcasting and other media rights to the UEFA Champions League falls within the scope of Article 101 because it restricts supply (by individual clubs as sellers), but it is permitted on the basis that it generates sufficient economic benefits.  It remains to be seen whether the sale of rights to a SuperLeague would be treated with similar indulgence: its closed nature and the extent to which it shares the proceeds of collective selling with the game more widely might induce sceptical assessment.

A prediction? It seems to me highly plausible in principle that EU law would permit some forms of action taken by UEFA against participants in a SuperLeague which are designed to protect the legitimate interests of a governing body with overall responsibility for its sport, subject to meeting the demands of the principle of proportionality. But one needs to be fully aware that competition law, like high level sport, rarely yields a wholly confident prediction. A SuperLeague will be using it too, to argue that it is injecting fresh competition into the market for sports events and that accordingly it should be protected from sanctions. These are difficult legal arguments, for which both legislative texts and precise case law precedents are wanting.

What next?

The contempt directed at the owners of the twelve clubs involved in the breakaway has been torrential. Disdain for VAR unites football fans, but that unwelcome intrusion of technology into the frantic pace of a proper football match is a pimple alongside the wrecking ball arrogance of the SuperLeague. The protests appear to have brought the plan unveiled on Monday 19 April 2021 to its knees. The twelve clubs, it seems, will remain within the existing arrangements and play in the existing competitions. But the biggest clubs have not lost their appetite for inducing UEFA to alter the design of the Champions League to suit their interests better. And although this SuperLeague appears to be dead, the threat of the breakaway league in European football remains the creature that will not die.

The legal and regulatory framework is not adequate to meet such challenges. Consider the frantic response to the SuperLeague. UEFA needed to decide what type of sanctions it would impose, doubtless after – urgent – consultations with national associations and FIFA, and perhaps with national governments minded to legislate too. UEFA needed to seek – urgent – advice from the Commission on its view of the impact of EU competition law on proposed sanctions, even if ultimately the authoritative voice on the meaning of EU law belongs to the Court of Justice. And UEFA was already faced by – urgent – applications to national courts on behalf of the SuperLeague 12 seeking to secure orders restraining the imposition of any penalties.

On all these points the law is not clear. EU competition law does not provide a checklist of sanctions which UEFA may lawfully impose and those which go too far. EU law more generally does not regulate directly the structure of governance in European sport. Nor do national laws provide clear controls. Governing bodies in sport have been largely successful in sheltering their autonomy from legal regulation. The SuperLeague fiasco should prompt a re-think. What is UEFA’s autonomy’s worth, when it is revealed to be so vulnerable to the concerted strategies of the biggest clubs? This breakaway failed, but the creature is not dead, and the next version, more skilfully prepared, might succeed.

Re-thinking sporting autonomy

In the past UEFA, jealous of its sporting autonomy, frequently called into question the legitimacy of EU intervention. The judgment in Bosman records that UEFA had requested the Court to order a measure of inquiry under its Rules of Procedure in order to obtain fuller information on the role played by transfer fees in the financing of the game, but the Court, noting that UEFA had haplessly failed to submit this request before the close of the oral procedure, refused. Things have changed. UEFA has come to understand the strategic advantage of keeping the EU, most immediately the Commission, onside.

In 2012 a ‘Joint Statement’ by the EU Commissioner then responsible for competition law, Joaquín Almunia, and Michel Platini, then President of UEFA, declared that the ‘break even’ rule at the heart of UEFA’s system of ‘Financial Fair Play’ is based on sound economic principle and that its objectives are consistent with EU state aid policy (IP/12/264). This ‘Joint Statement’ is not legally binding and its analysis lacks depth, but its very existence demonstrates that UEFA, here also reflecting the interests of Europe’s leading football clubs, has succeeded in getting close to the Commission and securing its informal approval. This strategy of co-operation rather than confrontation also marked the reform of the transfer system after Bosman. In March 2001 the Commission declared it had formalized the matter in an exchange of letters between Mario Monti, at the time the Commissioner for Competition, and Sepp Blatter, President of FIFA (IP/01/314). Pending litigation was settled and brought to an end, and the Commission announced closure of its own investigation in June 2002 (IP/02/824). This has no formal status, and, as with FFP, one cannot exclude that a court would take a different view, but for the time being a co-operative solution prevails. Moreover the involvement of FIFA reminds that the effect of EU law is frequently not confined to EU territory alone. The economic centrality of Europe to many, if not all, sports means that in practice the need to adjust practices to comply with EU law sometimes entails that adjustment operates more widely. EU’s norms become global norms. Note too that since 2014 the Commission and UEFA have had a formal arrangement for co-operation.

For present purposes the principal point of interest is that here the governing body, UEFA, has a real and direct interest not in securing autonomy from EU law but rather in using it to defend its existing model of governance and, most of all, its premier club competition, the Champions League. Pursuit of a more intimate relationship with the EU may involve a diminution of autonomy from regulation but it may the best way for UEFA to protect its autonomy from the avaricious might of the biggest clubs. The EU is an imperfect regulator of sport – it lacks expertise, its competence is not comprehensive, and the geographical boundaries of the EU mean nothing to football. But it will be intriguing to observe whether April 2021’s eruption prompts demands for a more assertive EU, able and willing to move beyond the ad hoc application of competition law and to adopt instead a more proactive role, seeking to establish minimum standards of good governance while ruling out sporting competitions which depart from merit-based criteria for admission. It would – and should – be a chance too for the EU to insist on a more serious commitment to re-distribution of wealth within European football. The biggest clubs have induced the transformation of the Champions League into a competition in which only a small pool of clubs may aspire to reach the later stages, let alone win it, and the disproportionate benefits which attach to mere participation in it have wreaked havoc with competitive balance in smaller national leagues across Europe. UEFA needs EU backing to stop these trends, and to reverse them. This would transform the ‘European Model of Sport’ from windy rhetoric and window-dressing to something more concrete and normative.

Consider too national political processes. In the short term had there been a need to stop the SuperLeague by immediate intervention, then it is national political processes which have the power to act with the necessary speed. Legislation could forbid closed Leagues. A higher level of state intervention in sport would be another threat to UEFA’s autonomy, and would likely be accompanied by pressure to reform its governance, yet it would also provide UEFA with a further means to defend its model from the destructive power unleashed by a SuperLeague. So ‘will politics show its teeth and confer a real-sanctioned monopoly to the football pyramid … [as] a transnational public service?’ (Antoine Duval, April 19 2021). After all, tongue in cheek, ‘political interference with sports is only bad if it goes against governing bodies’ objectives’ (Borja García, April 19 2021).

Conclusion

Radical change is often generated by moments of crisis, and it could be that the prime movers behind the ‘SuperLeague’ will come to be seen as having provoked a strengthening, not a weakening, of UEFA’s regulatory and commercial profile. This, however, does depend on UEFA, the EU and national politicians seizing the moment, and acting now to reform governance. They should not assume that because the current crisis is over, business as usual will resume. The unsystematic character of EU competition law should serve to focus attention on the need for broader intervention by the EU in order to protect and improve established systems of governance. Faced by the biggest clubs’ plain disdain for matters of fundamental sporting significance in Europe such as merit-based qualification for competitions and open Leagues with promotion and relegation, UEFA may find the EU a helpful ally: so too it may find a higher level of readiness to intervene in sport at state level serves its purposes. A durable accommodation between sporting tradition and commercially-driven innovation is desperately needed, or else fans can gloomily anticipate the emergence of many more malformed creatures. The creature is not dead.

Editor's note: James Kitching is Legal Counsel and Secretary to the AFC judicial bodies at the Asian Football Confederation. James is an Australian and Italian citizen and one of the few Australians working in international sports law. He is admitted as barrister and solicitor in the Supreme Court of South Australia. James graduated from the International Master in the Management, Law, and Humanities of Sport offered by the Centre International d'Etude du Sport in July 2012.

Introduction

On 12 May 2015, the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) announced that the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) had filed an appeal against the decision issued by the Australian Football League (AFL) Anti-Doping Tribunal (AADT) that thirty-four current and former players of Essendon Football Club (Essendon) had not committed any anti-doping rule violation (ADRV) identified within the AFL Anti-Doping Code (AADC). The players had each been charged with using Thymosin-Beta 4 (TB4) during the 2012 AFL season.

On 1 June 2015, WADA announced that it had filed an appeal against the decision by the AADT to clear Mr. Stephen Dank (Dank), a sports scientist employed at Essendon during the relevant period, of twenty-one charges of violating the AADC. Dank was, however, found guilty of ten charges and banned for life.

This blog will solely discuss the likelihood of the first AADT decision (the Decision) being overturned by the CAS. It will briefly summarise the facts, discuss the applicable rules and decision of the AADT, review similar cases involving ‘non-analytical positive’ ADRVs relating to the use of a prohibited substance or a prohibited method, and examine whether the Code of Sports-related Arbitration (CAS Code) is able to assist WADA in its appeal.

This blog will not examine the soap opera that was the two years leading-up to the Decision. Readers seeking a comprehensive factual background should view the excellent up-to-date timeline published by the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. 

Factual Background

“Blackest day in Australian sport”

The Decision ultimately derived from what one media commentator dubbed the “blackest day in Australian sport” .

