"Now is the summer of our discontent" by Tom Marcellus

It's time now to take a deep sluk of the ol' Kappies 'n Coke and to nail my colours to the mast.  In my simplified existence, such a commitment boils down to but 3 words that have all been horribly over-used, as we approach this time of joy and happiness: H*rry V*ljoen, d**s.

In my mind, there are few local journalists who have a better appreciation of the richness of the tradition of Bok rugby as does that occasionally beleaguered rugby correspondent, Dan Retief.  Afterall, on a personal note, one of the first rugby books that I ever bought was his "Springboks Under Siege", about Wynand Claassen's ill-fated Bok team to New Zealand in 1981, and to this day the book makes comforting reading when all you have to keep yourself company through these blustery summer nights is Messrs Armitage & Shanks, and a slab of cold, white porcelain.  Here is a man who argues from the heart: he talks about such old-fashioned notions as the players' pride for the Green 'n Gold, the virtues, pitiless as they were, of the noble old savages like Daantjie, oom Boy, the Windhond and oom Salty, and the pre-eminence of the bearers of the green jersey.  Here were men who – long before the days of the friendly touch-judge and ever-alert telly-ref – literally lay their bodies on the line, all in the name of the glory of Het Springbokken.  I may well, in my day, have played rugger for the lowly 10th XV and have barely made a tackle in anger, but to me (and hopefully to you, honourable reader), that is what playing in that jersey with its little leaping Springbok is all about.

 

John Robbie, whom some of you may have had the pleasure of listening to as he waged war so vehemently against our noble Mr Retief in last week's "Boots 'n All", pointed out quite correctly (in my opinion) that, over the course of the last century, it has probably been the sole prerogative of Springbok and All Black supporters, those most recklessly passionate but emotional of arm-chair critics, to behave so irrationally over the losses of their respective national rugger sides.  Although it is an unfortunate mathematical fact of life that not all teams in any sport can sip from the chalice of victory at all times, the rabid die-hards from those wooly lands have, over the last century, demanded nothing less.  Even so, despite this obvious truth, we natives are restless.  In fact, now is the summer of our discontent.

Certainly, we Bok supporters have on a number of occasions over the last 45 years bowed with quasi-grace to the better-drilled, more talented XV.  They have only ever been yielded with the greatest of reluctance and after the most grisly fight to the death, but the colours have occasionally fallen into the grubby hands of the enemy.  As far as those blackened psychopaths from the Land of the Long White Cloud go, we have had to acknowledge defeat to a superior (albeit home) team in at least 1956, when the whole of New Zealand went into siege mode in their endeavours to defeat the Green 'n Gold for the first time in the 20th century, and 1965, to a manifestly superior Kiwi team that contained such luminaries of the game as Meads, Whineray and Tremain (it was no coincidence that they were forwards, all three).  Jolly good show, chin, chin, Bob's yer uncle Mary.  Sluk.

 

But the calendar year of 2001 has been something completely different.  HM the Queen may well have referred to 1992 as her "annus horribilis", but to the legions of Bok supporters around the world, 2001 will be remembered as a year in which a Bok team enjoyed a smattering of success, certainly in terms of the bald win/loss ratio that is so important to modern-day coaches, but, infamously, sometimes offered the most directionless, aimless and hopeless play since the Lancashire Pals went over the top kicking their rugger ball on the first day of the Battle of the Somme on 1July 1916.  Field Marshal Haig was a veritable master tactician in comparison to the fella wot we've now got in charge.

 

Taking my melancholic tirade further, I was rather anguished (to put it mildly) when I heard such a distinguished Bok as that old warhorse, Pieter Rossouw, he of "Slap Tjips" fame and who now is a veteran of 42 caps, offering such banal platitudes as "We wanted to do better", and that "Losing to France and England was hugely disappointing", and that the last game in Houston was "another momentous occasion in my Springbok career".  Jeez, call me a bluff old traditionalist, but I for one am not looking for such hopelessly introspective observations from our new-found "Let's Go Texas" correspondent on the Bok wing.  Nay, I say.  I would much rather have had the old Bok lurch miserably and disconsolately through the International Arrivals lounge at Cape Town International, offer an almighty gob on the questioning journalist's crumbled corduroys, and say, in his most polite voice: "Los my uit, jou f*^%#n m%@r".

