Brandon Faber, News24 User
In the name of the father.
Last Saturday I met the biggest Springbok supporter in South Africa.
He had tattoos supporting the fact all over his body - most notably a "World Champions '95" creation on his chest - near his heart.
I couldn't help but be taken in by this man's passion for The Springboks and his unwavering conviction that they are what the sport is about - volumes of ink baring testament to his deep love of the team.
You will suggest, and rightly so, that there are thousands of South Africans sporting similar tattoos and, no doubt, similar collections of memorabilia as *John professed to have - true.
Thing is... John is British.
A 100% pure, cockney-twanged, we-shall-never-surrender Englishman.
"God made me a human with free will," he said when asked why a man from the Queen's country was such a massive Bok supporter. "I have always supported the team, its traditions and legend."
As my new friend made his way to the bar a gentlemen whispered in my ear that John had lost his son in the Iraq war only two days before. A soldier in the British army he was there for his third term - voluntarily. "Road-side bomb, he was 23."
"They did it for my boy," a voice trembled: softer, sadder than the boisterous version only minutes before. Behind us stood the grieving father, drink in hand - tears in eyes. "My son was not a Springbok supporter, but he supported his dad and I am willing to bet that he asked God for this favour today," said John in reference to our historic victory over the All Blacks only hours before.
"I think this victory was his final gift to me. I must - he wasn't going to let his dad down . . . he never did."
Standing there he cut a desolate figure as he cursed the war, the pointlessness of it all, the ineptitude of the British government in getting hold of his son's mother - still resident in the United Kingdom, and whispered a prayer in memory of his hero, his boy.
I removed my Springbok scarf and handed it to the most deserving supporter in the country. On a cold, grey, day in Johannesburg - it was the least I could do?
But maybe it's not the least we can do.
In a country where down hearts and tired minds reign supreme, where misery greets so many and fortune is shared by so few, we can all, today, feel proud and ashamed that a citizen from another country has such passion for ours.
And if one man can defy tradition by giving his heart and soul in support of our nation, I think the nation can turn around and give something back to honour this man - and the memory of his son.
Whether you watch rugby or not. This Saturday, when anthems are sung and chests swell with pride, it is our duty to remember John, his son, and the privilege of being South African.
I hope this story doesn't end here.
*Not his real name.
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