There may still be some poor benighted souls who regard the Springboks as the bane of rugby union. If you meet one, get ready to dispense a proper mauling. South Africa, for so long the Millwall of rugby, are playing an all-round game that is so breathtakingly attractive you have to love them. It may be hard for you, but tough.
It would take a brave man to bet against them for the 2027 World Cup in Australia
The scrum has always been irresistible, of course; relays of vast men who can shred opponents to bits: here’s hooker Malcolm Marx, accumulator of tries and the size of a terraced house but with added mobility; there’s Ox Nché, all 19.5st of him and the best prop in the world right now. On the flank is Pieter-Steph du Toit, relentlessly fast and on track to be world player of the year again; at lock the extraordinary Eben Etzebeth, as imposing as the Statue of Liberty, who has just become the most capped Bok of all time. At the weekend, after pulverising Argentina 48-7 in Nelspruit, a weeping Etzebeth talked about rugby being a religion in his country. Maybe that’s it. South African rugby and the country itself were reborn at the same time, in the World Cup final of 1995 when Nelson Mandela wore skipper Francois Pienaar’s shirt. The Boks beat the All Blacks 15-12 in that match and have since won the World Cup three more times. It would take a brave man to bet against them for the next World Cup in Australia in 2027.
On top of their crushing forward power, coach Rassie Erasmus has added some of the best backs in the world: Cheslin Kolbe on the wing, whose mesmerising footwork for his try against the Pumas was almost impossible to follow with the naked eye; the outstanding Aphelele Fassi at fullback; and at fly-half the dazzling 22-year-old Sacha Feinberg-Mngomezulu. In just the past few years these Boks have become double World Cup winners, beaten the Lions and are now winners of the Rugby Championship. It is deeply impressive. Many of the players – the captain Siya Kolisi for instance – have powerful life stories about overcoming adversity. For anyone who cares about the rainbow nation, we should wish the best for these Springboks.
Cricket’s next Test series (please don’t yawn at the back) starts next week in Pakistan. The game has become an endless cycle in which players have little time to prepare and the whole thing gets increasingly meaningless. What was the most memorable moment of the cricketing summer? Probably Somerset beating Surrey (for whom their England stars Ollie Pope, Jamie Smith and Gus Atkinson hardly ever play). Not everything was better way back when, but cricket arguably was. Counties mattered, one-day finals were must-watch TV (rather than a 20-over thrash in the drizzle as this year), and not every Test match was to prepare for the Ashes, which is pretty insulting to anyone who’s not Australian.
Meanwhile, Hampshire have been taken over by the people who own the Indian Premier League franchise, the Delhi Capitals, though largely it seems so they can use the county’s superb Southampton venue as a multi-purpose entertainment centre. And Lord’s have put their prices up, so only those who can attend the Royal Opera House or Glyndebourne can afford to see Test cricket in NW8.
That great polymath Kris Kristofferson has bowed out at 88. Decades ago I was at my parents’ house in Oxford with my latest Kristofferson album. He was then one of the best-known artists on the planet. My father, a cricket-loving don closely involved with the Rhodes Scholarship committee, took one look at the cover and said with great warmth: ‘Ah, Kristofferson, a very fine left-arm bowler as I recall.’ Who knew? He won a boxing blue as well, by the way.
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