On 7 February 2013, the chief executives of the five biggest Australian sports appeared beside the Federal Sports Minister, Federal Justice Minister, and CEOs of the Australian Sports Anti-Doping Agency (ASADA), and Australian Crime Commission (ACC) at a press conference which detailed the findings of a twelve month inquiry into Australian professional sport. The resulting report, “Organised Crime and Drugs in Sport”, set out that the ACC had identified or suspected widespread use of peptides and hormones in Australian professional sport.

Two days prior, Essendon had requested that ASADA and the AFL investigate whether prohibited substances had been administered to its players during the 2012 season.

AFL disciplinary action

On 2 August 2013, the AFL received an interim report from ASADA and eleven days later charged Essendon and four officers with engaging “in conduct unbecoming or likely to prejudice the interests or reputation of the Australian Football League or to bring the game of football into disrepute”. Essendon and three of the officials were ultimately sanctioned.

The grounds for the charges make for sobering reading. The highlights appear below (emphasis added):

51. With the assistance of Shane Charter (Charter), a convicted drug dealer, Dank ordered various peptides, or the raw materials for such peptides. The compounding of these substances was undertaken by Nima Alavi (Alavi) at the Como Compounding Pharmacy (Como). At least some of these substances were intended by Dank for administration to players at the Club and were in fact administered to players at the Club.

…

67. On 8 February 2012, at a meeting of players of the Club, Dank introduced four substances that were purportedly approved for use in accordance with the Protocol…

68. Following that meeting, 38 players at the Club signed “Patient Information/Informed Consent” forms in relation to these four substances…

69. If the dosages the subject of the “Patient Information/Informed Consent” forms were administered, the playing group would receive in the order of:

(a) more than 1,500 injections of AOD-9064 and Thymosin; and

(b) more than 16,500 doses of Colostrum; and

(c) more than 8,000 doses of Tribulus.

…

124. During the relevant period, the Club caused the following substances to be administered to players at the Club:

(a) Actovegin;

(b) unspecified amino acids

(c) unspecified multi-vitamins;

(d) AOD-9604 creams;

(e) AOD-9604 injections;

(f) Cerebrolysin;

(g) Colostrum;

 (h) REDACTED;

(i) Lactaway;

(j) Lube-all-plus;

(k) Melatonin;

(l) Melanotan II;

(m) TA-65;

(n) Thymosin Beta 4;

(o) Traumeel; and

(p) Tribulus.

125. The use of these substances by the players was not approved by the Club’s medical staff, with the exception of AOD-9604, which was the subject of some sort of informal approval by Reid in February 2012.

126. In many instances the use of these substances failed to have proper regard to player health and safety.

127. Proper records were not maintained by the Club as to precisely which players received which of the substances referred to in paragraph 124 above, in which quantities and when, during the relevant period.

AFL Anti-Doping Tribunal

Applicable Rules

On 14 November 2014, the AFL issued identical infraction notices to the 34 players alleging use of the prohibited substance TB4 during the 2012 season in violation of Article 11.2 of the AADC. The players were provisionally suspended on the same day. The infraction notices were issued after the players were placed on the ADRV Register of Findings on 12 November 2014 by an independent Anti-Doping Rule Violation Panel pursuant to the National Anti-Doping Scheme prescribed in the Australian Sports Anti-Doping Authority Act 2006.

As the alleged misconduct occurred during the 2012 AFL season, the applicable version of the AADC was the 2010 edition. This version was effectively a mirror of the WADA Code 2009.

As such, the standards applied universally by sports disciplinary and anti-doping panels applied. Accordingly, AFL and/or ASADA bore the burden of proving each ADRV to the comfortable satisfaction of the AADT, bearing in mind the seriousness of each allegation made. Such standard of proof was greater than a mere balance of probability, but less than beyond a reasonable doubt.[1] The AFL and/or ASADA were able to establish the allegations by “any reliable means”.[2]

Decision

The hearing was conducted on various dates between December 2014 and February 2015. The Decision was announced on 31 March 2015. However, its written reasons have never been made public. As such, determining the evidence that was available has been gleaned from numerous media reports (including this comprehensive piece by Gerard Whateley), public announcements, and leaked documents. The author has also had the benefit of discussing the matter with a number of parties close to the proceedings.

It was agreed by the parties that the case against each player had two limbs:

(i)           during the 2012 AFL season, the player used (through injections) TB4; and

(ii)          TB4 was a prohibited substance on the relevant WADA Prohibited List.

As a threshold issue, the AADT was comfortably satisfied that TB4 was a prohibited substance within the category of substances set out in s2 of the 2012 WADA Prohibited List:

“any pharmacological substance which is not addressed by any of the subsequent sections of the list and with no current approval by any governmental regulatory health authority for human therapeutic use”.

Thus, the case turned on the ability of ASADA to discharge its burden of proof relating to the first limb. This limb was broken down into three elements, agreed by the parties, which formed the basis of the ASADA case:

(a)          TB4 was procured from sources in China;

(b)          TB4 was obtained by Alavi, compounded and provided to Dank in his   capacity as Sports Scientist at Essendon; and

(c)           Dank administered TB4 to each player.

This was essentially the same conduct, described above, for which Essendon and its four officials were sanctioned.

Charter, Alavi and Dank all refused to appear at the hearing, and ASADA failed in a last-ditch application to the Victorian Supreme Court to compel Charter and Alavi to appear pursuant to the Commercial Arbitration Act 2011.[3] As such, ASADA’s case was wholly circumstantial, and relied, in a large part, on testimony and documents provided to it by Charter and Alavi during its investigation, and statements made by Dank in the media.

The AADT thus had an unenviable task in determining the probative value of the evidence provided by key witnesses without having the benefit of observing them under examination and cross-examination. As such, the AADT held (emphasis added):

“Having considered all the evidence relating to the credibility and reliability of Mr Alavi, Mr Charter and Mr Dank … the Tribunal finds that the credibility of each of these principal participants is at a low ebb and each man in acting as he did in his own way and for his own motive saw a golden opportunity to “feather his own nest.” Their lack of credibility is reflected when their reliability is called into question and the Tribunal is satisfied that on a number of important issues their evidence on those issues was not only unreliable but also … dishonest.”

In the absence of reliable direct evidence to establish that the players had used TB4, the decision of the AADT ultimately turned on these adverse credibility findings.

In relation to the first element, ASADA led (predominantly) documentary evidence to demonstrate that two shipments of substances (in December 2011 and February 2012) were procured from China, both of which included TB4, and were provided to Alavi. A substance in the second shipment was tested in May 2012 at a laboratory connected to the University of Melbourne, and the results proved the substance was TB4. As such, the substance that was purported to be TB4 in both shipments, as a result of the test results, was TB4.

After a thorough examination of the evidence and arguments of the players, and in particular, the fact that the majority of evidence had been obtained from dishonest witnesses, the AADT held that the first shipment had occurred, but that the second shipment had not. However, the AADT still considered the veracity of the test results, and whether they gave rise to the position that TB4 was procured in the first shipment. Faced with contrasting expert reports, which gave margin for error in the test results, the AADT ultimately held that “it is possible it was [TB4], but the Tribunal is not comfortably satisfied that it was”.

In relation to the second element, the AADT was not comfortably satisfied that TB4 was compounded or provided to Dank. As a result of its findings relating to the first and second elements, the AADT did not “consider it necessary to consider the third element…as it is dependent upon the first and second elements…being established and neither has been established to the comfortable satisfaction of the Tribunal”.

Accordingly, the AADT was not comfortably satisfied that the first limb required to prove the ADRV was made out, and exonerated each player of their charge.

Non-analytical positive “use”

The Decision is a classic non-analytical positive “use” case.[4] In this class of cases, as no adverse analytical finding is recorded, the relevant anti-doping organisation must rely on a combination of direct and/or circumstantial evidence in order to discharge its burden of proving use of a prohibited substance or method.

Comfortable Satisfaction

Prior to the implementation of the WADA Code, sports arbitration panels embryonically decided to apply a ‘comfortable satisfaction’ standard of proof; less than the criminal standard of proof beyond a reasonable doubt but more than the ordinary civil standard of proof on the balance of probabilities.[5]

This standard was preferred due to sports disciplinary cases not being criminal in nature, but rather, a private law of association type.[6] This principle has been consistently upheld and was espoused as such by the Swiss Federal Tribunal: “the duty of proof and assessment of evidence [are] problems which cannot be regulated, in private law cases, on the basis of concepts specific to criminal law”.[7]

However, precisely where this standard falls between the criminal and civil standards is unclear.[8] That anti-doping cases are presented in a quasi-criminal manner suggests they should be closer to the latter, but the private nature of sports disciplinary cases suggests that the lesser standard is more appropriate.

This distinction is significantly important to WADA overturning the Decision. In its press release after receiving the Statement of Appeal, the CAS recorded that “WADA requests that the CAS issue a new decision based on an appropriate burden of proof and evidentiary standards”. As such, it is clear that WADA considers that the standard of proof applied by the AADT was too high when considering the evidence.

