Halfback rivals form close bond amid adversity
THE FIRST thing you notice about Joost van der Westhuizen, apart from his spindly arms, is the twitch in his neck.
It’s a constant reminder that his once- magnificent body is in gradual meltdown. Where once he was supremely fit and strong, he is now a pale shadow of the imposing force he once was.
Van der Westhuizen has motor neurone disease (MND), a neurological condition that affects speaking, walking, breathing and general movement.
For a man who once thrived on pure physicality, who revelled in his speed and power, it has been a devastating, dramatic freefall into the unknown.
You would think self- pity and bitterness would be his currency, but as Van der Westhuizen sits in the lounge of his sumptuous apartment, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that says ‘‘Nobody trains to lose’’, he insists he couldn’t be happier.
It’s a stark, incongruous thing to say, but then he explains: ‘‘I’m glad I got MND – it made me who I am, it made me who I was supposed to be. I have met the most unbelievable people; I’m surrounded by positive people.
‘‘I don’t take life for granted anymore. I was windgat, I got away with plenty, but this has humbled me. In the past, people praised me, begged for my autograph. I could do what I liked. Now, to brush my teeth with just one hand feels like winning a trophy.’’
Van der Westhuizen was mucking about in the pool when he first noticed a twitch in his arm. His long-time friend Dr Henry Kelbrick told him to pop in on the Monday.
Once diagnosed, van der Westhuizen asked, ‘‘So doc, how do I beat this thing?’’ ‘‘ You don’t,’’ Kelbrick told him. ‘‘This is it.’’ That was 22 months ago.
And so it began. First, the gradual physical weakening and the anger and the cynicism. Then came acceptance, even more physical hardship, and, now, resilience.
As we talk, a rubber ball is constantly squeezed in his hands, an aid to help his muscle function. Halfway through, he opens an enormous tablet container and pours out an assortment of pills. He slugs back a handful with a swig of protein shake.
He takes 40 tablets each day, plus two injections. One bag of vials costs R60 000 ($NZ 8300). He needs two bags every month.
As he takes his medicine, he barely notices. His drugs cocktail has become a daily habit.
When I saw the Vittone family I saw the haka; I felt that I will show them. Joost van der Westhuizen
The days when he strode like a colossus on the field, tearing into opponents and breaking the mould for halfbacks, are long gone. Only occasionally does he dip into his memories, although a smattering of memorabilia lines his walls. Most have been given away.
Instead, every break in the conversation switches to talk of his two children, Jordan, aged seven, and Kylie, aged five. They are at the centre of his universe.
Trouble is, his universe has been ripped asunder after an acrimonious divorce from his second wife, Amor Vittone. Until recently, the pair fought constantly over access to his children .
‘‘I get my faith from my kids; they are my inspiration and motivation,’’ says van der Westhuizen.
They don’t quite understand why his body is under attack, but they do know that their daddy isn’t what he once was.
‘‘ The other day Kylie asked, ‘ Daddy, why do you walk like that?’ Another day, I fell over and Jordan dropped everything to come and pick me up. They’ve seen the DVDs and now Jordan just wants to watch me play on YouTube.
‘‘He says, ‘Daddy, is that why everyone wants a photo taken with you, because you were the best Springbok?’ I just laugh.’’ Van der Westhuizen long ago overcame his bitterness, not least towards the media, who savaged him as his life spiralled out of control in 2009.
In that year van der Westhuizen was embroiled in a scandal after a sex- and- drugs video tape was released to the media which showed a man receiving oral sex and sniffing a white powder. ALL BLACKS great Justin Marshall has nothing but admiration for Joost van der Westhuizen – a feeling that has only grown as he’s seen up close his friend’s struggles with motor neuron disease.
Marshall, van der Westhuizen and Australia’s George Gregan were huge rivals over nearly a decade, forming a close bond. ‘‘He’s suffering, and it’s really difficult to see the way he is now,’’ said Marshall, who visits South Africa when he can to help van der Westhuizen fund raise for his foundation.
