Amid the debris of the international rugby season, there is some light.

When Bryan Habana scrambled over against the All Blacks a fortnight ago, he added to his extraordinary try tally (66). Doing so did more than push him closer to the outright record; it reaffirmed him as a national treasure.

The Boks may be getting hammered or falling off a cliff. No matter. Habana is always there, mucking in, getting his hands dirty, making us proud, even as the twilight beckons.

At the start of the season, he spoke of “vindicating” his selection, making it clear that he didn’t want to be selected on sentiment or past glories. He only wanted to be chosen if he was demonstrably the best in his position.

His form has waxed and waned over the years, but Habana’s enthusiasm has never dimmed and he remains that most valuable of commodities: a match winner. His selection has long been the easiest of all.

Those with a preference for hair-splitting will say he is not as explosive as he once was, or that he has lost his deadly instincts for chance-taking, but that would be to ignore his more contemporary qualities like bringing a sense of calm and organisation to the backline. He also works tremendously hard off the ball, scrapping and scraping as hard as the hardest loose forward. He still has a nose for the try-line too.

His enthusiasm is undimmed, as I was reminded in a tweet he sent out on Tuesday. The accompanying picture showed him in a schoolboy match for King Edward 16 years ago, darting around as a scrumhalf. “Wonderful memories,” he wrote.

It was all there, in a single exuberant image; his cavalier style, his cheeky break, his wonderful chance-taking.

Habana has played a staggering 121 Test matches for the Springboks. Think about that for a moment. In a country where thousands of young boys aspire to be Springboks he not only rose to the top, he stuck around.

It has been 12 years since he made his debut against England at Twickenham, scoring with his first touch no less, and in that time he’s outlasted 11 other players who have worn the number 11 jersey at some point across those dozen years. Inevitably, they got their chance when Habana was injured, but none of Breyton Paulse, Wynand Olivier, Frans Steyn, JP Pietersen, Jaco Pretorius, Ashwin Willemse, Jongi Nokwe, Odwa Ndungane, Lwazi Mvovo, Francois Hougaard or Bjorn Basson was ever able to unseat him for a reasonable length of time.

They all came in, did their duty, but it was always on the basis that they were merely keeping the spot warm for his return. They had their virtues, but none offered the sumptuous all-round package Habana did.

If Frik du Preez was named Player of the Century for the most recent epoch, Habana would surely be among the top three were a modern all-time greatest be chosen from South Africa.

His sheer body of work, which includes being named world player of the year, would thrust him into a straight race between Schalk Burger, Victor Matfield and Fourie du Preez, all giants of their age and legendary Springboks by any reckoning.

Let’s not forget, too, his standing as a talisman for black rugby. In a country desperately short of real heroes, Habana is a mighty one. Everything he has done has been defined by excellence and there has never been salacious scandal about him. Just about the worst thing he ever did in a Springbok jersey was produce a dive that Neymar would have been proud of. He was quick to apologise.

There was also that yellow card against Australia in the recent World Cup, down more to over-exuberance rather than cynicism.

He’s now 33, positively in his dotage as a wing for whom pace remains the most treasured asset. He’s not as quick as he once was and he’s clearly nearing the end of his career, notwithstanding the fine work he still does for the Springboks and for Toulon.

He will doubtless be signing off soon. These are dark days for the Springboks, but let’s celebrate Habana, who continues to excite and enthrall. – © Sunday Tribune

Six years ago, then Sharks coach John Plumtree waxed lyrical about having to play either Western Province or the Bulls in a Currie Cup playoff match.

“It’s a little like being given an option between cabbage and brussels sprouts,” he said wryly. The place packed up.

I was thinking about this the other day while engaged in another bout of hand-wringing, the new national sport.

Let’s face it, there is no middle ground in local sport; it’s either feast or famine as we navigate painful defeats and warm victories. These days there is more of the former and less of the latter.

Whatever we like to think of ourselves, our approach to sport is seldom scientific or rational. We rant and we rage, we blubber and babble. And that’s just the coaches.

What coaches seldom do, however, is employ humour to good effect. Prevailing wisdom suggests that coaching is a deadly serious business. There is no time for a laugh or a joke.

Peter de Villiers turned that assumption on its head, although he was less quick-witted than merely inarticulate and unintentionally funny. His response to defeat? “We have the right recipe. We’re just using the wrong pots and pans.”

Pure gold.

De Villiers was unique as a personality, truly beyond compare, but what many of the great coaches have in common is a supreme sense of humour. The late Kitch Christie had a tremendous line in dry, deadpan humour. It never produced belly laughs, but it was sharp and cutting and always on the money.

