Kettlebell & Functional Fitness

Een van die heel bestes wat al ooit 'n springbok trui aangetrek het sou vandag verjaar het, RIV Joost...JY WAS EN SAL ALTYD N LEGENDE BLY!

Joost van der Westhuizen with the charge-down and try! 🐐 #rugby #springboks #southafrica #foryou #fyp #fblifestyle

Joost van der Westhuizen never really belonged to one era of rugby; he seemed to stretch across them, a long, powerful shadow running beside the sport as it changed around him. For a decade, from 1993 to 2003, he wore the Blue Bulls jersey as if it were a second skin. Pretoria’s winters, the Loftus crowds, the grind of provincial rugby — all of it became part of his identity. And when Super 12 came knocking in 1996, he simply stepped through the door with Northern Transvaal, later the Bulls, carrying that same fierce loyalty into a new age of the game.

He was a scrum-half, yes — at least that was the position printed next to his name — but no one who watched him felt confined by that definition. At 6 foot 2, he towered over most No. 9s, yet he moved with the slipperiness of someone half his size. Defenders dreaded the half-second when his eyes lit up, because that usually meant he had spotted something they hadn’t: a sliver of space, a shoulder turned the wrong way, a heartbeat of hesitation. Somehow he always found the gap, and once he was through, good luck catching him.

His Springbok story began at 22 in Buenos Aires, a blur of nerves and adrenaline during that 1993 tour. A year later in Murrayfield, he raced in two tries against Scotland, the kind of performance that told the rugby world that South Africa had found something — someone — exceptional.

Then came 1995, the World Cup on home soil, a country stepping into the light after decades of isolation. Every match felt heavier, bigger, charged with meaning far beyond rugby. In the final, the Springboks stood across from New Zealand, the storm of Jonah Lomu looming over the tournament. Lomu had bulldozed through almost everyone he faced, but not Joost. On that day, van der Westhuizen tackled him with a kind of ferocity that bordered on defiance. One hit, just outside the 22, still lives in rugby folklore — a moment where heart overcame physics.

His career refused to stay in one lane. In 1997, he led South Africa’s Sevens side all the way to the World Cup final in Hong Kong, falling only to Fiji’s artistry. A year later he helped deliver the Springboks’ first Tri-Nations title, and captained the Bulls to a Currie Cup victory. By 1999, the captain’s armband had found its way to him as well, though fate had other plans. South Africa finished third at the World Cup, but Joost finished the year learning that he had been playing through a torn knee ligament — a reminder that even heroes carry hidden wounds.

Those injuries stalked him for seasons. Three Super 12 campaigns — 1998, 1999, 2000 — nearly lost to recovery rooms and long months of frustration. But he kept coming back. That was always his way.

In November 2001, he hit a landmark no Springbok had touched before: one hundred tests. Clubs abroad wanted him — Newport certainly tried — but for a South African player in those days, wearing the green and gold meant staying home. So he stayed, and in 2003 he became the first to represent South Africa in three World Cup tournaments. The Springboks met the All Blacks in the quarter-final and bow out they did, but Joost walked away from that year with something deeper: the end of an era.

He retired from international rugby in November 2003, leaving behind numbers that, even now, look almost mythical. Eighty-nine test caps. Thirty-eight test tries. One hundred and eleven total appearances for his country. Ten tests as captain. One hundred and ninety points scored.

The phone rang in 2003, and for Os du Randt it might as well have rung in another lifetime; on the other end was Rassie Erasmus, an old teammate who knew the sound of his breath, the weight of his footsteps, the stubborn fire that never quite goes out in men like Os, and Rassie didn’t sell a dream or promise a fairy tale, he simply asked him to come home to Free State, to pull on the Cheetahs jersey one more time, just to see what was left, and that was enough because Os wasn’t chasing Springbok glory anymore, wasn’t hunting headlines or redemption, he was just a big man answering a familiar call, telling himself this was about local fields, cold mornings, sore joints, and the simple joy of scrummaging again where it all felt honest.
What followed in 2004 surprised almost everyone, including Os himself, as the years seemed to fall away in domestic rugby, his body holding together, his timing returning, his presence growing heavier and more authoritative with every match, until Jake White came knocking with something Os had already buried deep inside, the Springbok jersey, and when it was offered back to him it didn’t feel like a continuation but a rebirth, as if he were standing at the beginning again, nervous and grateful and slightly disbelieving, even as critics sharpened their knives, talking about age and decline and nostalgia gone wrong, the noise growing loud enough that you could almost hear it echo through the press boxes, yet Os kept running out, kept folding himself into scrums, kept doing the work.
There were painful days too, like Twickenham in 2004, his 50th cap wrapped in disappointment as England’s Julian White tore into him at scrum time, dismantling him piece by piece under the grey London sky, while the scoreboard ticked against South Africa and the moment that should have been a celebration turned sour, and still the chants followed him everywhere after that, the deep, droning “Os… Os…” rolling through South African stadiums like a drumbeat of belief or defiance depending on how you heard it, a reminder that for many supporters he was more than form or age, he was memory, muscle, and meaning.
By the time the 2007 Rugby World Cup arrived in France, there were still voices asking why he was there, why Jake White wouldn’t let go, but rugby has a way of answering those questions on the field, and Os answered them by surviving England, Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, Argentina, and then England again in the final, eighty relentless minutes of collision and control, capped by a thundering first-half carry that felt like a personal declaration, the Springboks grinding out a 15–6 victory to reclaim the crown, with Os, improbably, gloriously, right at the heart of it all.
He walked away as the last active survivor of the 1995 World Cup-winning squad, the most-capped forward South Africa had ever known, a man who had missed the 2003 tournament through injury and still somehow scripted a return that bordered on myth, and when he spoke afterward there was no bravado, only wonder, admitting he never imagined finishing his career in a World Cup final after stepping away in 2000, beginning with one world title and ending with another, dedicating it quietly to his best friend Alex, a memory he said he would carry forever.
Teammates understood the scale of it even if history hadn’t caught up yet, CJ van der Linde calling him a legend known even to small children, a man whose impact would only fully be understood with time, when the noise faded and the measure of leadership and service became clearer, and fittingly, after lifting the trophy, Os announced his retirement from international rugby without fuss, later returning not as a player but as a teacher, a scrum coach for the Free State Cheetahs in 2009 and then the Springboks in 2010, passing on the dark arts and quiet wisdom of a career that proved sometimes the most powerful stories in sport aren’t about refusing to let go, but about knowing exactly when to come back.