However, an analysis of a number of prior decisions suggests that the standard of proof in this class of cases has always been close to the criminal standard. The jurisprudence suggests that Panels rely solely on direct and incontrovertible testimonial, documentary, and scientific evidence to sanction individuals for “use” violations.

pre WADA Code cases

In French[9], it was alleged that French used prohibited substances after the discovery of a bucket of used syringes, needles containing traces of a prohibited substance, and a supplement whose label stated that it contained a prohibited substance, inside his room at his athlete residence. The CAS, however, was not comfortably satisfied as there was “no direct evidence that Mr. French had used the material in the sense that no-one saw him use it and he has consistently denied use”.[10] Furthermore, that the label stated the name of the prohibited substance was not sufficient to prove that the supplement actually contained the prohibited substance.[11]

In A., B., C., D., E. v IOC[12], five simultaneously-decided cases, the CAS held that admissions of undertaking or performing blood transfusions, coupled with the discovery of instruments and chemicals necessary for blood-doping in their residence during the 2002 Winter Olympics, was sufficient evidence to sanction four individuals for using a prohibited method. In the absence of direct evidence against Mr. E, the only of the five whom argued that “he had nothing to do with the paraphernalia found in the chalet and that he did not perform any type of autologous or other blood manipulation while he was at the 2002 Winter Games”[13], the Panel issued a warning only.[14]

In Collins[15], a case deriving from the BALCO scandal, the United States Anti-Doping Agency (USADA) relied on a cache of emails where Collins admitted to using prohibited substances (both EPO and the hybrid testosterone “cream” developed by BALCO)[16], as well as test results of independent blood and urine tests arranged by BALCO.[17] Following expert testimony, the Panel found beyond a reasonable doubt (as was required by the relevant IAAF Rules) that her blood samples demonstrated EPO use in 2002 and 2003[18] and that her urine samples demonstrated “a pattern of testosterone and epitestosterone levels that can only be explained by the illegal use of BALCO’s cream”.[19]

post WADA Code cases

In Gaines[20] and Montgomery[21], two further BALCO cases heard simultaneously, following argument on the appropriate standard, the Panels stated: (emphasis added)

“From this perspective, and in view of the nature and gravity of the allegations at issue in these proceedings, there is no practical distinction between the standards of proof advocated by USADA and the Respondents. It makes little, if indeed any, difference whether a “beyond reasonable doubt” or “comfortable satisfaction” standard is applied to determine the claims against the Respondents. This will become all the more manifest in due course, when the Panel renders its awards on the merits of the USADA’s claims. Either way, USADA bears the burden of proving, by strong evidence commensurate with the serious claims it makes, that the Respondents committed the doping offences in question”.[22]

Similar to Collins, the USADA relied on a multitude of testimonial, documentary and scientific evidence to allege use of a prohibited substance. However, the Panel ultimately decided that admissions about their use of the infamous “Cream” developed by BALCO to their ex-teammate Kelli White, was “sufficient in and out of itself”[23] to comfortably satisfy themselves of the athletes’ guilt.

In Hamilton[24], the Panel cited the discussion of the appropriate standard referred to in Gaines and Montgomery but did not explicitly apply it.[25] After upholding the reliability and validity of the homologous transfusion test of Hamilton’s blood samples, the Panel relied upon these test results to be comfortably satisfied that Hamilton had used a prohibited method.[26] A similar approach was undertaken by the Panel in Pechstein[27] to find that %retics peaks in her blood sample of February 2009 were abnormal and that accordingly she had used a prohibited method.

In the Cyprus case[28], WADA and FIFA appealed a decision of the Cyprus Football Association (CFA). Prior to a number of league matches, a club coach administered two pills (which he had independently sourced) to the starting line-up, claiming them to be caffeine pills and/or vitamins.[29] Two players subsequently recorded an adverse analytical finding for a prohibited substance, while five others who did not test positive admitted to investigators that they had also used the pills. Only the two players and the coach were sanctioned by the CFA. WADA alleged that the CFA had erroneously failed to sanction the five players. The Panel was not comfortably satisfied of this conclusion:

199. The Panel notes, in fact, that there is no evidence that the actual pills individually used by each of the Other Players contained a prohibited substance. Indeed some players took the pills, were subsequently tested and there was no adverse analytical finding.

200. No clear cut evidence was brought to show that…the pills administered…were “plain steroids” and not “caffeine pills” contaminated by steroids”.[30]

The most famous case in this class, albeit never reviewed by an arbitration panel, was Armstrong.[31] The USADA relied on witness testimony which provided direct evidence of Armstrong using prohibited substances or prohibited methods during the 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2004, and 2005 Tour de France races. The USADA also utilised financial records linking Armstrong to the disgraced sports doctor, Dr. Michele Ferrari, as well as undertaking retesting of old samples which purportedly demonstrated EPO use at the 1999 Tour de France, and provided a “compelling argument consistent with blood doping” at the 2010 Tour de France.

Conclusions

Two overriding conclusions can be drawn.

The first is that there is no definitive answer to the question of what evidence shall be presented to prove a non-positive analytical “use” case.[32] As stated by the Panels in Gaines and Montgomery:

“[d]oping offences can be proved by a variety of means; and this is nowhere more true than in “non-analytical positive” cases such as the present”.[33]

The second is that the standard of proof is significantly closer to the criminal than the civil standard. Indeed, in Gaines and Montgomery, the Panels could draw no distinction between beyond a reasonable doubt and comfortable satisfaction, taking into account the allegations raised and the sanctions requested. This elevated standard becomes clear in those matters which relied solely upon circumstantial as opposed to direct evidence.

In French and the Cyprus case, the Panels held that admissions could be relied upon only where there was unambiguous evidence that the substance used either was or contained a prohibited substance. Thus, a label on supplement packaging which lists a prohibited substance as an ingredient, or the ingestion of a pill taken from the same batch as one ingested by a teammate who subsequently tests positive, are not enough on their own to comfortably satisfy a Panel that a used substance was a prohibited substance.

Effectively, the cases require the party bearing the evidentiary burden to prove that the used substance or method was without doubt the substance or method alleged; in other words, the highest possible standard of ‘comfortable satisfaction’. Even in Pechstein, where the Panel emphatically rejected the Appellant’s request to apply a higher than normal standard of proof and stated that it would apply the “normal comfortable satisfaction standard”,[34] the Panel still blurred the lines between the two after systematically reviewing and rejecting each of the Appellant’s argument, leaving little doubt in its own mind that the use of a prohibited method was the only possible reason for the blood abnormalities.

To meet this standard, the cases articulate that only direct evidence should be adduced. This includes: admitting to using a proven prohibited substance or prohibited method; scientific evidence of which no credible explanation other than the use of a prohibited substance or prohibited method is possible; scientific evidence which demonstrates that a substance used is a prohibited substance; witness observations of use; and witness testimony of direct admissions.

One further conclusion can be drawn: WADA, on the basis of its current evidence, is unlikely to overturn the Decision. The inherited ASADA case was wholly circumstantial. It did not contain direct, incontrovertible evidence from any of the classes seen in the previous cases. Its key witnesses chose not to testify, nor could they be compelled under Australian law, and nor is it likely that they can be compelled under Swiss law to attend at the CAS.[35] As such, WADA’s prospects of success hinge upon its ability to adduce new and direct evidence of the use of TB4 by the players. 

Will R57.3 of the CAS Code prevent WADA from adducing new and direct evidence?

R57 of the CAS Code provides that a Panel in the appeal arbitration division has “full power to review the facts and the law”. Appeals are heard de novo and any procedural fairness issues deriving from the first-instance are thus automatically cured. This interpretation has been upheld in numerous Awards and the Swiss Federal Tribunal.[36]

R57.3 of the CAS Code, introduced in 2013, provides one limitation: “[t]he Panel has the discretion to exclude evidence presented by the parties if it was available to them or could reasonably have been discovered by them before the challenged decision was rendered”. This is consistent with Swiss procedural law in that a document can only be adduced, at an appellate hearing, if it did not exist at the time of the first instance hearing or hearings or was not in the possession of the appellant at the time.[37]

According to Rigozzi et al, in appeals against decisions rendered by sports-governing bodies, the scope of R57.3 should extend only to those cases “where the adducing of pre-existing evidence amounts to abusive or otherwise unacceptable procedural conduct by a party”.[38]

Mavromatis characterises de novo review as “not only desirable, but also necessary for a number of reasons, to the extent that the previous instance is not an independent arbitral tribunal but the internal body of a sports federation”.[39] As such, R57.3 should be interpreted “as not to circumvent the core principle of the Panel’s full power of review”[40].

In two recent Awards, the Panels held that this discretion should be exercised with caution, in situations where a party may have engaged in abusive procedural behaviour or in any other circumstances where the Panel might, in its discretion, consider it either unfair or inappropriate to admit new evidence.[41]

In SC FC Sportul Studentesc SA[42], the Sole Arbitrator excluded the principal evidence supporting the appeal as he was not provided any satisfactory explanation why it could not be submitted or adduced during the two sports-governing body proceedings.[43]

Hence, it is only in rare cases that the CAS limits its power of full review. Thus, as long as new evidence adduced by WADA is neither abusive nor can be construed as unacceptable procedural conduct, it is highly unlikely to be excluded. Levy has suggested that such exclusions may give rise to an appeal to the Swiss Federal Tribunal due to the denial of the right to be heard.[44] In any event, WADA was not a party at first instance, so it remains questionable whether R57.3 may even be utilised by the players. 

Conclusion

The biggest soap opera in the history of Australian sport will come to a conclusion some time prior to the 2016 AFL season. At the time of publishing, the CAS has recently announced the hearing timeline.

Media reports have recently suggested that WADA ordered retesting of samples obtained from the players in 2011-2012, resulting in two samples demonstrating abnormally high levels of TB4. As set out above, the previous cases suggest that only this type of direct evidence will be able to convince a Panel to the requisite standard. The challenge for WADA, given the length of the ASADA investigation, is to find it.

