Joost’s teammates to be pallbearers

Several of Joost van der Westhuizen’s 1995 World Cupwinning teammates will act as pallbearers at his memorial service on Friday.

For a good few years, in the main stand at Loftus Versfeld, a man with “McDonald” stencilled on the back of his Blue Bulls shirt would turn away from the field several times before, during and after matches, and look behind him. That was where Joost van der Westhuizen would sit in the commentary booth as a match analyst for SuperSport.

Every match, McDonald, who seemed to have the same two or three friends at every match, would say “hello” to Van der Westhuizen.

If something happened on the field that had the locals baying for blood, McDonald would turn around to see how Joost reacted.

If the Bulls scored or did something spectacular, McDonald would turn around to see how Joost celebrated. Most weeks, McDonald would pass some memorabilia through the small space at the top of the window of his booth for Joost to sign.

I suspect McDonald may have the world’s greatest collection of Joost van der Westhuizen autographs.

Van der Westhuizen was a god at Loftus and he knew it. The mantle rested easy on him, the arrogance of his playing days having mellowed when he came into the press box.

He did not suffer fools gladly when he was a player.

Colleagues who dealt with him more often than I, spoke of how he could be hard work at times. I felt the wrath of his stare during the 2003 World Cup, shortly before the secondlast match of his career against Samoa. I had written something the management did not like.

Van der Westhuizen gave me the evil eye as I sat at the back of the room. It seemed the safest place to be.

Every piece on Van der Westhuizen mentioned his eyes this week. Those eyes rarely settled. They darted and pierced, flicked and sniped. They sought space and encouraged conflict. They challenged and stared down.

Graeme Bachop avoided those eyes in the 1995 World Cup final during the haka. I avoided them in 2003. I wasn’t going to try to stare down Joost.

And those eyes wandered, which cost him his spot in the commentary box, taking him away from the adoring eyes of McDonald and pushing him into the shadows.

His return to the full public eye came with the diagnosis of his illness, and the second part of his life, as he described it. The arrogance was replaced by a self-deprecating joker.

My friend Andy Capostagno reminded me of a story he wrote for the South China Morning Post in 2013. He had been the MC at a function for Stefan Terblanche, who was retiring. Joost had been his captain in his debut Test.

Cappy asked Joost to say a few words: “He turned, smiled a lopsided grin and said: ‘No problem’. Only then did I realise how badly his voice had deteriorated since I had last heard him on those panel discussions.

“Too late to back out now, I thought, and at an appropriate moment, invited him on stage to talk about Terblanche. He walked slowly, but unaided, had a small problem with the steps, and accepted the microphone I offered him.

“Then he said: ‘One good thing about speaking like this is that everyone just assumes you’re [drunk]’.

“It brought the house down and he held his audience spellbound for the five minutes his voice lasted. ‘I remember Stefan’s first Test very well,’ he said. ‘After he scored his second try I gathered the guys together and said, ‘Ignore everything we practised. Just give the ball to number 14’.”

From all I have seen and read of Joost’s final years, he looked to have found peace with himself. He joked and comforted, and found the time to remind us to celebrate what he had done and what he was, and even how he left this mortal coil.

On Friday at Loftus, SA and the world will bid farewell to Van der Westhuizen. I wonder if McDonald will be there. I wonder if he will sit in the same spot and keep turning around to look for Joost and the memories he left him.