As the dust on the roads begin to settle, as heart rates and adrenaline levels return to normality, as you all return to the training pitches and as the champagne bubbles cease to fizzle (I think we have to call it MCC now, because champagne comes from France, but then again if we can bring home the Webb Ellis Cup, which they also thought was theirs, then maybe for a time we can call it champagne), it’s time to take stock of what has transpired and give thanks.
It’s been two Fridays since you made your way through the streets of Cape Town. What an experience that was. I had the joy of seeing the smiles on the faces of so many people. Every tribe, tongue and nation were present and jubilant. The joy was electric, even palpable. My eight-year-old son was in awe as he saw people celebrate a united victory.
Seeing the Springboks through a device and screen had been his only experience of you up until now and then suddenly you walked off the screens and onto a bus and entered our streets. If the bus wasn’t so high off the ground he may have leaped off my shoulders to embrace you. He now knows that you are real. I mean he always knew you were real, but now he really knows. And he loves the Springboks even more because of it.
How this phrase has caught on: “Hulle weet nie wat ons weet nie!”. What we know, that other rugby nations are not privy to, is that you don’t play rugby primarily for you. You play rugby for us. Of all the nations who “play for their country” few can argue that the Springboks do so more than any other nation.
When you slip on your socks, you think of Stellenbosch and Soweto.
When you put on your boots, you think of Boksburg and Ballito.
When you put on your pants, you think of Parys and Paarl.
Mouthguards for Malmesbury, underpants for Umhlanga, scrum caps for Clarens. And the jersey for Jozi. No, that’s not true, when you put on that jersey you surely silently say to yourself: “For South Africa.” (man those ads were something else).
Our country is in a time where it needs hope. Thrice you gave us heart attacks, but in each of those knock out games you gave us some hope.
Here are three grains of hope from each of our Rugby World Cup knockout games:
In the quarter final against the host nation France, you gave us this grain of hope: When life gives you one opportunity, take it! Thank you, Ox Nche for scrumming with the weight of a nation on your shoulders. “Salads don’t win scrums”, you said, and you showed us how true that it is. Thank you for taking your moment and making it count. In a country for whom striking is not uncommon, thank you Handre Pollard for striking that ball so cleanly and rewarding those who put you in a position to win the game for us.
In the semifinal against the under dogs England, you gave us this grain of hope: Never give up. Never stop playing. Even if you’re having a bad day. And especially if its against the English. It truly was an atrocious game. You were down and out and your energy levels were at an all-time low. You went into that dark hole to find yourselves and rediscover the will to play. You thought of us all back home, and you “not today”. You dug deep and you played.Albeit for only 12 minutes, but that was all that was needed. The moral of the story wasn’t “only work for 12 minutes” (though regrettably that is sometimes what it feels like with some of our State-Owned Enterprises), but rather to persevere and keep working right to the bitter end with every fibre of your being, rather than giving up. Thank you particularly to Kwagga, RG and Deon Fourie who modelled this to us in that game.
And then there was the final against the mighty All Blacks. I wanted you to grind them down and run them to the ground only for the sake of silencing their arrogant commentators. But that is not the lesson you wanted to teach us. The grain of hope from this game was this: Heart wins. Always. If the desire is there and it is stronger than the opponents’, the result will look after itself. It was PSDT’s heart that made him make 28 tackles in the match. It was Kurt-Lee’s heart that made him cross the field for that cover tackle. It was Faf’s heart, and dogged tenacity, that made him chase for that ankle tap. It was Chezzy’s heart that cost him that yellow card. Every player showed us on that night that their hearts were shaped like the tip of Africa and that was who they played for. Heart wins. Always.
Having reflected on these games and the grains of hope you’ve given us, all of this made me think of another man. A man whose heart beats for all people. A man whose heart even stopped for them. A man who never gave up, until that day when he gave up his spirit for a masterplan far greater than anyone, even the genius of Jacques and Rassie, could ever imagine. A man who had every opportunity to not go through with it, but in the end had the toughest run in to his final moment and seized the one opportunity no one would dare take. What joy it gave me on that final day when our captain Siya Kolisi lifted that trophy, and I caught a glimpse of that name written on his wrist… Jesus. The name above all names.
This is the man who truly gives us all the hope we’ll ever need in this life and the life to come. If ever there was a man worth turning to, learning from and being changed by, it would be this man. And to see our captain Siya acknowledge this man made winning the World Cup that much sweeter.
I want to say a big thank you to the Siya Kolisi and Springboks. Thank you for your faith, hope and love for all the people of South Africa. Thank you for the example and inspiration you’ve been to us all. But thank you that most importantly, for me at least (and I suspect many others), you reminded us again that the ultimate victory belongs to Jesus Christ our Lord.
I look forward to seeing many of you at his victory parade one day when people from every tribe and tongue and nation will gather and celebrate around his throne! Hallelujah!