As the Rugby World Cup reaches its peak this weekend,=20 Luke Alfred looks at a book which examines the=20 relationship between the sport and life in South Africa
IN AUGUST 1992, a dark month for South Africa in=20 general and rugby in particular, a journalist from the=20 Sunday Star wrote: “It is hard to write about back row=20 moves immediately after returning from a township like=20 Nyanga (close to Cape Town). The gut-wrenching impact=20 of squalor and day-to-day desperation to which many of=20 our fellow South Africans are subjected, tends to put a=20 Test match at Newlands into perspective.”
The quote resonates in many ways but perhaps=20 illustrates more than anything else the extent to which=20 the relationship between life and rugby in contemporary=20 South Africa has become a troubled one. When once it=20 was assumed that rugby was life and that was that,=20 rugby and its consumption have in the last few years=20 become equivalent to going into collective analysis;=20 every time white South Africa plays rugby we spin into=20 a significant wobble: a crisis of symbols, confidence,=20 and expectations, and most recently, of course, a=20 crisis of discipline.
The authors of the timely Beyond the Tryline: Rugby and=20 South African Society (Ravan), the book from which the=20 above quote is taken, recognise the treadmill of crisis=20 and the masochistic attachment many South Africans=20 (including journalists) have to it. But they do more=20 than recognise, they move beyond the proverbial gain=20 line in an attempt to explain how and why we are where=20 we are today.=20
This explanation takes the shape of a five-chapter,=20 three-author study in which they have the audacity to=20 academicise the sacred game, writing authoritatively=20 about the politics, history and cultural significance=20 of a sport played with “the thing that is not round”.
Albert Grundlingh, associate professor of history at=20 Unisa, is the author of three of the books’ chapters=20 (the other two are written by Andre Odendaal and=20 Burridge Spies). One of those chapters is called=20 Playing for Power and concerns the relationship between=20 rugby, Afrikaner nationalism and masculinity.=20
Given that the nation for whom the “Springboks” are=20 playing is not much more than a year old, I asked=20 Grundlingh what he made of the win against Australia.=20 “It is certainly encouraging that a certain section of=20 whites — predominantly rugger-buggers as such — have=20 taken warmly to Mandela as President,” he answered=20 circumspectly. “It is certainly different to the flag=20 and anthem debacle of August 1992. It would be churlish=20 to say nothing has changed but we must not be blinded=20 by the transient euphoria of the opening game. What=20 does the World Cup mean for the majority of people in=20 squatter-camps and townships? We have to be very=20 careful before we can see this as a successful nation- building exercise.”
Did he nevertheless detect a longing for national unity=20 behind the media hullabaloo? “I think one can say that=20 it’s the early beginnings, a tentative grasping of a=20 new national identity that may grow into something=20
“What I find peculiar is the insistence on the=20 retention of the Springbok emblem. Now that Archbishop=20 Tutu is coming out in favour of the symbol I find that=20 worrisome because it indicates that there is=20 insufficient recognition that the only reason the=20 Springboks are playing in this World Cup at all is=20 because of the changed situation.”
One man who straddles both the old and the new and who=20 to some extent has negotiated the transition between=20 them, is South African Rugby Football Union maestro=20 Louis Luyt. He is part of the old in that he is brusque=20 and power-crazed; yet he is a man of the new in that he=20 openly supports professionalism. It is the Luyt of the=20 old order that the media tend to fixate upon, readily=20 playing the “crotchety dictator” card.=20
Though suspicious of Luyt, there is a part of=20 Grundlingh that likes him. “I think one needs to bear=20 in mind where he came from (Luyt was born in the Karoo=20 village of Hanover to “poor white” parents and put=20 himself through university) and what he has achieved. I=20 think there is a quote in the book in which he states=20 bluntly that he wasn’t part of any Broederbond clique.=20 The problem with him as a self-made man is that he=20 takes it to extremes.”
Another individual who in his own inimitable way is=20 committed to extremes is Springbok winger James Small.=20 An analysis of Small and his self-presentation would be=20 ideal in the section which deals with masculinity but=20 unfortunately Small is not a subject that Grundlingh=20 covers. He concedes, however, that ideas around the=20 theme of rugby players as sex symbols is unknown=20 territory and something which might be pursued later.
Interestingly, both Luyt and Small have problems in=20 keeping their temper under control. This not only tells=20 us something about white South African masculinity, but=20 tells us something about the troubled relationship=20 between rugby and life.