An independent report commissioned by Essendon published in May 2013, graphically described its supplements programme as “a pharmacologically experimental environment never adequately controlled or challenged or documented within the Club in the period under review”. It is not disputed that the players must ultimately take full responsibility for each substance that presents in their body.

However, at the same time, the gross inadequacies in the governance at Essendon during the period – failures in documentation and record keeping, lack of (proper) informed consent for the players, uncertainty in the supplements administrated, and the creation of an unsafe work environment, among others – for which the club was already heavily sanctioned and which gave rise to the investigation in the first place, ironically appears to be the main obstacle preventing WADA from discharging its burden of proof.

[1] AFL Anti-Doping Code (2010 Edition), Article 15.1.

[2] AFL Anti-Doping Code (2010 Edition), Article 15.1.

^[3] ASADA v 34 Players and One Support Person [2014] VSC 635. 

[4] See e.g. Richard H McLaren, An Overview of Non-Analytical Positive & Circumstantial Evidence Cases in Sports, 16 Marq. Sports L. Rev. 193 (2006).

[5] See e.g. N., J., Y., W. v Federation Internationale de Natation CAS 98/208.

[6] Ibid.

[7] SFT, 5P83/1999, para. 3.d.

[8] Michael Straubel, Enhancing the Performance of the Doping Court: How the Court of Arbitration for Sport Can Do Its Job Better, 36 Loy. U. Chi. L. J. 1203 (2005), at 1270.

[9] Mark French vs Australian Sports Commission and Cycling Australia, CAS 2004/A/651.

[10] French at 58.

[11] French at 51.

[12] A., B., C., D. & E. v International Olympic Committee, CAS 2002/A/389, 390, 391, 392, 393.

[13] A., B., C., D. & E. v IOC at 53.

[14] A., B., C., D. & E. v IOC at 53.

[15] United States Anti-Doping Agency vs Michelle Collins, AAA No. 30 190 00658 04.

[16] Collins at 1.3, 4.1, 4.2, 4.3, 4.4.

[17] Collins at 1.3, 4.11 – 4.24.

[18] Collins at 4.16.

[19] Collins at 4.17.

[20] United States Anti-Doping Agency vs Chryste Gaines, CAS 2004/O/649.

[21] United States Anti-Doping Agency vs Tim Montgomery, CAS 2004/O/645

[22] Gaines at 36, Montgomery at 36.

[23] Gaines at 52, Montgomery at 50.

[24]Tyler Hamilton vs United States Anti-Doping Agency and Union Cycliste International, CAS 2005/A/884.

[25] Hamilton at 47.

[26] Hamilton at 91.

[27] Claudia Pechstein vs International Skating Union, CAS 2009/A/1912.

[28] World Anti-Doping Agency and Federazione International de Football Association v Cyprus Football Association, Carlos Marques, Leonel Medeiros, Edward Eranosian, Angelos Efthymiou, Yiannis Sfakianakis, Dmytro Mykhailenko, Samir Bengeloun, Bernardo Vasconcelos, CAS 2009/A/1817.

[29] WADA & FIFA v CFA et al at 14.

[30] WADA & FIFA v CFA et al at 198-200.

[31] United States Anti-Doping Agency vs Lance Armstrong, Reasoned decision of the USADA on disqualification and eligibility (10 October 2012).

[32] McLaren at 212.

[33] Gaines at 45, Montgomery at 45.

[34] Pechstein at 123-126.

[35] See this piece for an excellent analysis of the operation of the powers of compulsion within the Swiss Public International Law Act vis-à-vis Australian law: < http://sociallitigator.com/2015/05/25/essendon-supplements-saga-is-it-up-up-and-away-to-switzerland/>.

[36] see FC Sion v Federation Internationale de Football Association & Al-Ahly Sporting Club, CAS 2009/A/1880; E v Federation Internationale de Football Association, CAS 2009/A/1881; Eintracht Braunschweig GmbH & Co. KG a. A. v. Olympiakos FC CAS 2012/A/2836; SFT 4A_386/2010

[37] Article 317 of the Swiss Civil Procedure Code.

[38] Antonio Rigozzi /Erika Hassler / Brianna Quin, The 2011, 2012 and 2013 revisions to the Code of Sports-related Arbitration, in: Jusletter 3 juin 2013, at 14.

[39] Despina Mavromatis, The Panel’s Right to Exclude Evidence Based on Article R57 Para. 3 CAS Code: a Limit to CAS’ Full Power of Review, in CAS Bulletin 1/2014, at 56.

[40] Mavromatis at 56.

[41] See Zamalek Sporting Club vs Accra Hearts of Oak Sporting Club, CAS 2014/A/3518; MFK Dubnica v FC Parma, CAS 2014/A/3486.

[42] SC FC Sportul Studentesc SA v Romanian Football Federation & several players, CAS 2013/A/3286-3294.

[43] SC FC Sportul Studentesc SA at 66-70.

[44] Roy Levy, The new CAS rules – what you need to know, at < http://www.lawinsport.com/blog/roy-levy/item/the-new-cas-rules-what-you-need-to-know>.

My favourite speed skater (Full disclosure: I have a thing for speed skaters bothering the ISU), Claudia Pechstein, is back in the news! And not from the place I expected. While all my attention was absorbed by the Bundesverfassungsgericht in Karlsruhe (BVerfG or German Constitutional Court), I should have looked to the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg (ECtHR). The Pechstein and Mutu joint cases were pending for a long time (since 2010) and I did not anticipate that the ECtHR would render its decision before the BVerfG. The decision released last week (only available in French at this stage) looked at first like a renewed vindication of the CAS (similar to the Bundesgerichtshof (BGH) ruling in the Pechstein case), and is being presented like that by the CAS, but after careful reading of the judgment I believe this is rather a pyrrhic victory for the status quo at the CAS. As I will show, this ruling puts to rest an important debate surrounding CAS arbitration since 20 years: CAS arbitration is (at least in its much-used appeal format in disciplinary cases) forced arbitration. Furthermore, stemming from this important acknowledgment is the recognition that CAS proceedings must comply with Article 6 § 1 of the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR), in particular hearings must in principle be held in public and decisions freely available to all. Finally, I will criticise the Court’s finding that CAS complies with the requirements of independence and impartiality imposed by Article 6 § 1 ECHR. I will not rehash the  well-known facts of both cases, in order to focus on the core findings of the decision.

I.               CAS arbitration is recognised as forced arbitration: Hallelujah!

As many of you will know, longstanding doctrinal debates have been raging on the question whether athletes freely consent to CAS arbitration.[1] I have argued at length that CAS arbitration is fundamentally post-consensual arbitration and I am obviously quite happy to see the ECtHR endorsing this view today. However, this is not true in all CAS cases: ordinary arbitration often involving commercial disputes will most likely be consented to by both parties. Moreover, as will be discussed below, the ECtHR choose to distinguish between Pechstein and Mutu in its assessment of the free consent to CAS arbitration.

Regarding Pechstein, the key paragraphs of the decision are found between §109 and §115. The Court finds that the International Skating Union (ISU)’s regulations were imposing CAS’ jurisdiction for disciplinary matters (§109) and that Pechstein was forced to accept the arbitral clause if she was to participate in ISU competitions (§110). In this context, it refers to the famous holding of the Swiss Federal tribunal in the Cañas decision acknowledging the forced nature of arbitration in sport (§111) and to the ISU decision of the European Commission finding that the ISU is in a quasi-monopolistic position on the market for the organisation of speed skating competitions (§112). This leads to the key deduction by the Court, that Pechstein’s choice in the present case “was not to participate in one competition instead of another, depending on her acquiescence or not to the arbitral clause” (§113). Thus, her case is not deemed analogous to the commercial arbitration cases handled previously by the ECtHR. Instead, the Court holds that “[i]n light of the effects that a non-acceptance of the arbitral clause would have on the professional life of the claimant, one cannot assert that the latter has accepted the clause in a free and non-equivocal fashion.” (§115) Hence, the Court concludes, “even though the clause was not imposed by law but by the regulations of the ISU, the acceptance of the jurisdiction of the CAS by the claimant must be understood as a “forced” arbitration in the sense of [the Court’s] jurisprudence”. (§115) Thus came to an end a never-ending doctrinal debate on the consensual nature of CAS arbitration, at least when the CAS clause is imposed by a dominant SGB as a condition to participate in sports competitions.

Interestingly, the Court distinguished Mutu from Pechstein. Indeed, the Court notes “the situation of [Mutu] is different from [Pechstein’s] because the applicable regulation of the sporting federation [FIFA] involved did not impose arbitration but left the choice of dispute resolution mechanism to the contractual freedom of clubs and players” (§116). Mutu invoked the imbalanced between clubs and players to argue that he was forced to accept the clause. Yet, the Court rejects this line of arguments on the basis that he failed to provide evidence supporting the fact that all the players at Chelsea had accepted an arbitration clause or that no other club would have recruited him without the insertion of an arbitration clause into his employment contract (§117-119). The Court concludes that contrary to Pechstein, Mutu “has not demonstrated that the only choice available to him was to accept the arbitration clause to be able to earn a living through the professional practice of his sport, or to refuse it and renounce altogether his professional career.” Hence, the Court considers that Mutu’s situation is not a case of ”forced” arbitration (§120). Nonetheless, the Court’s assessment of the consent to arbitration is quite strict: not only should the consent be free, it must also be unequivocal. In other words, Mutu by freely opting for the jurisdiction of CAS instead of the national courts must “have renounced in full awareness the right to have his dispute with Chelsea decided by an independent and impartial tribunal” (§121). In the present case, as Mutu challenged the independence and impartiality of the CAS arbitrator nominated by Chelsea, the Court considered that one cannot take for granted that he had renounced unequivocally to contest the independence and impartiality of the CAS in a dispute involving Chelsea (§122). This part of the judgment has potentially extremely wide implications beyond sports arbitration, as the Court seems to indicate that any challenge to the independence or impartiality of an arbitrator could harm the validity of an arbitration clause freely consented to by the parties.