You might not have appreciated Jake White’s straight talking, but he could roll out a line with as much wit and dexterity as Trevor Noah. He was a treat at speaking engagements, often funny and always entertaining.

He, like many others, used humour like a rubber sword. He could puncture any tense situation with a quick quip.

White might have picked up a few tips from his mate, the impish Eddie Jones, who has only ever been a shrewd operator. He famously doesn’t abide lazy journalists and shoots them down with a razor-sharp tongue often laced with sarcasm. To watch him in action is to watch a master at play.

I suspect that a sense of humour is linked to never taking yourself too seriously. In a long-running feud with Michael Cheika, Steve Hansen has often given deadpan, pithy responses that are more eloquent than any long-winded answer could ever be.

Years ago, when he was still New Zealand’s forwards coach, he popped a dig at critics with this memorable line: “Vince Lombardi probably said it first, but Jack Gibson is the guy I remember saying it: ‘They haven’t built any statues for critics or wannabes yet’.”

If you’re on the end of that one, it’s hard to come back.

I enjoyed the homespun philosophy of Jannie du Plessis, who knew full well the value of perspective. “When they say you’re good, you’re not as good as they say – and when they say you’re shit you’re not as shit as they say,” he remarked last year.

The good doctor was often like that, not given to false praise and platitudes.

The point of these little cameos is for comparison with Allister Coetzee, the Bok coach, and Shakes Mashaba, the national soccer coach. In recent weeks they’ve both been stricken by defeats and largely retreated into their shells. Coetzee used to be witty and charming, but increasingly he wears a mask of weariness. Perhaps he feels it would be inappropriate to make light of the difficult run the Springboks have endured. He seems permanently tense, which is understandable given the terrible pasting he’s received from the press and public. I wish he’d take a load off and lighten up.

As so many press conferences have proved, Mashaba is a gibbering wreck. He doesn’t know where to turn and has never been fond of a joke. Pity. It could come in handy.

I remember Heyneke Meyer being the same at the end.

The Springbok job afflicts coaches in the worst possible way. They age, they wilt and they retreat before our eyes, their haunted look betraying the torment inside. The job eats them up. – © Sunday Tribune

The Sharks (and formerly Natal) have known a few formidable props over the years. Lood Muller, Guy Kebble, Mort Mortassagne and the late DSH Old Boys prop Graham “Basher” Downes used to pull up trees for fun.

For all their excellence, I’d put Beast Mtawarira at the top of the meaty pile. On saturday, the big man played his 81^st Test for South Africa to become the Springboks’ most capped prop forward.

The player he overtook, Os du Randt, rates as one of the greatest looseheads to have drawn breath. To have reeled him in gives you some idea of Mtawarira’s formidable standing.

Since his first Test in 2008, Mtawarira has made the number one jersey his own for South Africa. There have been a few upstarts along the way, but the Sharks totem has always prevailed.

Given that he is a loosehead, he doesn’t get as mangled as a tighthead, which has helped his longevity. But he’s also uncommonly big for the loosehead side and has huge strength which helps enormously when the opposition tighthead is trying his best to dominate.

Mtawarira has had some good tussles over the years, but it is hard to recall a time when he was completely worked over. He was never better than in the first Test against the British and Irish Lions in 2009.

Phil Vickery had a reputation for feasting on passive looseheads, but he hadn’t reckoned on Mtawarira bucking the trend. The Springbok forced his head upwards and inwards, providing graphic proof of his wiles at the scrum by forcing three penalties. The hysterical British press squawked that Mtawarira’s action had been unlawful, but Graham Rowntree, the Lions’ forwards coach, admitted they were hammered. End of story.

The real standing of a player in South Africa is how they are viewed by the public at large. Given that Mtawarira is an uitlander – Zimbabwean by birth – his status as a much adored Springbok is remarkable. Fans across the world chant his name whenever he gets the ball and he is among the most popular when children seek out autographs. He’s every inch the alpha male, his baritone voice and quiet manner lending him the sort of mystique you expect of a man who plays in the front row.

His journey from Sharks aspirant to Springbok super-hero has known a few twists and turns. First came his conversion from No 8 to prop, where Balie Swart was such an influence. Swart knows a thing or two and helped Mtawarira settle in, no doubt also teaching him some of the dark arts employed by frontrankers.

In 2010 the player found himself at the centre of a nasty row over his citizenship, suffice to say that he was little more than a pawn in a political power play. Mtawarira stayed dignified and although the imbroglio cost him a few Springbok starts, he soon found himself back where he belonged.