Adri Geldenhuys
Die oorspronklike “enforcer”

Twee jaar voor Suid-Afrika in 1995 die haas onmoontlike vermag het deur die Rugbywêreldbeker in te palm, met die eerste probeerslag en skaars drie jaar na hertoelating tot internasionale rugby, was Jacques Olivier die Springbokke se eerste keuse op linkervleuel.

Hy het van 1992 tot 1993 in nege agtereenvolgende toetse die Groen-en-goud met onderskeiding gedra.

In 1994, het die noodlot egter toegeslaan en uiteindelik verhoed dat Olivier sou deel uitmaak van ongeëwenaarde Bok-euforie tydens die Wêreldbeker skaars ‘n jaar later.

“Ek moes ’n knieoperasie ondergaan,” vertel Olivier.

“Die ding het ’n geruime tyd reeds begin krap. Dit was patellêre tendonitis, ’n besering waarmee vernaam tennis- en muurbalspelers dikwels te doen kry.

“Ek het nietemin lekker reggekom, maar twee weke voor die WB-toernooi ’n dyspier geskeur. Daarmee was my doppie geklink wat deelname aan die Wêreldbeker betref het.

“Ek het nogmaals goed herstel, maar weer my knie beseer - op die vooraand van die reeks teen die Britse en Ierse Leeus in 1997.
“Beserings het beslis my loopbaan taamlik aan bande gelê, maar elke slag wat dokters van mening was dat dit die einde van die pad was het ek eenvoudig besluit om aan te gaan.”

Olivier is op 13 November 1968 in Pretoria gebore, as die oudste seun van Theuns en Saartjie Olivier.

Pa Theuns het op sy dag as skrumskakel vir die destydse Suidwes-Afrika provinsiale rugby gespeel, terwyl Loftus Versfeld se “Tannie Saartjie”, soos sy alom bemind was, vir 50 jaar in diens was van die Blou Bulle Rugbyunie.

Persoonlik het ek oor die jare etlike kontaknommers van oud-spelers by Saartjie bekom juis vir “wat het geword van…

” Om die waarheid te sê, ek het beplan om met haar self ’n onderhoud te voer oor haar legendariese verbintenis met die Bulle, maar sy is ongelukkig verlede September skielik oorlede voor ons daarby kon uitkom.
“Ma was waarlik ’n legende, ’n yster,” erken Olivier. “Almal het geweet van haar en sy was altyd bereid om enigeen te help, ’n wonderlike mens.”

Olivier se geboorte was in die week tussen die Bokke se twee toetsseges oor Frankryk in onderskeidelik Bordeaux en Parys, in November 1968, met sy oom wat flank gespeel het vir Suid-Afrika.

Sy oom was natuurlik die legendariese Jan Ellis, wat van 1965 tot 1976 in 38 toetse die rugbywêreld aan die brand gespeel het en ’n uiters gedugte lostrio gevorm het met Tom Bedford en Piet Greyling.

“Ek was maar nog klein toe ek hom teen die einde van sy loopbaan gesien speel het teen die Leeus van 1974 en All Blacks in 1976,” onthou Olivier.

“Hy het ’n sportwinkel in Windhoek gehad en toe ons nog daar gebly het, het ek hom dikwels gesien en het ons saam vakansie gehou. Oom Jan was egter ’n moeilike bliksem.”