In conclusion, after this decision it will be very difficult to argue that disciplinary cases (e.g. doping cases) submitted to the CAS through the appeal procedure are grounded in free consent. Nonetheless, as pointed out by the Court in § 98 of the ruling, there are good post-consensual foundations to justify forced CAS arbitration. This post-consensual arbitration might come as a surprise to some, but law is fundamentally a pragmatic practice of social ordering, which is flexible enough to adapt to specific realities. The fact that in the world of sport a type of transnational authority is exercised by a network of (mainly) Swiss associations, which submit their final disciplinary decisions to the mandatory review of the CAS, might be necessary to ensure that international sporting competitions take place on a level playing field. However, and this is the great virtue of the present judgment, CAS will not be allowed to hide behind a fictitious arbitration label to escape full compliance with the procedural rights enshrined in Article 6 § 1 ECHR. 

II.             CAS arbitration must comply with Article 6 § 1 ECHR

The most important consequence of the Court’s recognition that CAS arbitration was forced in the case of Pechstein and equivocal in the case of Mutu is that CAS has to fully comply with the fundamental procedural rights guaranteed by Article 6 § 1 ECHR (in particular its civil limb, see the ECHR guide on Article 6). Specifically, the Court focused on the publicity of hearings and the independence of the CAS. Regarding the former it concluded, rightly in my view, that the lack of publicity of Pechstein’s hearing violated the ECHR. However, I (and more importantly two judges of the ECtHR) do dissent from the Court’s finding that the CAS is sufficiently independent vis-à-vis the SGBs. 

A.    The day CAS went public: Towards transparency in CAS proceedings and beyond

The CAS is at the same time one of the globe’s most famous and secretive transnational courts. Every sports fan around the world knows it and many journalists follow its press releases and skim through its awards (when published). Based on citations in the media, it is probably one of the (if not the) most covered and publicly discussed international courts, and yet it is also the most secretive. The publicity of hearings and judgments of national and international courts is the norm around the world, and confidentiality an exception reserved to cases in which the security and/or the privacy of an individual might call for it. In scholarship, the transparency of the CAS is often favourably compared to commercial arbitration as it publishes some (systematically less than 30%) of its awards. Yet, as is readily acknowledged by this judgment, the true comparison should be made with national and international courts, as the jurisdiction of the CAS is not grounded on free consent.

In practice, the Court found that in the Pechstein case, the CAS should have organised a public hearing as Pechstein expressly requested. Indeed, the Court points out that “the questions discussed in the framework of the challenged procedure – which related to the question whether the claimant was rightly sanctioned for doping, and for which the CAS heard numerous experts – necessitated the organisation of a hearing under the control of the public” (§182). The Court notes in support of its finding that “there was a controversy over the facts and that the sanction imposed on the claimant had a ignominious nature, which was susceptible to damage her professional reputation and credibility” (§182). And concludes that the lack of publicity of the debates before the CAS violates Article 6 §1 ECHR.

This is a first important step towards imposing more transparency at the CAS (I have argued for radical transparency in a presentation at the Play The Game conference last year). Yet, the decision of the Court is not without ambiguity: will the CAS have to hold public hearings only when requested by the parties or should it systematically hold public hearings and revert to confidentiality only in exceptional circumstances? The existing case law of the ECHR points, in my view, to the latter alternative, but even the former would be a big leap forward for the CAS. Indeed, the a minima reading (read also on this issue the outstanding blog by Nick de Marco) of the judgment implies that the CAS will have to organise a public hearing if requested by one of the parties. In any case, a waiver of such a hearing will need to be freely consented to. Furthermore, and this was not touched upon in the present decision, Article 6 §1 ECHR also obliges to publicise judgments once adopted, with only the narrowest of exceptions. Currently, CAS is clearly in contravention with this obligation, as it does not systematically publish its (appeal) awards. This fundamental lack of transparency will have to be remedied quickly if the CAS is to operate in conformity with the present judgment.

B.    A fundamental dissent on CAS independence

The final, key, aspect of the judgment concerns the Court’s findings related to the independence and impartiality of the CAS. Under Article 6 § 1 ECHR, a case must be heard by an independent and impartial tribunal. It is, at least in my eyes, highly doubtful whether the CAS should be considered as such, yet the Court decided otherwise. This decision was strongly challenged in a dissent by two judges (including quite ironically the Swiss judge). I will first present the key parts of the analysis of the Court and then provide a critique of my own to the Court’s holdings. I believe the most important question is not related to the independence or impartiality of the individual arbitrators involved in the Mutu and Pechstein case, but concerns the structural independence of the CAS from the SGBs, and I will thus focus only on the latter.

The key holdings of the Court are found at §§151-158 and concern only the Pechstein leg of the ruling, as only she challenged the structural independence of the CAS. The Court holds first that the CAS’s financial dependence on the Olympic movement is not problematic because analogically the State finances national courts (§151). It reminds then that, back when the Pechstein case was heard in 2009, the International Council of Arbitration for Sport (ICAS) was nominating one fifth of the arbitrators having the interest of the athletes in mind, while being itself composed mainly of individuals affiliated with SGBs susceptible to face proceedings against athletes at the CAS (§154). Moreover, the Court stresses that arbitrators were nominated for a term of four years renewable, without limits on the number of terms, and the ICAS had the power to revoke an arbitrator by a summarily motivated decision on the basis of article R35 of the CAS Code (§155). Nonetheless, the Court finds that Pechstein did not provide concrete elements challenging the independence and impartiality of any of the 300 arbitrators on the CAS list at the time (§157). In the crucial part of the decision, the Court acknowledges that while “it is ready to recognise that the organisations susceptible to face the athletes in the framework of the disputes brought before the CAS were exercising a real influence on the mechanism of nomination of the arbitrators in place at the time, it cannot conclude that, only on the basis of this influence, the list of arbitrators was composed, even in majority, of arbitrators who could not be deemed independent or impartial, individually, objectively or subjectively, from the said organisations” (§157). Henceforth, the Court decides that it has no reason to diverge from the assessment of the Swiss Federal tribunal regarding the independence of the CAS.

In my view, the Court is right on one point. The financing of the CAS by the SGBs is not per se threatening the independence of the CAS and should actually be welcomed as an adequate form of quasi-public financing of sporting justice. However, this is true only if the ICAS and the CAS administration are stringently separated from the bodies that are supposed to be checked by the CAS and whose decisions it is reviewing. Quite paradoxically the Court recognises the influence of the SGBs on the ICAS, which was evident at the time the Pechstein case was heard and is still apparent nowadays (the SGBs nominate 12 individuals out of the 20 members of the ICAS and the ICAS is headed by an IOC Vice-president), but it does not deem it sufficiently problematic to challenge the independence and impartiality of the CAS. This is a strange conclusion for a Court specialised in procedural justice (for a similar perplexity see §§ 7-10 of the dissent). The ICAS does not only control who gets to be appointed as a CAS arbitrator, it also controls who gets to preside over the Appeal and Ordinary Divisions of the CAS, and who gets to be appointed as CAS Secretary General. All of this happens without any minutes of the ICAS meetings being published, thus without any transparency on the reasons that led to the appointment of X over Y. This alone should have pushed the ECtHR to have some serious concerns over the appearance of control by the SGBs over the ICAS and, therefore, over the CAS. Moreover, and what I feel is the major argument speaking against CAS’s independence from the SGBs, even if one accepts the Court’s point that an athlete will be able to find a CAS arbitrator on the list who is not biased, in appeal cases the president of the panel will be ultimately nominated by the President of the Appeals Division. Thomas Bach, now President of the IOC, was the President of the Appeals Division from 1994 to 2013, since then Corinne Schmidhauser, who is the President of AntiDoping Switzerland and a member of the Head of the Legal Committee of Swiss Ski has taken over his former position. While it is often argued that if the parties agree on a president, the President of the Division will merely ratify their choice (§ 127), the issue is that one side (the SGBs) will be in a strong position to impose a name to the other (the athletes). Indeed, the SGBs bargain in the shadow of a final decision by the president of the Appeal Division, who be it Thomas Bach or Corinne Schmidhauser was and still is clearly biased in their favour. This simple institutional set-up, easy to reform but still in place, is the Gordian knot of the control of SGBs over the CAS.  The Court simply ignored this argument (as did the BGH in 2016, triggering an attempt at a revision of the judgment), which was raised by Pechstein’s lawyers (§ 124). In doing so, it decided to side with a system that is at odds with the core of its own jurisprudence on the independence and impartiality of tribunals, as powerfully outlined by the dissent. Maybe, the Court felt it had already done enough and it did not want to destabilise the CAS further, but it certainly missed a great opportunity to provide a fairer judicial process to thousands of athletes worldwide.

