I’m as big a fan as the next guy when it comes to the All Blacks. Not obsessive like I was in my youth, but the team has occupied an unhealthy space in my brain for as long as I can remember. 

In rugby for me, these clashes between the men in black and the African menace have always been the pinnacle of the sport.  

Why?  

Since their readmission into the international arena in 1992, NZ cosh their rivals with wins. Something to do with home referees without gold watches I’d say. Statistically, the ABs have been the superior team. Ever since they’ve came out of their apartheid induced wilderness, NZ have had the whip hand. 47 v 20 wins with 2 draws.  We have superior Tri Nations/Rugby Championship results, crunched them too often at their traditional home of Ellis Park. But the aura around the Springboks has never waned. Notably, they’ve bested us when it really counts in 2 World Cup finals 

The Aussies are fun to beat, the English are a team that are awful to lose to, the French are an exercise in who-goddamn-knows, and of recent times the Irish and intermittently the Argentines have been worthy foes. But South Africa?  

The Springboks are us. They are bred in a country where the rugby DNA is barbed wire wound around the hearts and souls of the populous. They are hard-nosed and uncompromising in their play. They have unreasonably lofty standards. Their national psyche is inextricably linked to their results. We share rugby controversy, from the divisive and violent ‘81 tour, the Cavaliers ill-conceived misadventure, and the legendary ‘Suzie’ scandal.  

Most importantly, rugby is their national sport. It’s our national sport.  

These tests are greater than the sum of their parts. 

There’s something about these clashes, and I’m all over it