Every tragedy needs a Greek-sounding forebear to gain gravitas. A man-metaphor or godly-analog of ancient vintage, to validate the grim melancholy. South Africa at World Cups, of the cricket variety – for they seem to do alright at rugby – neatly slip into the perfect Sisyphian silhouette. Yes, that man with ripped muscles and practical clothing, while trying to push a humongous boulder up a hill. (He gets it thereabouts, then it rolls down and the whole thing starts again.)
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Let’s accept it – had the dude managed to roll it right up in his first attempt, that sketch wouldn’t make it to tee-shirts and coasters all these years later, with some self-help scribbles attached.
Had Allan Donald run when he needed to – or not run when he didn’t need to, or had Klusener found a tri-peat to the boundaries he yanked out to deep midwicket and long off – like he had all of 1999 summer, and gone on to beat Pakistan, South Africa would’ve been just another brilliant team winning just another edition of the Cricket World Cup.
Had rains not Duckworth-Lewised the Proteas into a farcical 21 off 1 ball in 1992, they would neatly fit into the gold standard of cricket teams, and preferably deny that other brilliant juggernaut, Australia, a few titles. Oh, and then there was that other time when Mark Boucher didn’t score a single off the last delivery of the 45th over in psychic non-anticipation of Messrs D&L once again nitpicking precisely only that 44.6th ball to run a one, crashing their 2003 home run in the 50 over format.
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It then seems a little cruel to ask Mark Boucher, soon after the T20 team of 2022 he coaches, having lost to the Netherlands, with Johannesburg-born duo of Roelof van der Merwe and Brandon Glover packing off SA’s last hope David Miller for a typically aggravating upset by 13 runs, if this was the worst defeat of his tenure. It’s downright sadistic. He’s been there, and not done that – as player.
Piling on the misery and extracting his deep disappointment as coach into a devastating public debriefing where he admits the team were goners, is plain sad. Garden variety glum, the morning after.
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The bad in South Africa’s white ball cricket – though uniformly disappointing – wasn’t always this stricken, mind you. When they went down to New Zealand at Auckland in the 2015 semifinals defending 280 odd, and rain doing its obligatory wicked thing, with AB and Faf and Rossouw batting (battling) valiantly, and not defending particularly memorably, the team had gone off to warm empathetic embraces from their fans. Farhaan Behardien emojied the vibe with his unforgettable: “Chicks dig scars” as doting fans fussed over them poor wounded things.
By the time of 2019 50 over WC in England, with Chris ‘Tipo’ Morris capable of seeing the lighter side to all misfortunes – and the team collectively chipping in to fill the catastrophe cabinet, the World Cup losses had stopped stinging. Yes, the slow strangle by Dan Vettori’s Kiwis at Dhaka in the 2011 quarterfinals, had begun the sensible trend of crediting opponents for good cricket and ruthlessness, rather than self-flagellating each loss as the taunter-troller’s favourite word ‘choke.’
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But, 2019 under Faf du Plessis where South Africa never looked like they were winning, will remain the most carefree, happy ending for Proteas fans at a Cup – never in with a chance in a WC eventually won by noone’s favoured England, and lost by everybody’s adored New Zealand – the Saffers actually beat arch rivals Australia in their final stress-free league game, and played a little mischief with their desired calculations.
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It might remain the only time they left a World Cup with a win – albeit thoroughly inconsequential to them – and played with no fear, no strings attached. Didn’t love, didn’t lose and Faf’s cool vibe – for he alone would have been helpless, and the team hopeless after a point – helped them play Australia the way they always should have – dripping class and oozing cool confidence. As playbooks go, that match was a true silver lining to what approach to adopt in a match against big opponents.
The reason why their several doomed and forgettable T20 World Cups don’t find a mention in this Sisyphian relay of sad exits from World Cups, is the boulder never got anywhere close to the apex in that random blink-missed format. Though losing to the Netherlands on Sunday in their low-energy last match, has all the makings of sitting atop the boulder and rolling down right alongside it. Maybe they made Pakistan happy while being plopped at the base of the hill like a cartoon show figure splayed on the ground, with the rock threatening to roll over them next.
All in all, South Africa’s World Cup exit – though it still hurts – has stopped haunting. Which can only be a good thing.
Like I said before, had they won a Cup before, they wouldn’t have the fans’ defiant, loyalty-testing love, like they do now. Arsenal fans whinge endlessly, Protea fans nurse heartbreaks with a tiny, bitter piece of chocolate. They patiently string together disappointments even as myriad teams over three playing generations, find new ways of exiting World Cups. But then 2023 will come along.
It is foolish to pin the blame of Proteas’ losses on a nation’s efforts to make its team more representative of its population through ‘positive affirmation’, and go slantways at the quota-policy every time a World Cup loss fetches up. Cricket ought not to exist in a vacuum, and winning a World Cup is just a sporting headline in big font. There’s more to a team – and that nation is pursuing that ideal. Ten whites and one man of colour, all picked on ‘merit’ (he practiced slashing fast bowlers for sixes 25 years ago, did Gibbs) couldn’t win the 1999 semifinal either. Losing happens to 9 teams out of 10 in a tournament, and South Africa simply haven’t stepped up. Yet.
But maybe it has been these years of losses, the many tragic and comic ways in which they panned out and South Africa’s doomed luck with rains (Quinton de Kock wasn’t born when l’affaire 21 runs off 1 ball happened), that tug at heartstrings of South African supporters. De Kock hit 23 off the first over in a 18-ball-47 against Zimbabwe and still had to share points this time around because rains said Hiya! How many sports teams can claim to have the whole skies cackling at them at the most inopportune moments for a good 30 years now?
That’s where everyone is seeing this wrong, perhaps. Look around in Australia – and if all those World Cups won, have truly charmed their fans to submit their unflinching loyalty to the marauding yellow brigade. Maybe a team needs something more to keep its fans invested – like New Zealand’s equally elusive search for their own World Cup title. Like South Africa’s roller coaster through heights of hope and the depths of despair and all the mediocrity in between.
Maybe the lure is in watching Sisyphus go trudging up the hill, once more. Play it again, Sam. Maybe every South African loss is a cue to fix that one tiny missed detail in team composition, that one hammered chisel stab at perfection.
Maybe it’s science in a laboratory with a mad, genius scientist cracking an equation needing exactitude and filling up every inch of a wall with numbers unintelligible to us ordinary folk. Maybe it’s a random lark or us fans and our cursed bad luck we bring to the team. Maybe it’s a child’s jigsaw, and the final piece is worth waiting for to complete the winning picture.
Following South Africa is a lifetime’s Aradhna – for want of the exact translation, a secular worship of fallible humans, and not of crowned deities. Maybe following South Africa through a World Cup campaign is like watching immensely talented men of all colours and races, fail and lose like you and me do everyday. Maybe, losers earn lovers too. And the win, when it comes, might not be half as enthralling as the sentimental struggle to get there.