‘‘A degenerative disease like this is pretty awful. You get your head round that first, then do what you can to help out.
‘‘You know he is going to die from it, and die sooner rather than later.’’
Marshall regards van der
Van der Westhuizen initially denied the images were of him, but later admitted in his book Joost: The Man in the Mirror that he had indulged in an extra-marital sex and taken drugs.
‘‘I was angry, but when I look back they were just doing their job. My biggest challenge was to forgive myself, to take responsibility. All the shit I caused was in 2006, but it only came out in 2009. I had to make peace. ‘‘My doctors helped me a lot. I was told to get my head right and to stop blaming people. Only when you forgive yourself can you open yourself up to others. It made me realise who I am. I can sit here and sulk, go backwards and die or live my life. I have said sorry enough.’’
Where once he represented the ultimate male physique, he is gently crumbling, losing the prowess that so powerfully defined him. ‘‘You know, you have a better chance of winning the Lotto 10 times than you do of contracting MND, it’s that rare,’’ he says. ‘‘ All the emotion and Westhuizen, who won the World Cup in 1995, as the greatest No 9 to come out of the republic.
‘‘When he was on song he could flip a game and win it almost single-handedly. He was a magic player. One time I remember he made a break through the line, I was defending deeper, and I thought this was my chance to line him up and put him into a hospital ward. I launched myself, only for character it took to get my former strengths is helping me now. I’m still a fighter, I still have the same spirit. Every day I’m looking for a cure or new medication.’’
He believes that there are a little over 100 MND sufferers in South Africa, 80 per cent of whom are men, 90 per cent of them former sports participants.
He says four Comrades
runners him to chip over my head, pirouette around me and score beside the posts.’’ On Marshall’s last visit in February he was struck by the poignancy of watching him auction off treasured memorabilia.
‘‘To see him giving up the things that meant the most to him to support the fight against motor neuron disease, it was a pretty overwhelming thing.’’ recently contracted MND, as did a boxer, while he recounts the extraordinary tale of the Italian football team which had six members diagnosed with MND.
Its cause remains a mystery, although this hasn’t stopped van der Westhuizen from pestering neurologists across the planet. He refuses to go down without a fight.
He’s also become a beacon for MND sufferers through his J9 Foundation, which raises money for them. Van der Westhuizen himself doesn’t draw a cent, but every week he travels around South Africa to meet and counsel at least one sufferer.
‘‘They all say the same: The doctor says there is nothing we can do for you. That’s bull. We give supplements, we give money. We give hope. I have to do that. To not share is selfish.’’
His condition has fundamentally affected his own lifestyle. He points to a big scar beneath his chin. He received it after falling down the stairs, a problem compounded by tearing both hamstrings as a player. He can’t write and as much as he wants to play ball with his children, he can’t run. Yet he cooks his own food, tidies up around his apartment and even drives. He says previous to the reconciliation, he spent most days locked in a debilitating psychological battle with his ex- wife over access to Jordan and Kylie.
‘‘I don’t want to fight, but the truth is Amor can’t wait for me to die,’’ van der Westhuizen said of the state of their relationship earlier this year.
‘‘ Before I went away recently, she told me to make peace and that she can’t wait for me to get weaker. She taunted me, mocked me. I have a recording in which she says she hates me. When I saw the Vittone family I saw the haka.’’
His medicines have given him the strength to do rehabilitation and even gym, although not in the traditional sense. All exercise is carefully regimented to accommodate his failings.
The prognosis is still the same – between two and five years’ survival – but at least the new drug he uses has helped stop the deterioration.
As the interview winds down, I ask if he has regrets, even now, when he has rediscovered himself and made his peace.
‘‘Yes,’’ he says, ‘‘I lost my family, my job, my marriage. At least I know now why I did it. I made mistakes.
‘‘I can’t live in the past forever, I can’t live on rugby success my whole life. Nothing I do can change the past, but I can determine the future.
‘‘I’m proud of what I did, for my parents, my kids and my country. But I can’t live it.’’
He has his faith, his extraordinary spirit and a determination to do good. Most of all, he has life.