In late 2012 he was forced out of the Boks’ tour of the United Kingdom suffering from heart palpitations. Later, he had corrective surgery to correct an irregular heart rhythm. Thankfully, it was only a temporary setback and had no demonstrable impact on his subsequent career where he has only ever been all heart.

The challenge now is to continue his standing as South Africa’s number one No 1. Now in his eighth year of Test rugby, the years have begun to take their toll. He’s not as prominent as he once was, trading in his old explosiveness for cunning. Props, you see, not only get older, they get smarter.

Aged 31, his next ambition is to make it to a century of caps. That would require another two years of international rugby, something entirely possible given his fitness and attitude.

Like Bryan Habana, there has never been a suggestion that his presence owed as much to political machinations as to pure rugby reasons. Mtawarira has knocked back all pretenders and continues to be rock solid even as the Springboks endure a difficult transition under Allister Coetzee.

He’s become one of the elder statesmen of Bok rugby. He’s universally loved and perfectly reflects the potential of SA rugby to become a game for all.

Bravo to the Beast. – © Sunday Tribune

There’s a story I love about the All Blacks.

They have a system known as sweeping the sheds where even the superstars pick up after themselves when they clear out of a change room. It speaks to their humility, a non-negotiable for New Zealand’s elite players.

“We don’t have a lot of rules,” says coach Steve Hansen. “But we have a lot of expectations.”

While we’re busy agonising about the state of the Springboks and Australia endure a spiral towards mediocrity, the All Blacks are doing what we didn’t think possible: getting better.

Meanwhile, the inevitable can’t be staved off much longer. The Springboks soon head to Christchurch for a clash against the All Blacks. There is nothing to suggest that it won’t be a case of as you were. Hansen had built statistically the most successful sporting team in history, having won 54 of his 59 Tests for a 91.5 percent winning record. He isn’t in the habit of losing, having done so just three times.

What’s also remarkable is how the All Blacks seamlessly absorbed the loss of titans Dan Carter and Richie McCaw. There was no panic, no hysteria. New players were brought in and team renewal, so endemic to their success, was assured.

Beauden Barrett inherited Carter’s jersey, but he had already played almost 40 Tests. Hansen had prepared smartly for the day Carter went in search of bagfuls of Euros. He knew it would happen and made a plan because there is no comfort zone in New Zealand rugby. Complacency isn’t tolerated.

It helps that in New Zealand the best players are owned by the province, franchise and All Blacks. The player is thus central to every move, every decision taken. The happy corollary is that there is no squabbling and no power struggles.

It also links to the All Blacks’ “no dickheads policy”. Yes, it exists. Inflated egos are shown the door.

Officials can be precious at times and New Zealand can seemingly do little wrong in the eyes of World Rugby, but their regard for tradition, their deep respect for their jersey and their relentless quest for excellence can only be marvelled at.

So too their pursuit of innovation. In 1905 the All Black “Originals” swept through the United Kingdom, winning 34 of 35 matches. They shocked the hosts by playing a brand of rugby they were unused to, injecting backs and forwards into a flexible attacking line, moving the ball quickly and creating space for support runners. It was the first example of innovation that the All Blacks were to become famous for.

And still they innovate. Look how razor-sharp they are at the breakdown, which is why their number seven jersey is so revered. Where others slow down as they attack rucks and mauls, the All Blacks accelerate. If you’re loose, they hurt you. And then you lose.

The All Blacks have also been brave in their policy of picking only home-based players. Their depth gives them that luxury, but the power of the black jersey is also a strong attraction. It still matters.

More than any other team, the All Blacks have developed a total reliance on each other’s different strengths, which is why their support play and speed of thought is so superior.

Difference is celebrated, not stifled. They make it work.

They have an obsessive eye for improvement. Every detail is torn apart and analysed. Are they beatable? Only if the opposition is intelligent, clinical and able to hurt them. It took blood and thunder for the Boks to beat them at Ellis Park two years ago, and an ice-veined Pat Lambie kick at the death.

It’s naïve to believe that the current Boks have the game or the players to master them in a battle of tactics.
Far better to drag them down with the old blood-and-guts approach. It may be medieval in nature, but it’s SA rugby’s default position and apparently the one thing the players can deliver.

We will occasionally catch the buggers on an off day – once, say, every 10 matches – but for SA to power on, root and branch reform is essential.

Until then, the past, present and future is indeed All Black. – © Sunday Tribune