It was the Golden Era of the game in South Africa, combining dazzling play and ruggedly good-looking heroes with the freedom of a new society. As we look back at what made rugby so special back then, are we ready for the next Golden Age? By Sarah Rice
The 90s changed my relationship with Rugby forever. I had never paid the game a moment’s notice and my late teenage brain (adolescence lasts until 25 according to scientists…) had filed it under school history lessons, Afrikaans and knee high khaki socks as part of Apartheid oppression.
Luckily for me, I had never felt that melktert or koeksisters should fall into this category. These, I had very protectively, filed under ‘culture’ right next to the delicious samp I used to sneak from Florina (my other mother) and prawns.
“Prawns?” I hear you say. I was not the most worldly of teens and had put all weird, icky foods like prawns, snails, frogs legs and tripe into a culture sub-category called ‘French’. (I know. It makes no sense to me either.)
In 1995, Rugby moved from the ‘Apartheid’ category into my, cautiously growing, folder labeled ‘Proud to be South African.’ As the 90s progressed, this file would grow fat and healthy and quite a few previously categorised elements would move find their home here. Proteas. Voting. Slasto.
The Rugby moment was, of course, the 95 Rugby world cup. Suddenly it was transformed from something that smelly Michealhouse boys did to get the attention of the A team hockey girls, into a point of national pride. I HAD to get on top of this game.
Challenge was it wasn’t really that glam. A bunch of men in shorts grunting between each other’s legs and getting very bloody and sweaty in the process. Not exactly my scene. Thankfully, to my unending joy, Bobby Skinstad came come onto our screens and into my heart. And then, hold me back, Victor Matfield.
Now, finally, these were players to really get behind. 1997 was the beginning of my Golden Age of SA Rugby. I was a zealous convert, shouting ‘off sides,’ ‘high tackle’ and ‘WTF?!?’ at the screen with the best of them. I also have a random memory of even screaming ‘Slap Chips’ at some point. Not sure what that was about.
Saturday afternoons were a bliss of Chardonnay (its what all the cool kids were drinking then), braais and sitting on the couch laughing till I cried with my friend Alli, and lots of talks about which of us would get married and become proper adults first. (It was Al.)
Rugby was part of the soundtrack of my early adulthood, an expression of the drama, feelings and delight of the early freedom and responsibility of being a grown up.
After some years where my soundtrack changed to that of parenting and business-ing, I am completely ready to re-introduce the sounds of cheering crowd, the sight of the almost poetic perfection of a team working together and then the final dash to the try line, the raw emotion in those big men’s faces at the loss or win and – wait for it – I STILL get to have Bobby Skinstad helping me to understand what is happening through his commentary.
If that’s not a sign that I am ready for another Golden Age of Rugby then I don’t know what is!
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