Conclusion: The end of the beginning for the CAS

A few years ago, in a presentation on the Pechstein ruling of the Oberlandesgericht München, I wondered whether the case was the beginning of the end for the CAS or (more optimistically) the end of the beginning. By the latter, I meant that the CAS would enter into a new dimension with the decision. This new era was, unfortunately, delayed by the surrealist judgment of the BGH, which the ECtHR has in my view partially corrected with this ruling. As from this decision, the CAS will not be able anymore to claim that it is an arbitral tribunal legitimated through the free consent of the parties. The ECtHR has shattered, forever, this fiction. It did not replace it with a clear alternative foundation, however. In fact, the CAS is not a product of national law or of an international treaty. It is, instead, simply the artefact of transnational power and of the necessities of global sports governance. At the same time as the ECtHR recognised its usefulness and existence, it also held that it ought to be tamed too. This is the meaning of the Court’s finding that CAS must comply (like any national court in Europe) with the requirements of procedural justice enshrined in article 6 § 1 ECHR. In other words, never again will the CAS be the same, as it will have to become a proper court. Surely, the ECtHR betrayed its good intentions by denying the undeniable lack of independence of the CAS. Yet, this duty will be left to the German judges in Karlsruhe or to the Grand Chamber of the ECtHR if, as you would expect from Pechstein, she decides to appeal the decision. In this regard, the rigorously argued dissent will prove a strong basis to put a final nail in the coffin of CAS’s current institutional structure.

To conclude, after seemingly winning this case, the CAS will have to undergo a radical change. The new CAS will be open to the public (both hearings and awards), it will need to shore up its independence from the SGBs if it desires to fends off future challenges based on the dissent, and more generally it will have to ensure that all of its procedures are rigorously kept in line with the constantly evolving jurisprudence of the ECtHR on article 6 §1 ECHR. The CAS can embrace these changes or wait for diligent lawyers to drag its awards through national courts in Europe, which will not be as timid as before in assessing the compatibility of CAS procedures with the ECHR. Nonetheless, there is also a lot to celebrate in this judgment for those, like me, who believe that the CAS is a necessary institution. It is now fully recognised as a judicial body sui generis, which is more than the emanation of the parties to a dispute. In fact, it is officially and finally recognised as the Supreme Court of World Sport, but with great powers comes also great responsibility…

[1] You will find many references to these debates in Duval, Antoine, Not in My Name! Claudia Pechstein and the Post-Consensual Foundations of the Court of Arbitration for Sport (February 20, 2017). Max Planck Institute for Comparative Public Law & International Law (MPIL) Research Paper No. 2017-01.

Editor’s note: Stefano Bastianon is Associate Professor in EU Law and EU sports law at the University of Bergamo and lawyer admitted to the Busto Arsizio bar.

1. EU law and the CAS case-law

Bearing in mind these questions, it is possible to affirm that under EU law, the specificity of sport

i) refers to the inherent characteristics of sport that set it apart from other economic and social activities and which have to be taken into account in assessing the compatibility of sporting rules with EU law; and

ii) under EU law these inherent characteristics of sport must be  considered on a case by case  basis, per the Wouters test as developed by the ECJ in the Meca Medina ruling.

Both aspects can be found in the CAS case-law too, although the CAS case-law shows some remarkable differences and peculiarities. From a general point of view, the application of the principle of specificity of sport in the CAS case-law represents an aspect of the more general issue related to the application of EU law by the CAS. However, the purpose of this paper is not to fully examine if and to what extent the CAS arbitrators apply EU law rules on free movement and competition; rather, the aim is to analyse the way the CAS deals with the concept of the specificity of sport, highlighting similarities and differences compared to the ECJ.

Taking for granted that ‘a CAS panel is not only allowed, but also obliged to deal with the issues involving the application of [EU] law’,[1] as far as the compatibility of sporting rules with EU law is concerned the CAS case-law shows different degrees of engagement. For instance, in the ENIC award concerning the so-called UEFA integrity rule, the CAS panel went through a complete competition-law analysis in perfect harmony with the Wouters et al. ruling by the ECJ.[2] On the contrary, in the above-quoted Mutu case, the issue of compatibility of the FIFA’s transfer regulations with EU competition law was analysed in a rather simple way, merely stating that the FIFA rules at stake were not anti-competitive under EU competition law without giving any reason to support this conclusion. More recently, in the Galatasaray and Milan A.C. awards, concerning the UEFA’s financial fair-play regulations, the CAS  applied a detailed analysis of EU competition law. However, in both cases, according to the CAS the proportionate character of sanctions listed in the UEFA’s financial fair-play regulations cannot affect the evaluation of the legitimacy of these regulations under Art. 101 TFEU. This conclusion represents a clear breaking point with respect to the ECJ case-law, according to which the evaluation of the restrictive effects of a rule necessarily presupposes the analysis of the proportionate character of the sanction imposed in the event of a violation of that rule as well.[3]   In regard to EU free movement, the CAS case-law tends to be less analytical in terms of the principle of proportionality. For instance, in the RFC Seraing award  which concerned both EU free movement and competition law, the CAS panel mainly focused on the legitimate objectives of the contested rule (FIFA’s ban on Third-Party Ownership – TPO), merely affirming that the restrictive measures under EU free movement were justified and inherent in the pursuit of those objectives.

2. Art. 17 FIFA RSTP and the specificity of sport

In practice, the CAS case-law on the specificity of sport is mainly related to the application of Art. 17 (1) of the FIFA Regulations on the status and transfer of players concerning the consequences of terminating a contract without just cause.[4] According to Art. 17(1), ‘the party in breach shall pay compensation. Subject to the provisions of Art. 20 and Annexe 4 in relation to training compensation, and unless otherwise provided for in the contract, compensation for the breach shall be calculated with due consideration for the law of the country concerned, the specificity of sport, and any other objective criteria. These criteria shall include, in particular, the remuneration and other benefits due to the player under the existing contract and/or the new contract, the time remaining on the existing contract up to a maximum of five years, the fees and expenses paid or incurred by the former club (amortised over the term of the contract) and whether the contractual breach falls within a protected period’.

Although written in very general terms, from Art. 17(1) it is possible to derive that:

 i) it does not provide the legal basis for a party to freely terminate an existing contract at any time, prematurely, without just cause;

ii) the provision clarifies that  compensation is due;

iii) the amount of compensation to be awarded must necessarily take into account all of the specific circumstances of the case. It is for this reason that Art. 17.1 of the FIFA RSTP does not establish a single criterion or even a set of rigid rules, but rather provides guidelines to be applied to fix  just and fair compensation.

It is evident that Art. 17 of the FIFA RSTP involves or points to the specificity of sport. Beyond what Art. 17 implicitly states, the CAS case-law has contributed to defining the scope of the specificity of sport.

To fully understand the relevance of specificity of sport in the context of Art. 17 FIFA RSTP, it is important to investigate the rationale of this provision as well as the principle of positive interest. To expand, the rationale of the rule is to foster the maintenance of contractual stability between professionals and clubs. In the post-Bosman era, the concept of contractual stability was introduced to replace the former transfer-fee system by compensation due for the breach or undue termination of an existing agreement.[5] According to the CAS jurisprudence, Art. 17 of FIFA RSTP plays a central role: ‘the purpose of Art. 17 is basically nothing else than to reinforce contractual stability, i.e. to strengthen the principle of pacta sunt servanda in the world of international football, by acting as deterrent against unilateral contractual breaches and terminations, be it breaches committed by a club or by a player. This, because contractual stability is crucial for the well functioning of the international football. The principle pacta sunt servanda shall apply to all stakeholders, "small" and "big" clubs, unknown and top players, employees and employers, notwithstanding their importance, role or power. The deterrent effect of Art. 17 FIFA Regulations shall be achieved through the impending risk for a party to incur disciplinary sanctions, if some conditions are met (cf. Art. 17 para. 3 to 5 FIFA Regulations), and, in any event, the risk to have to pay a compensation for the damage caused by the breach or the unjustified termination. In other words, both players and club are warned: if one does breach or terminate a contract without just cause, a financial compensation is due, and such compensation is to be calculated in accordance with all those elements of Art. 17 FIFA Regulations that are applicable in the matter at stake, including all the non-exclusive criteria listed in para. 1 of said article that, based on the circumstances of the single case, the panel will consider appropriate to apply’.[6]

The concept of positive interest, is strictly linked to the way of calculating the compensation. In case of breach or unjustified termination of the contract, the judging body will have to establish the damage suffered by the injured party, taking into consideration the circumstances of the case, the arguments raised by the parties and the evidence produced. In so doing the judging authority shall be led by the principle of the so-called positive interest (or “expectation interest”), i.e. it will determine an amount geared towards placing the injured or aggrieved party in the position they would otherwise have been, had the contract been performed .[7] More specifically, according to the CAS case-law, ‘the principle of the “positive interest” shall apply not only in the event of an unjustified termination or a breach by a player, but also when the party in breach is the club. Accordingly, the judging authority should not satisfy itself in assessing the damage suffered by the player by only calculating the net difference between the remuneration due under the existing contract and a remuneration received by the player from a third party. Rather, the judging authority will have to apply the same degree of diligent and transparent review of all the objective criteria, including the specificity of sport, as foreseen in Art. 17 FIFA Regulations’.[8]

