It's the same old South African story for the Sharks

The line outside the South African Food Stand inside the Stoop was already 20 deep an hour and a half before kick-off. The space in front of the two stalls on either side - selling burgers and Yorkshire pudding wraps - were empty. It was the sort of day where only a boerewors roll would do.

Under radiating sunshine a small corner of south-west London took on a very South African feel. The Sharks and their seven World Cup winners had arrived with great expectation, but also a sense of responsibility.

In the midweek build-up Eben Etzebeth, Makazole Mapimpi and Vincent Koch were among the big hitters who argued that the importance of this Challenge Cup semi-final against Clermont carried beyond the Sharks' own base. That it would matter to everyone connected to South African rugby. Looking at the number of green Springboks jerseys mixed in the black of the Sharks among supporters, this rhetoric was more than mere marketing guff. Even Siya Kolisi and his family made an appearance to add a sense of occasion to the affair.

Of course the Sharks had more parochial objectives. For a team as star-studded as theirs, with financial muscle behind them, this campaign has been an unmitigated disaster. They began the United Rugby Championship with eight losses from their first nine league games and still languish in 13th despite a recent revival. This tournament is all they had left. Silverware, a place in next year’s Champions Cup and a whole lot of pride was on the line.

Siya Masuku of Hollywoodbets Sharks is hoisted into the air by team-mates after landing a match-winning conversion after the EPCR Challenge Cup Semi Final match between Hollywoodbets Sharks and ASM Clermont Auvergne at Twickenham Stoop on May 04, 2024 in London, England. (Photo by Patrick Khachfe/Getty Images)

It didn’t exactly go to script. Or did it? Clermont’s poor discipline in the opening 20 minutes gave the outstanding future Bok, Siya Masuku, four shots at goal, but incisive running and accurate passing saw the rangy Joris Jurand score two tries. The Sharks’ rush defence was reminiscent of the Boks in everything but execution as holes in the line were ruthlessly exposed beyond the 13 channel.

From the restart after that second try, Clermont gave away a penalty for taking out Gerbandt Grobler in the air. Referee Luke Pearce kept his cards in his pocket which prompted an inquisition from the Sharks captain Lukhanyo Am who was told to mind his manners by the man with the whistle. It was then that blue skies gave way to grey clouds. A team with so much international experience was starting to show signs of frailty. They had the ball ripped off them and were then torn apart on defence as Alex Newcombe dotted down a third try.

Many observers have wondered throughout this season how a team stacked with double World Cup champions could play so far below their potential. Those still in the dark now had their evidence. Even with Etzebeth, they lost two consecutive line-outs to gift away possession. Even with an all-Springboks front-row they were consumed in the scrum to hand Anthony Belleau another three points. Seconds into the start of the second half, Francois Venter instinctively grabbed a loose ball in an off-side position and the score read 31-18 in Clermont’s favour.

Whenever a Springbok or one of the national coaches present over the last six years is asked to identify the reason for their success, they almost always cite abstract concepts. Before they mention their indomitable scrum, their conveyor belt of world class loose forwards or Handre Pollard’s right foot, they talk about hunger and desire. The poverty that Mapimpi overcame and the political unrest back home are woven into the Springboks’ tactics. They tell us, and themselves, that what they’re doing has meaning.

It’s easy to dismiss the role that narrative plays in elite sport. Did the Springboks win three consecutive World Cup knockout games by a single point because that fits the self-perpetuating mythology? Perhaps so. And perhaps it is narrative, and not anything to do with rugby, that explains why the Sharks for so long have been less than the sum of their parts.

With eight Currie Cups, they’re the least successful of all the South African unions in the URC. They were beaten finalists in four Super Rugby finals and have twice been eliminated in the URC quarter-finals. Every sport, every league, is littered with teams that, for all sorts of reasons, just can’t deliver. Maybe the Sharks are just one of those teams?

The game was done when Jurand had his hat-trick off the back of the umpteenth gaff from a man in black. But the try was chalked off after review and with that the Sharks finally woke up.

Now they moved the ball with fizz and purpose. Werner Kok, reduced to a static mannequin by Jurand in the first half, was blitzing upfield. So too was Etzebeth and Nche. Phephsi Butelezi was finding space in the loose and Am was gathering Masuku’s flat passes on the gallop. And when Bautista Delguy was sin-binned just before the hour mark for a deliberate knock-on, a way back was plotted with the first cobble laid down by Koch’s burrowed try.

How quickly things were turning. But the pendulum hadn’t swung far enough though momentum was with the Sharks. Even when Aphelele Fassi was shown a yellow card the incident carried a degree of good fortune. On another day his wipe-out of Jurand could have seen a penalty-try awarded. On another day Belleau might not have scuffed the chance to make it a nine-point game.

With that miss a familiar tingle could be felt down the spine. Something old and deep and visceral. These fans had been here before. Senior players had been here before. Was it fate? Was it destiny? Were those black jerseys starting to take on a greenish hue?

With ten minutes left Etzebeth plucked the ball from the heavens and set a move rolling. Then Vincent Tshituka unfurled the most magnificent off-load to unleash Am who set up Mapimpi for a try down the left. Masuku’s conversion from the touchline took his own tally to 22 and nudged his team in front.

Am to Mapimpi. A one-point lead. A scrum-half box-kicking for territory. Desperation on defence. Tired bodies smashing anything that moved. A nerve-shredding finish. Shosholoza ringing from the terraces. A famous victory. Nche’s arms in the air. Etzebeth lifting a teammate in shocked jubilation. This was a South African story. And some stories, no matter how many times you tell them, just never get old.