Twenty years ago, a lot of things happened. I was a lot thinner and younger back then.

The internet had just been adopted as an everyday tool, granted the dial-up tones and 28.8k modems were the tools that we used. The hit songs of the time were “Gangsta’s Paradise” by Coolio, “Waterfalls” by TLC and “Kiss From a Rose” from Seal.

Remember those times?

I do… sort of. But I remember another huge event that most, if not all, rugby followers remember. South Africa winning their first Rugby World Cup as host and competitor.

I was 15 years old at the time and attending high school in Durban. For the past year, the hype had been building and the idea of South Africa on show was on everyone’s mind. Of course there is a whole political story behind the event, which was captured well in the film “Invictus”, but I’ll tell you my experience to the best of my memory.

The first match was in Cape Town, South Africa versus Australia. The whole nation was anticipating this opening game, so many people had arranged for braais, the lucky few had tickets to Newlands.

It was a bit of luck for us school goers, as we had just started winter holidays so we were able to watch the game. I remember sitting on the couch with my family and friends, watching the opening ceremony with then charting singer PJ Powers and Ladysmith Black Mambazo singing “World in Union”. The atmosphere was getting tense.

The teams filed out of the tunnel and got ready to stand for the respective national anthems. Kick-off soon ensued, but I honestly cannot remember much of the match.

I do remember the tense support during the first half. Australia were getting the upper hand and many Springbok supporters were dreading a losing outcome, but something special happened. Just before half-time Pieter Hendricks found space around the outside of the Australian back line, pumped his fist and scored South Africa’s first try. Things were changing.

The second half saw a disciplined and accurate Springbok side take the victory 27-18. The house was happy and ecstatic as the beers began to flow. I had a few sips of beer but stuck to my cola. That opening match had set the country alight and the unison support for the Springboks could be clearly seen. Even the parliamentary meetings were more worried about the success of the national team. It was a happier time.

I was lucky enough to have parents that knew the magnitude of the event and got me tickets to a few games in Durban. I watched England play Argentina while sitting close to the halfway line. It was a match that was loud as many English fans and ex-pats in South Africa turned out to support their mother land.

Argentina kept England honest and the crowd reacted to every pass, every kick and every tackle. It was my first experience at a Rugby World Cup match and one that I won’t forget. Even though I didn’t support any team that was playing, the stadium experience was awesome.

I later attended the quarter-finals match between France and Ireland at Kings Park and this one was even louder than the pool match. The French supporters came out in force and sang their hearts out all day. I had a seat among the Irish supporters, but it seemed as though they were drowned out by the very vocal French.

The French team were tearing up the pitch with flair and excitement and it was a joy to watch this type of rugby. The French managed to decimate the Irish on their way to the semi-final with South Africa.

Now that the nation knew that South Africa had made it into the semi-final, we collectively paused to watch the national team succeed. A few things had happened to the Boks along their journey. The infamous battle of Boet Erasmus when South Africa played Canada will go down in history as a testing time for the Boks.

First the power went out on the stadium so the kick-off was delayed and then a huge brawl took place which resulted in red cards, one being for Springbok hooker, James Dalton. Once he was giving his marching orders, the nation began to worry as he was the first choice hooker.

Compounding this worry was the fact that star fullback, Andre Joubert, suffered a broken hand at the hands of a physical Samoa team in the quarter-finals. He was one of the best players in the team and with him and Dalton out, South Africa began to worry. Could we do it? Could be play against the odds? Could be bring down Jonah Lomu?

Yes, I remember Lomu. Everyone does. He was the biggest strike weapon any team had ever produced. It was unheard of to see a man that size, about 115 kilograms, able to run that fast and barely be taken down. Teams dedicated three men to defend him, but he still set the Rugby World Cup alight. He famously busted England open and was on course to take New Zealand to the final.