Pursuant to the above-mentioned jurisprudence, in the joint cases FC Shakhtar Donetsk (Ukraine) v/ Mr. Matuzalem Francelino da Silva (Brazil) & Real Zaragoza SAD (Spain) & FIFA and Mr. Matuzalem Francelino da Silva (Brazil) & Real Zaragoza SAD (Spain) v/ FC Shakhtar Donetsk (Ukraine) & FIFA, the Panel emphasised that ‘by asking the judging authorities, i.e. the competent FIFA bodies and, in the event of an appeal, the CAS, to duly consider a whole series of elements, including such a wide concept like "sport specificity", and asking the judging authority to even consider "any other objective criteria", the authors of Art. 17 FIFA Regulations achieved a balanced system according to which the judging body has on one side the duty to duly consider all the circumstances of the case and all the objective criteria available, and on the other side a considerable scope of discretion, so that any party should be well advised to respect an existing contract as the financial consequences of a breach or a termination without just cause would be, in their size and amount, rather unpredictable. At the end, however, the calculation made by the judging authority shall be not only just and fair, but also transparent and comprehensible’.^[9]

Similarly, in the joint cases FC Sion v. Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) & Al-Ahly Sporting Club and E. v. Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) & Al-Ahly Sporting Club, according to the Panel ‘Art. 17.1 of the FIFA Transfer Regulations also asks the judging body to take into due consideration the “specificity of sport”, that is the specific nature and needs of sport, so as to attain a solution which takes into account not only the interests of the player and the club, but also, more broadly, those of the whole football community (…). Based on this criterion, the judging body should therefore assess the amount of compensation payable by a party keeping duly in mind that the dispute is taking place in the somehow special world of sport. In other words, the judging body should aim at reaching a solution that is legally correct, and that is also appropriate upon an analysis of the specific nature of the sporting interests at stake, the sporting circumstances and the sporting issues inherent to the single case (…). Taking into account the specific circumstances and the course of the events, a CAS panel might consider as guidance that, under certain national laws, a judging authority is allowed to grant a certain “special indemnity” in the event of an unjustified termination. The specific circumstances of a sports case might therefore lead a panel to either increase or decrease the amount of awarded compensation because of the specificity of sport (…). However, in the Panel’s view, the concept of specificity of sport only serves the purpose of verifying the solution reached otherwise prior to assessing the final amount of compensation. In other words, the specificity of sport is subordinated, as a possible correcting factor, to the other factors’.[10]

Pursuant to such case-law, in the well-known Webster cases the CAS referred to the specificity of sport from two different perspectives:

i) based on the fact that Art. 17.1 expressly refers to the specificity of sport and that it is in the interest of football that solutions to compensation be based on uniform criteria rather than on provisions of national law chosen by the parties led the panel to the conclusion that it was not appropriate to apply the general principles of Scottish law on damages for breach of contract;

ii) the Panel recalled that ‘in light of the history of Art. 17 (…) the specificity of sport is a reference to the goal of finding particular solutions for the football world which enable those applying the provision to strike a reasonable balance between the needs of contractual stability, on the one hand, and the needs of free movement of players, on the other hand, i.e. to find solutions that foster the good of football by reconciling in a fair manner the various and sometimes contradictory interests of clubs and players’.[11]

More specifically, in FC Pyunik Yerevan v. L., AFC Rapid Bucaresti & FIFA, the panel considered ‘that the specificity of the sport must obviously take the independent nature of the sport, the free movement of the players (…) but also the football as a market, into consideration. In the Panel's view, the specificity of the sport does not conflict with the principle of contractual stability and the right of the injured party to be compensated for all the loss and damage incurred as a consequence of the other party’s breach. This rule is valid whether the breach is by a player or a club. The criterion of specificity of sport shall be used by a panel to verify that the solution reached is just and fair not only under a strict civil (or common) law point of view, but also taking into due consideration the specific nature and needs of the football world (and of parties being stakeholders in such world) and reaching therefore a decision which can be recognised as being an appropriate evaluation of the interests at stake, and does so fit in the landscape of international football. Therefore, when weighing the specificity of the sport a panel may consider the specific nature of damages that a breach by a player of his employment contract with a club may cause. In particular, a panel may consider that in the world of football, players are the main asset of a club, both in terms of their sporting value in the service for the teams for which they play, but also from a rather economic view, like for instance in relation of their valuation in the balance sheet of a certain club, if any, their value for merchandising activities or the possible gain which can be made in the event of their transfer to another club. Taking into consideration all of the above, the asset comprised by a player is obviously an aspect which cannot be fully ignored when considering the compensation to be awarded for a breach of contract by a player’.[12]

In Al Gharafa S.C. & M. Bresciano v. Al Nasr S.C. & FIFA, the panel first identified the following basic principles:

i)  the fundamental importance to reach a solution that is legally correct and appropriate to the specific nature of the sporting interests at stake, and

ii)  the sporting circumstances and the sporting issues inherent to the single case;

The panel then underlined that ‘the “specificity of sport” is not an additional head of compensation, nor a criteria allowing to decide in ex aequo et bono, but a correcting factor which allows the Panel to take into consideration other objective elements which are not envisaged under the other criteria of Art. 17 RSTP”.[13] On that basis, the panel decided to increase the amount of compensation for  damages, taking into account the sporting importance of the player for the team and the behaviour of the player at the time of the termination. To the contrary, in FC Senica A.S. v. Vladimir Vukajlovic & FIFA, the panel referred to the specificity of sport and that neither club  or player was interested in maintaining their labour relationship, as the basis for excluding any compensation to the player.[14]

3. Concluding remarks

It should be rather clear that the concept of specificity of sport has different meanings and purposes in the ECJ and CAS jurisprudence. According to the ECJ case-law, ante its Meca Medina ruling, the reference to the special character of sport was a way to deal with purely sporting rules in the context of EU law; on the contrary, after the judgment in 2006, this approach seems rather questionable. Unfortunately, at present the specificity of sport looks less like a guiding principle than a concept in search of itself. Perhaps also for this reason the ECJ has always carefully avoided defining it or expressly mentioning it; at the same time, the 2011 definition by the Commission – i.e. the specificity of sport encompasses all the characteristics that make sport special – sounds rather tautological.On the contrary, in the CAS case-law the concept of specificity of sport is expressly referred to in cases of breach or unjustified termination of football contracts and amounts to a criterion, among others, to be taken into account to make the compensation just and fair not only under a strict civil law point of view but also taking into due consideration the specific nature and needs of the football world. In this context, according to the CAS jurisprudence the specificity of sport is neither an additional basis for compensation nor a criterion allowing a decision one way or the other in equity. Instead, it represents a correcting factor allowing the panel to award extra compensation in cases where the panel is not convinced that the costs so far awarded fully compensate the party entitled to compensation under Art. 17 FIFA RSTP. That said, the concept of specificity of sport remains rather unclear and vague in the CAS case-law as well.

[1] CAS 2008/A/1644 Adrian Mutu v. Chelsea Football Club Limited, award of 31 July 2009, para. 100,

[2] CAS 98/200 AEK Athens and SK Slavia Prague / Union of European Football Associations (UEFA).

[3] See S. Bastianon, The proportionality test under Art. 101 (1) TFEU and the legitimacy of UEFA Financial fair-play regulations: From the Meca Medina and Majcen ruling of the European Court of Justice to the Galatasaray and AC Milan awards of the Court of Arbitration for Sport, 14 October 2018, https://www.asser.nl/SportsLaw/Blog/

[4] M. Colucci, F. Majani, The specificity of sport as a way to calculate compensation in case of breach of contract, European Sports Law and Policy Bulletin, 1/2011, p. 125.

[5]M. Colucci, R. Favella, La stabilità contrattuale nei regolamenti FIFA e nella giurisprudenza rilevante, RDES, 1/2022, p. 39; K. Futtrup Kjær, Substituting at Half-Time: Contractual Stability in the World of Football, https://law.au.dk/fileadmin/Jura/dokumenter/forskning/rettid/Afh_2017/afh1-2017.pdf

[6] CAS 2008/A/1519-1520, para 80.

[7] ‘Given that the compensation to be granted derives from a breach or unjustified termination of a valid contract, it will be guided in calculating the compensation due by the principle of the so-called “positive interest” or “expectation interest”… [and] accordingly… determin[e] an amount which shall basically put the injured party in the position that the same party would have had if no contractual breach had occurred’ (CAS 2009/A/1880 & 1881, at para. 80).

[8] CAS 2008/A/1519-1520, para 88

[9] CAS 2008/A/1519 and CAS 2008/A/1520, para 89.

[10] CAS 2009/A/1880 and CAS 2009/A/1881, para 109.

[11] CAS 2007/A/1298; CAS 2007/A/1299; CAS 2007/A/1300, para 40.

[12] CAS 2007/A/1358, para 40.

[13] CAS 2013/A/3411, para 118.

[14] CAS 2013/A/3089, para 83.

Editor’s note: Stefano Bastianon is Associate Professor in EU Law and EU sports law at the University of Bergamo and lawyer admitted to the Busto Arsizio bar.*

1. Introduction.

The so-called specificity of sport represents one of the most debated, if not the most debated, but still undefined issue under European Union (EU) law. A noteworthy peculiarity is that the specificity of sport is frequently mentioned in several legislative and political documents issued by EU institutions, however it is not expressly referred to in any judgment by the European Court of Justice (ECJ).Conversely, the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) case-law on Art. 17 of FIFA Regulations on status and transfer of players (RSTP) has repeatedly and expressly referred to the specificity of sport.[1] Apparently, the concept of specificity of sport has different meanings and purposes in the ECJ and CAS jurisprudence. In this blog (divided in two parts), I will try to analyse those two different meanings and to what extent the CAS case-law is consistent with the concept of specificity of sport as elaborated under EU law.

