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It seems that no lead is safe against Heyneke Meyer’s Springbok squad in the last two seasons, unless it is held by the composed and super-fit All Blacks.
In June, in Nespruit, Wales led 30-17 deep with fifteen minutes to go. The Springboks pounded away at the Dragons’ line, but it took a gutsy, but entirely correct decision by matinee idol referee Steve Walsh to award a penalty try after Cornal Hendricks broke George North’s desperate tackle in the corner and was shoulder-charged into touch by Welsh fullback Liam Williams, to keep the Bok winning streak going.
Dan Biggars took a couple of wild drop goal attempts at the death, to no avail. The final score was South Africa 31-Wales 30, and the Boks led for only the last moments. Warren Gatland, the Wallaby-slayer, described it as “probably the toughest defeat in my coaching career.”
This Bok team can win ugly, and it can win pretty, and it can win late, and they never give up. More than that, there appears to be some sort of mystical power growing.
Meyer’s magic curses everyone except Steve Hansen.
Since the classic Test of the Century at Ellis Park, these Boks have not been beaten. We will soon see, in Perth, if Australia has changed the balance of trans-Indian Ocean rugby power.
But there is some evidence that of these two relatively unchanged teams, it is Australia, not South Africa, that faces the same old (and perhaps some new) deficits.
Stephen Moore cannot easily be replaced, the hole left by David Pocock implicates both the open-side and blind-side positions, and the halfback duo of Will Genia and Quade Cooper might be welcomed with open arms right now Down Under.
In the meantime, the Boks have exchanged the wily Willie le Roux for the staid Zane Kirchner, upgraded at wing (Hendricks and Bryan Habana offer as much pace, guile and finishing polish as any set of wings in the world), and learned to win in different ways.
But the Boks, when they beat Australia, tend to do so by forward dominance.
In Salta, they were dominated, decimated at scrum time, run off their feet on a high hot field, and trailed by fourteen points deep in the match, yet still won. They scored a miraculous try in the corner by Hendricks, who shed a tackle, contorted with one hand stretched just to the line, his legs controlled in almost ballerina discipline, and a cool sideline conversion by Morne Steyn.
A couple of nervy penalty goals later, and Meyer’s team had not been beaten. South Africa 33 Argentina 31.
This was actually a luckier South American jail break than the 16-16 draw two years ago. Argentina outplayed South Africa comprehensively in the first 60 minutes. The Bok bench saved the day.
Before that, the starters stunk like skunks. Lest Hendricks be seen only as saviour, it should be noted that he played matador to Manuel Montero, who seemed to dance around the novice Bok wing with ease.
Most of le Roux’s efforts came to nought; and his kicking boots were skew.
Damian de Allende did not really gel with Jean de Villiers on defence; the Bok midfield leaked breaks to Juan Martin Hernandez and the fine Puma flyhalf Nicolas Sanchez; this duo looked like the Foley-Kurtley Beale double play-maker setup of the Waratahs.
Pollard and Ruan Pienaar tackled like mules, but they kicked like donkeys. Pienaar’s best kick was a lucky soccer stab ahead that Habana ran down for a fluke try.
Gurthro Steenkamp moved backward at scrum time faster than he ran forward at ruck time. There was no apparent or discernible reason he was in a uniform for forty-six minutes.
The du Plessis brothers were grumpy at set pieces, and useless tacklers; a poor combination. Bismarck missed a critical tackle; Jannie brought his “missed Argentines” total to four. The South African starting tighthead leads the competition in penalties conceded: also four.
Lodewyk de Jager was plain lazy; and he fell off as many tackles as he made. He managed the lineouts adequately, and Eben Etzebeth stole two Argentine lineouts at crucial times (only for the backs to waste the ball). Juan Smith was off the pace.
Of the starters, only man of the match Francois Louw and Duane Vermeulen played well (both for 80 minutes); Louw tackled impeccably, slowed Puma ball when he could, and never stopped working. Vermeulen’s cover defence and high ball skills saved the Boks, and he made it over the gainline in heavy traffic.
Without the bench (Adriaan Strauss, who was the best Bok ball-carrier on the day; Tendai Mtawarira and Frans Malherbe, who steadied the scrum; Francois Hougaard, who looked quicker than Pienaar; Steyn, who never looked like missing his kicks; and most of all, Marcell Coetzee, who ran like a kamikaze and scored a vital late try), this would have been Meyer’s first loss of 2014, in Argentina, and heaped a mine dump of pressure on him and his sacred structures.