Even with all these things happening, the nation held strong behind the Springboks. Dalton could not get out of suspension but Joubert didn’t give up. He decided to play on with his broken hand by taking painkillers and strapping his hand. There was still hope for the Boks, but there was one more hurdle that not even the rugby gods could get around.

The semi-final between France and South Africa was a memorable one. Again, I was lucky enough to be at the stadium to witness history. It was the night that mother nature decided to unleash hell onto Durban. One of the biggest tropical storms of the year swept over the city and drenched the stadium. Sitting in the crowd, we all huddled under what shelter we could find, an umbrella, a garbage bag, a rain jacket, anything. But regardless of what we tried, we were all wet. It didn’t matter though as we waited for the game to start.

At first we waited but were informed via stadium announcements that the game was to be delayed. The pitch was too waterlogged for the teams to play safely. About 30 minutes had passed and the rain had let up slightly. An army of groundskeepers came out with brooms and squeegees to clear the water off the pitch as we all anticipated the start of the game.

A few conversations began among the spectators. People were speaking about the match, who had performed well, what will happen if the match was called off and so on. Even some joyous singing and chanting broke out. About an hour after the scheduled kick-off and a number of announcements, people learnt that flights out of Durban had been delayed to accommodate the spectators at the stadium that may have needed to catch a plane.

The grounds staff continued to push large amounts of water off the field. If I remember correctly, it was about an hour and a half after the scheduled time that we were informed that the match would take place.

The nation let out a huge sigh of relief because if the match was abandoned, South Africa would be eliminated due to the red card that they received earlier in the tournament. There were other factors that went against South Africa, but none of it mattered now that it was game on.

The night was as black as any night that I had ever seen. The rain still fell, but not in the degree that threatened the match. The teams came out, stood for the anthems and the anticipated kick-off was cheered by the patient crowd.

Again, I cannot remember details of the match, except for the fact that both teams struggled on the waterlogged pitch. The ball didn’t bounce as expected and just got bogged down in the water. The grounds crew did their best at half-time to clear more water off the pitch, but it wasn’t that effective.

The match itself was intense, physical and in the last 10 minutes, France were hunting for the win. They had pinned South Africa back on their try line, the one near my seating section, and we watched with great nerves, the Boks repelled everything the French threw at us.

The rucks were brutal, the tackles bone shattering but the Boks knew that everything mattered and stood strong. Derek Bevan, the ref of the night, drenched in the heavy jersey of the time, looked at his watch on the last play and blew his whistle for full-time.

The whole stadium erupted as the Bok team quickly made their way back to sheds. Some spectators managed to break the security line and run onto the field and swamped the team as they left, but everyone knew that South Africa were in the midst of history.

The week following the semi-final, spectators, commentators and reports dissected the game and shone the spot light on the devastating Lomu. We had seen this guy trample over Mike Catt, brush off an untold number of tackles and enter into contact without flinching. We, as a nation, knew that we were going to have to face the goliath in the final and who would stop him? Who can stop him?

A few days out from the final, the Bok coach, Kitch Christie, named his team. The one thing that stuck in my head was the fact that he named three locks in the starting line-up. Mark Andrews, known as a phenomenal lock, was named at eighth man with the big Kobus Weise and Hannes Strydom in four and five. It was obvious that Christie wanted bulk up front to force the All Blacks scrum to back peddle.

I am lucky enough to have a father that provided the family with tickets. We were way up in the nosebleed section, but we were there. It was a beautiful winter’s day with clear skies and moderate temperature. We arrived by car and walked into the stadium. The crowd was buzzing.

People were covered in the new South African flag. The green Springbok jersey could be seen everywhere. I carried a South African flag with me, attached to a makeshift pole, ready to fly it with pride. We trekked up the stairs to one of the upper tiers and took our seats.

We were way up in the north-east corner, overlooking a capacity crowd. The seats were close together, but I couldn’t really fly my flag as the guys behind us complained that they could not see. No matter though, I took the flag off the pole and kept it in my hands.