2. The specificity of sport under EU law.

The concept of the specificity of sport is mentioned in several documents issued by the EU institutions. In the Helsinki Report on Sport (1999), it is affirmed that ‘the application of the Treaty's competition rules to the sporting sector must take account of the specific characteristics of sport, especially the interdependence between sporting activity and the economic activity that it generates, the principle of equal opportunities and the uncertainty of the result’. According to the Declaration of Nice, (2000) ‘even though not having any direct powers in this area, the Community must, in its action under the various Treaty provisions, take account of the social, educational and cultural functions inherent in sport and making it special, in order that the code of ethics and the solidarity essential to the preservation of its social role may be respected and nurtured’.

However, neither the Nice Declaration nor the Helsinki Report contains a clear definition of the specificity of sport: the Helsinki Report simply lists some specific characteristics of sports activities that are particularly important in the field of antitrust law, whereas the Nice Declaration identifies the specificity of sport with the social, educational and cultural functions inherent in sport. The same applies to the White Paper on Sport (2007), where it is stated that ‘sport has certain specific characteristics, which are often referred to as the “specificity of sport”’. According to the White Paper, the specificity of sport can be approached through two prisms: ‘the specificity of sporting activities and of sporting rules, such as separate competitions for men and women, limitations on the number of participants in competitions, or the need to ensure uncertainty concerning outcomes and to preserve a competitive balance between clubs taking part in the same competitions; the specificity of the sport structure, including the autonomy and diversity of sport organisations, a pyramid structure of competitions from grassroots to elite level and organised solidarity mechanisms between the different levels and operators, the organisation of sport on a national basis, and the principle of a single federation per sport’.

Axiomatically, the White Paper tried to draw a distinction between the specificity of sporting rules  and the specificity of sporting structure The Commission’s effort is certainly commendable, except for two aspects:

a) on the one hand, the Commission does not offer a clear definition of the specificity of sport and instead has just highlighted some features of the specificity of sport in the EU context;

b) on the other hand, some of these features are rather questionable and deserve to be discussed in more detail. For example, separate competitions for men and women. What is the EU legal basis for not allowing Serena Williams to play the final of Wimbledon against Novak Djokovic? Similarly, as regards the competitive balance argument, we can all agree that it is good, but no one can truly define a ‘balanced’ competition. So, if we do not know how much competitive balance is needed, how can we say that it is always good?

More recently, Art. 165 TFEU states that ‘the Union shall contribute to the promotion of European sporting issues, while taking account of the specific nature of sport’. Again, the specificity of sport is only mentioned, but not defined. Lastly, the report Mapping the specificity of sport by the European Commission – Directorate-General for Education and Culture (2016) says that ‘the specificity of sport refers to the inherent characteristics of sport which set it apart from other economic and social activities’.

It follows from the foregoing that under EU sports policy, all the institutions agree on the fact that sport is special, in the sense that it is different from any other activity because of its social and educational dimension. That said, if one tries to translate this concept into a definition to be applied in concrete cases it is impossible to find a common benchmark.

3. The specificity of sport in the case law of the ECJ

In terms of EU case-law, the situation is even more difficult, given the ECJ has never defined the notion of specificity of sport. Rather, the Court of Justice has always indirectly dealt with the specificity of sport in terms of a general rule and its (even more general and not defined) exceptions. Since the Walrave ruling, the ECJ has always stated that ‘the practice of sport is subject to Community [now European] law only in so far as it constitutes an economic activity’ (the rule); however at the same time is has also stated that the prohibition of any discrimination based on nationality ‘does not affect the composition of sport teams, in particular national teams, the formation of which is a question of purely sporting interest and as such has nothing to do with economic activity’ (the exception). The Walrave judgment (and subsequent ECJ case-law) shows that from the very beginning the common idea had been that sporting rules relating to purely sporting issues were as such, not subject to EU law and were known as purely sporting rules.

From a legal point of view, the notion of purely sporting rules is unclear. Through case law however, the ECJ managed to translate the concept of purely sporting rules into a workable tool to distinguish which rules are subject to EU law and which were not. In this context, it was possible to say that the purely sporting rules and the specificity of sport were two sides of the same coin. In other words, sport was not special because it was subject to EU law, but at the same time, it was special because some sporting rules were outside the scope of the Treaty.

This situation totally changed after the Meca Medina judgment by the ECJ. In order to contextualise the relevance of the Meca Medina case, it is worth recalling that the case was about the allegedly anticompetitive nature of the antidoping rules of the International Olympic Committee (IOC).

During the first round before the General Court, the judges stated that purely sporting rules may have nothing to do with economic activity, such that they do not fall within the scope of provisions on the free movement of people. Consequently, they have nothing to do with the economic relationships of competition, with the result that they also do not fall within the scope of Arts. 81 and 82 EC [now Arts. 101 and 102 TFEU]. Since the prohibition of doping is based on purely sporting considerations, it follows that it has nothing to do with any economic considerations. Thus, antidoping rules cannot come within the scope of the Treaty provisions on the economic freedoms and, in particular, of provisions on the free movement of people and competition.

Though according to the ECJ, the reasoning of the General Court amounted to a mistake in law. In its judgement, the ECJ underlined that ‘the mere fact that a rule is purely sporting in nature does not have the effect of removing from the scope of the Treaty the person engaging in the activity governed by that rule or the body which has laid it down. If the sporting activity in question falls within the scope of the Treaty, the conditions for engaging in it are then subject to all the obligations which result from the various provisions of the Treaty. It follows that the rules which govern that activity must satisfy the requirements of those provisions, which, in particular, seek to ensure freedom of movement for workers, freedom of establishment, freedom to provide services, or competition. Therefore, even if those rules do not constitute restrictions on freedom of movement because they concern questions of purely sporting interest and, as such, have nothing to do with economic activity, that fact means neither that the sporting activity in question necessarily falls outside the scope of Articles 81 EC and 82 EC nor that the rules do not satisfy the specific requirements of those articles. In such a context, account must first of all be taken of the overall context in which the decision of the association of undertakings was taken or produces its effects and, more specifically, of its objectives. It has then to be considered whether the consequential effects restrictive of competition are inherent in the pursuit of those objectives and are proportionate to them’.

Though not explicitly stated in the ruling, the traditional approach based on the distinction between purely sporting rules and economic rules was openly denied by the ECJ and the notion of purely sporting rules expelled from EU law. Moreover, the new solution adopted by the ECJ does not simply amount to a terminological change; Consequently, any sporting rule is now subject to EU law per the Meca Medina judgment. Further, in cases where a sporting rule is challenged based on competition law, we must apply the Wouters test to assess the compatibility of the rule with EU law.Then in cases where a sporting rule is challenged on the basis of free movement principles, we must apply the Gebhard test to assess the compatibility of the rule with EU law. Although slightly different, these two tests require assessing the overall context of the rule, the objectives of the rule, if and to what extent the rule is able to attain each objective, and the proportionality of the rule.

The Meca Medina jurisprudence was later also endorsed by the Commission: in the White Paper on Sport, it stated that ‘in respect of the regulatory aspects of sport, the assessment whether a certain sporting rule is compatible with EU competition law can only be made on a case-by-case basis, as recently confirmed by the European Court of Justice in its Meca-Medina ruling. The Court provided a clarification regarding the impact of EU law on sporting rules. It dismissed the notion of “purely sporting rules” as irrelevant for the question of the applicability of EU competition rules to the sport sector. The Court recognised that the specificity of sport has to be taken into consideration in the sense that restrictive effects on competition that are inherent in the organisation and proper conduct of competitive sport are not in breach of EU competition rules, provided that these effects are proportionate to the legitimate genuine sporting interest pursued. The necessity of a proportionality test implies the need to take into account the individual features of each case. It does not allow for the formulation of general guidelines on the application of competition law to the sport sector.’

The new approach raises two fundamental problems:

a) the Wouters test as well as the Gebhard test apply to all sectors of the economy: they apply to goods as well as to services, to lawyers as well to sportspeople. Consequently, if the specificity of sport is taken into account based on the same rules and the same exceptions provided for any other type of economic activity, it follows that sport is no less special under EU law than one may think. Sport is deemed to be special, but sports matters are governed by the same legal tests applied in other economic sectors.

b) according to the Meca Medina judgment, the Court of Justice has the right to assess the proportionate character of any sporting rule allegedly in contrast with EU law. For example, rules relating to penalties in doping cases, rules of the game and rules relating to nationality requirements to be selected for national teams. Undoubtedly, in such cases the ECJ will state that the objectives of these rules are legitimate.

Unfortunately, the same is not true for whether these rules are proportionate. In other words, the simple idea that the ECJ has the right to assess the proportionality of a rule fixing the number of players on the field of play means that sport is no longer special under EU law.  It is important to  remember that in the Meca Medina case, the ECJ ruled that the anti-doping rules at issue were not disproportionate only because the plaintiffs did not plead that the penalties were excessive. What may have happened if the plaintiffs had contested the proportionality of these penalties? Can one be certain that the ECJ has the competence to  decide whether a two-year penalty for doping is/is not proportionate? Does the specificity of sport really require this?

* Associate Professor of EU law and EU sports law, University of Bergamo (Italy); Attorney-at-law; CAS arbitrator. The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the text belong solely to the author.

[1] See M. Colucci, The specificity of sport and the employment relationship of athletes, R. Blanpain, F. Hendrickx (eds.), Labour Law between Change and Tradition: Liber Amicorum Antoine Jacobs, 2011, Kluwer Law International BV, The Netherlands.