Here’s a bold statement: Joe Marler, the rugby star turned reality TV sensation, is breaking the mold in ways you wouldn’t expect. But here’s where it gets controversial—while most athletes struggle to transition into mainstream fame, Marler is effortlessly charming audiences beyond the rugby pitch. And this is the part most people miss: he’s doing it without leaning heavily on his sports background, a move that’s both daring and potentially game-changing.
The cast of Celebrity Traitors was packed with household names—Stephen Fry, Clare Balding, Jonathan Ross—figures so iconic they’re practically national treasures (well, maybe forget that prank call to Manuel from Fawlty Towers for a moment). Yet, it was Marler, the man once known for shaving the word “sausage” into his hair, who emerged as the breakout star. Yes, there’s a paycheck involved, but for lesser-known celebs, it’s also a golden opportunity to elevate their profile. Who would’ve bet on a rugby player with a penchant for quirky haircuts stealing the show?
From the start, Marler’s instincts were razor-sharp. While others were dazzled by Jonathan Ross’s charisma and stylish knitwear, Marler saw through the bluster, identifying Ross as a traitor early on. He even proposed the “big dog theory,” pitting Fry and Ross against each other as leaders of the faithful and traitor factions—a move that screams of the no-nonsense, strategic thinking honed on the rugby field. But here’s the kicker: Marler’s grasp of TV dynamics is just as impressive. He correctly guessed there’d be one high-profile traitor, yet oddly, he only voted to banish Ross once in the first five episodes, instead joining a witch-hunt against actor Mark Bonnar. “Mark’s a traitor,” Marler declared, citing the actor’s overly dramatic table-slapping. It’s a tough game, after all.
Last week, Marler didn’t hold back, calling out the faithful players for “doing the worst job in Traitors history,” a scathing critique for a show barely two years old. He also dubbed comedian Nick Mohammed his “one true faithful,” a title as meaningful as telling a kid they’re a pro at snakes and ladders. Yet, Marler’s game-reading skills shone through. He accurately identified remaining traitors after broadcaster Kate Garraway’s banishment, proving he’s not just a funny guy—he’s a strategic thinker.
If you’ve only seen the BBC’s relentless promotional campaign, Marler’s appeal might seem puzzling. But here’s the secret: he cuts through the pretentious fluff of reality TV without coming off as abrasive. He’s naturally hilarious with impeccable timing, yet he’s smart enough to know that being the funniest guy in the locker room doesn’t translate to holding your own with top comedians. Now, he’s poised to do something rare for a rugby star—cross into mainstream fame.
Think about it: Jonny Wilkinson was English rugby’s last household name, but he lacked the extroversion to capitalize on primetime TV. Henry Pollock shows promise, amplifying his personality for a bright media future, and James Haskell has carved out a niche as an unconventional influencer. But Marler’s star is burning brighter than all of them.
Here’s where it gets tricky: Marler’s rugby career wasn’t without controversy. He once called for “binning” the haka before an England-All Blacks match, a statement he later apologized for before retiring from international rugby. He was fined £20,000 for a racial slur against Wales prop Samson Lee in 2016 and banned for 10 weeks for an inappropriate gesture toward Alun Wyn Jones. In 2022, he was suspended for six weeks for a derogatory comment about Bristol flanker Jake Heenan’s mother, who was battling cancer. Marler apologized, unaware of her condition, but the damage was done. These incidents, along with bans for everything from kicking opponents to water-spraying pranks, paint a picture of a player who often crossed the line.
Yet, Marler’s candor about his mental health has been a redeeming factor. He’s spoken openly about taking antidepressants, seeing a therapist, and even frightening his pregnant wife during a “meltdown.” Unlike many public figures who vaguely allude to struggles, Marler has been specific and practical—a refreshing change from the generic #haveachatwithmates advice.
Most crucially, Marler understands that to thrive post-rugby, he must shed the sport’s baggage. Rugby still carries public schoolboy stereotypes that alienate some audiences. In eight episodes of Celebrity Traitors, Marler has barely mentioned rugby, a bold and potentially lucrative strategy.
So, here’s the question: Can Joe Marler truly transcend his rugby roots and become a mainstream star? And more importantly, should he? Let us know your thoughts in the comments—this is one debate that’s sure to spark differing opinions.