We all knew that a jumbo jet was planning to fly over the stadium as it was in the news, but no-one knew how low the plane would get. The stadium announcer came over the speakers and told us to look up. We heard the rumble and then saw this huge plane, no higher than a few metres from the roof of the stadium. The wings had a message underneath that read “Good Luck Bokke”. At first I though it said Good luck boys, but my mother corrected me.

The closing ceremony took place, but being up so high, I couldn’t distinguish much except for a mass of colours and music. We had also been told that Nelson Mandela was in the crowd and was wearing the Springbok jersey. This gave a little bit of an extra buzz to the crowd. The one big screen showed him waving to the crowd before kick-off.

The teams came out and did their anthems. The Haka was screened on the big screen, but the cheering from the Springbok crowd drowned out everything, so I couldn’t hear it, but I did see it.

The game started with nerves as South Africa got into the game. It seemed that at almost every opportunity, the All Blacks were trying to get the ball to Lomu. When they did get it to him, Lomu came through the middle but Joost van der Westhuizen held onto to his legs long enough to slow him down and for Os du Randt to come over the top. Van der Westhuizen stopped Lomu on many occasions that day as New Zealand looked to release him. Every time he was in the open, the crowd willed the Boks to stop him.

There was a disallowed try that Rueben Kruger seemed to have scored on the far side of the field from where I was sitting. The crowd tried to convince the ref to give it but there wasn’t enough evidence for the ref to allow it and this was a time before TMOs.

But each time that Joel Stransky had the chance to kick a penalty, he kicked well. Andrew Mehrtens capitalised on the same chances though. South Africa were just ahead at the half, 9-6, but there was no dominant team.

The second half was also all about kicking accurately, from the spot and from the pocket, Stransky and Mehrtens were in the wild west, taking shots each time. By full-time both teams were 9-9 and we were headed into extra time.

The teams didn’t return to the sheds and the crowds began to whisper. What will happen next? What does it mean? If it’s a draw at the end, who wins? Again we all knew that South Africa would have to win, as the All Blacks had all the stats in their favour which would act as a tiebreaker.

Extra time started and again both teams gave it their all, but with a few minutes left to play, South Africa set up a scrum at the New Zealand 22 and Stransky dropped into the pocket. The crowd knew what he was going to do and he did it. He struck the ball sweetly and it sailed over the posts to break the 12-all deadlock. South Africa just had to tackle and keep New Zealand and Mehrtens far enough away from their line to win.

When that final whistle went, the stadium felt as though it would crumble under the excitement and cheering. My ears were ringing because of the noise and people where arm in arm. A spontaneous song of “Shosholoza” ran out. I saw that the Boks had huddled in a circle as Francois Pienaar led them in a prayer and when the team stood up, the stadium got even louder, if that were possible.

Some of the All Blacks went back into the sheds but a handful stayed behind. The stage was built quickly as Mandela made his way to the team. I don’t really remember, but I think he shook the hands of people that he passed.

A few speeches were given and Pienaar was called onto the stage to receive the Cup. A quick interview was done, but the crowd was so loud and the speakers distorted, that I couldn’t clearly hear what was being said. But once Mandela handed the trophy to Pienaar and he raised above his head, that was a dream come true.

Everything that these boys had worked for was embodied in that cup. The Boks did a lap of honour that seemed to take forever, but no one left the grounds. People were still cheering and singing, even as the sun went down and dusk came upon us. The Bok team eventually returned to the sheds and after what seemed a lifetime, people began to filter out the grounds.

Afterwards, I met up with a friend and his family and we drove around town. There were masses of people on the street, still feeling the victory and being part of it all. At one intersection, the cars stopped and some guys stood in front of the cars to perform the Haka, or the best rendition of it under a cloud of beer. The streets of that town were filled with everyone and it seemed that the party would never end.

I eventually went to bed long after midnight, still buzzing with euphoria but I still remember that I was there. It seems like a long ago dream, but 20 years ago I witnessed a game and experienced an atmosphere that I’ll never forget.