 

To a watching fan like this humble observer, such a chewy response would have been a worthy riposte, after the trails and tribulations that he and his fellow players, not to mention we hardy Bok fans holed out in dingy drinking establishments around the world, have had to endure over the last few weeks.  Save your polite small-talk for your ouma and your agent, bru.  That other kind of talk is the breed of mongrel, fighting "talk" that is required, after what must have been a bitterly disappointing tour, even for the most loyal cheerleaders of Harry Viljoen (whoever he may be).

 

I've heard that Harry (w.h.m.b.) is in America, on holiday after a long year.  Perhaps he managed to make it to the Disneyland centenary celebrations yesterday.  If so, Tim Lane and his mates from east of Sodwana Bay had better watch out.  I hear that Mickey and Goofy know a thing about a dummy and a sidestep.  Sources tell me that negotiations are continuing…

 

"Shakespearean Production" by Desmond Organ

 

In recent weeks, South Africa’s rugby hierarchy has come under renewed attack. Perhaps it began with the failures of the current coaching staff, when they failed to maintain the new game plan, or it could have been the administrative glitches highlighted by many rugby journalists. There are those that have refused to criticize the players, focusing rather on the coach and administration, then, there are those that are apologizing for the public statements made at the outset of their careers. This writer has often criticised players, coaches and administrators, the intent being to provide the reading public with a broad, non partisan view of the state of the game.

 

I was fortunate enough to attend the game at Twickenham, what an occasion it was, with all the trappings of a major social event. On Friday before the game, I wondered around some of the traditional historical landmarks. I was proudly sporting a Springbok jersey, resulting in several discussions with people of both English and African descent.

 

On Friday afternoon, I ventured to the Springboks hotel, in the hope of meeting up with some of the current national squad. Fortunately my desires were fulfilled with several sightings and an introduction to the coach. I even had the pleasure of being offered a free Castle by the bar staff, obviously the jersey had fooled them. The lasting impression I have of my sightings, is that these are very important people, with patriotic supporters grabbing at every move they make.

 

It was only on the way back from the game that I finally realised that this team and its support staff, have all the trappings of a Shakespearean production. A well oiled English fan handed me a glossy publication, and uttered the following: “What do you need all these administrative staff for, maybe they should have been on the field.” I must admit, after reading the list, it was apparent that England had far less “hangers on”; and victorious with it. Who knows what the real number of staff numbers for the English team is, or if they have additional support staff, the South Africans proudly or naively listed theirs, from Head Coach to Communications Manager to Masseuse.

 

South Africa must be either extremely arrogant, or they are just plan out of touch with the modern game. Theatrical productions list their actors as a means to communicate the quality of the cast and generate attendance. In this regard we are without doubt ahead of the pack, with the likes of a successful businessman, former Australian Union and League coaches, Journalists and Commercial Managers etc, not to forget the oratory talents of the captain. We are also not afraid to tell the world that winning is not important, as long as you win the World Cup, and that our Provincial teams could beat England.

 

Enough said, in rugby you are measured by your performance on and off the field. Off the field we are certainly providing amusement for our opposition and real tragedy for our supporters, on the field we are adept at explaining away even the most basic errors. Perhaps it is time to return to the real tradition of representing your country, it is a privilege, not a right, reward should be based on the results achieved, not just the money and fame earned.

 

I think it is time for a tough re-look at the state of the national team. Pundits are calling for the coach to be dismissed, I myself have been extremely critical in the past months. The man is as genuine as anybody that I have ever met. He is under extreme pressure and I think that inexperience at the national level is the real cause of the current state of affairs.

 

The administrators of the game have got to get their act together and make sure that nobody is bigger than the game, a little bit of humility and perhaps a realization that we are not always going to be the best. Arrogance is always harder to explain in the face of failures, on and off the field.