It was a day for war stories, reminiscing and comparing waistlines. It was a day for celebration, reflection and a good many laughs.

The coming together of the Rugby World Cup squad on the 20^th anniversary of their great triumph yesterday was to be reminded of the virtues of a sport like rugby where the sense of brotherhood is so permanent.

There was genuine warmth as the old heroes reconnected; the bonds still strong after two decades.

It was somehow fitting that as the players emerged from the tunnel at Ellis Park to make their way to the east side of their field of dreams, it should be Francois Pienaar wheeling the ailing Joost van der Westhuizen in on his wheelchair. Pienaar was always the man for the moment and as he helped the brave scrumhalf along, the captain was as he always was: strong, resplendent, leading.

Despite his stricken state, Joost himself had a twinkle in his eye, as he ought to have: he always swore he would make it to this reunion.

The day was rich with symbolism with the squad gathering for a team photograph near the very spot on the east side where Joel Stransky nailed the sweetest dropped goal of them all. Funny, the way Joel tells it, the rest of us make far more of the kick than he ever did. He hardly thinks about it.

Indeed, the only ones who seem stuck in the past are those of us for whom June 24, 1995 was so indefinably special and never to be forgotten. I was proud to stand with my ex-colleague and friend Dan Retief and take a photograph at the spot from where we wrote up our reports for the Sunday Times. It easily remains the greatest, most memorable sports event I have ever attended.

Mark Andrews, the splendid lock who wore the No 8 jersey that day, had never watched the final since the day he played in it. Yesterday, he did, together with the team in a venue at Ellis Park.

Among them were Robbie Brink, who had travelled from Cork in Ireland, and the indefatigable Gavin Johnson, who had flown from Zambia where he has run a lodge for the past 20 years.

To watch the players watching themselves on the big screen was almost surreal. Grown men now well into middle age, it was like old times as they embraced, drank beer and poked fun at one another.

Homage was paid to the late Ruben Kruger, who was a staggering presence in the final, and it was heart-warming to see Judy Christie, widow of the late, great Kitch Christie, invited to share the day. She loved it.

As the players shuffled off into the night, it was hard not to feel a little wistful. This remarkable band of brothers have new lives, new mountains to climb.

But damn, we need more days like the one they gave us 20 years ago.

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