The Bok bench was exponentially better than the Puma bench (only Tomas Cubelli made an impact; I think he was better than the injured Martin Landajo). In Test rugby, depth matters.
There are other talking points and controversies. Did Sanchez’s drop goal attempt bisect the pole? Was there a forward pass in the lead up to one of the Pumas’ tries? Why is the TMO in Salta armed only with a flip cell phone?
Will anyone be cited? Why were there so many penalties and cards in Auckland in a picnic, and so few in this barroom brawl?
How good is Joaquin Tuculet? Can anyone in the Southern Hemisphere conquer the Argentine front row?
But none of that really matters.
The truth is nobody but New Zealand can beat Meyer’s Boks. Yes, the All Blacks have won close matches, as in Dublin. South Africa just struggled to beat Argentina. But they found a way.
And they will be inspired to improve just as much as if they had lost; except with a eight game winning streak, and a narrow 8-7 lead on the Rugby Championship log.
Winning is a habit. It forms. It is nurtured. This team plays for us, for the Republic, for their mates, their families, for themselves; but also, for their coach.
A team that wins, knows not to panic. There will be chances. You make some; some are handed to you.
Fitness helps. It’s the only gift you can give to yourself in combat sports; you can rely on it.
It was very hot in Salta, and the altitude is 1,152 metres above sea level. Walsh was gasping on his microphone. Johannesburg lies 1,753 metres above sea level. Most of the Argentines live or train at sea level.
In the final twenty minutes, Argentina was tired and it showed. Coetzee, Louw, Vermeulen, and the outside Bok backs looked far fresher.
And you make your kicks. Pollard’s strikes were clean and pure. Steyn, too. Sanchez has been the form flyhalf thus far in the tournament, but he left a lot of points off the scoreboard. Had he made one more, he would be the man of the match, not Louw.
The Boks were lucky. But they made their own luck.
Leadership matters. There were some young pups out there (gangly Lood, the kid Pollard, de Allende on his second Test), but there are a lot of captains, too. De Villiers made the call to go for the lineout. But Louw captains Bath, Bismarck du Plessis leads the Sharks, Vermeulen is a Stormer skipper, Pienaar has led Ulster, and Strauss was the Cheetah boss. These guys don’t panic easily.
A coach who believes in you, can help, too. Meyer has his detractors. But this team is obviously motivated to dig deep, and steal surprise wins. Break hearts. Walk off in silence, as opposition fans shake their heads. Meyer says he is “big on character; that is what makes the difference. You see these guys coming in every year and you see who makes it and who doesn’t. The talent base is the same. … I like certain players because of their character. … Mental toughness. … A never-say-die attitude, and he works for the guy next to him — that is the big difference.”
The Boks did not deserve to win; and those are the best victories, the ones that keep a streak alive, until you work things out. Sometimes it does come down to will.
I was joking when I said the Boks were underdogs. But I was wrong to predict a 15-point victory.
And now I have to pay up.
Here is my Ode to the Soaring, Boring Backside of Wyatt Crockett:
Oh High and Mighty Rear,
In Otago born, or near,
Thou rise like a mighty tail,
A Christchurch, Canterbury tale.
Not the front of you, Crockett.
Not the middle of you, dammit.
Not your cauliflower ear flaps
Or the way you take mid-match naps.
I come to praise your posterior,
Noble and high-boring anterior.
Your glutes, man,
Your Ass-ghanistan.
Your technique of engagement,
Leads to referee amazement.
Do you like to look at tiny blades of grass?
Or do you just like a soaring ass?
Are you auditioning for the Cirque de Soleil?
Or are you a frustrated hooker, please say?
Viewed from a sky cam
You are easy to spot
The rest of the gang
Looks similar, the whole lot.
You, you alone
Diagonal and airy
In your own lawless zone
High, soaring, boring, and scary.
Join The Roar rugby editor Christy Doran, former Wallaby Matt Toomua and a cast of regular and special guests as they look at the biggest issues in the game on The Roar Rugby Podcast. If you’re looking for great odds on the next game check out Aussie bookmaker PlayUp. Chances are you’re about to lose. Set a deposit limit.