Toe Olivier 24 jaar later in Lyon, Frankryk, sy toetsdebuut vir Suid-Afrika gemaak het, het hy die derde Bok geword van Die Hoërskool Menlopark, ná Johan Marais en Rudolf Straeuli.

Hy het egter nooit eerste span op Parkies gespeel nie en na skool, terwyl hy verpligte militêre opleiding ondergaan het in die laat 1980’s, het ’n korporaal hom selfs aangeraai om liefs ’n ander sportsoort te probeer.
“Ja, hy’t gesê ek moet eerder tafeltennis loop speel,” lag Olivier.

“Dis maar een van daai dinge en soms loop die lewe snaakse draaie met ’n mens.”
Sy groot deurbraak het op universiteit gekom, toe hy regte aan Tuks begin studeer het.

“Ek het vir my koshuis, Olienhout, gespeel, toe ons HK-lid vir sport vir my gevra het om aan die Tuks-proewe deel te neem, want die sesde span het ’n speler benodig,” vertel Olivier.

“Ek het gaan speel en toe die spanne aangekondig word, was ek gekies vir Tuks se tweedes, die Fezelas. Daarna het Tuks 1 en Noord-Transvaal B gevolg, so dinge het skielik vinnig begin gebeur.”

Sy senior provinsiale debuut vir die Blou Bulle het in 1991 gevolg, en daardie selfde jaar was hy lid van die span wat die Curriebeker herower het met ’n sege van 27-15 oor Transvaal in die eindstryd op Loftus Versfeld.

“Dit was lekker om met Blou Bul-legendes soos Adolf Malan en Deon Oosthuizen in daardie triomf te kon deel. Adolf was ’n absolute karakter; die hart en siel van die span.

“In 1998, het ons weer so gemaak, deur vir die Westelike Provinsie met 24-20 te troef in die finaal. Dit was altyd lekker op Loftus.”
Ten spyte van ál sy beseringsprobleme, het Olivier steeds in 17 toetse vir Suid-Afrika uitgedraf, en daar was heelwat hoogtepunte.

Soos die wegoorwinnings oor die Hane (20-15), in sy toetsdebuut; die Wallabies (19-12) in 1993; en Engeland (24-14), op Twickenham na WB ’95.

“Toetsrugby is ’n totaal ander ervaring,” meen Olivier. “Om ’n mens se land in enige sport te vertweenwoordig is die grootste voorreg, dis eenvoudig fenomenaal.

“Elke keer wat ek daardie trui oor die kop getrek het was ’n belewenis, selfs die Woensdagwedstryde op toer. Wie sal ooit die slag van Tucumán in 1993 vergeet; ek het nog ’n drie gedruk, maar toe ‘blaai’ ’n Argentyn my sommer van die kant af terwyl ek besig was om terug te draf!

“Die vriendskapsbande wat op sulke Bok-toere gesmee is, was ook spesiaal. Ek en James Small was kamermaats en, hoewel ons soos dag en nag verskil het, het ons bitter goed oor die weg gekom.

“James was James, van Jeppe, en jy moes hom aanvaar soos hy was. Hy was egter ’n baie goeie mens met ’n baie sagte hart.

“Dan was daar ysters soos Tiaan Strauss en Ruben Kruger. Hulle het miskien nie gelyk soos bodybuilders nie, maar niemand was sterker as Tiaan en Ruben nie.”

Deur die loop van sy loopbaan, het Olivier te staan gekom en sy man gestaan teen van die voorste vleuels in wêreldrugby en hy sonder John Kirwan (Nieu-Seeland) en David Campese (Australië) uit as die twee gedugste teenstanders wat hy teëgekom het.

“Campo was vrot van die vaardighede, terwyl Kirwan groot, sterk en vinnig was. Hy was vrek goed.”

Olivier het ook uitgeblink in sewesrugby en vir Suid-Afrika by drie WB-toernooie, in 1993, 1997 en 2001, verteenwoordig.

Deesdae neem hengel meeste van Jacques Olivier (57) se tyd in beslag.

“Hoewel ek regte geswot het, was dit nie vir my nie en was ek vir jare in die konstruksiebedryf betrokke. Ek het egter moeg geraak vir bakstene en verlede jaar afgetree.

“Ons het ’n plekkie in Jeffriesbaai, maar ek neuk sommer enige plek toe; as die vis loop is ons daar.”

Hy is reeds 30 jaar getroud met Mildre en hulle het twee kinders.

“Milene is basies ’n professionele student in die Kaap,” skerts hy. “Sy het reeds ’n meestersgraad in Biomediese Ingenieurswese, en is nou in haar tweede jaar as mediese student. Jacques is ’n bourekenaar in Stellenbosch.”

Op ’n vraag of sy kinders nou vir die Stormers ondersteun aangesien hulle in die Kaap woon, het hy eenvoudig gelag:
“Hulle gaan sukkel om die Stormers te support as hulle in my huis grootgeword het.”

Deur Albert Heenop van Rapport