Oxlee was that ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ flyhalf genius
On the anniversary of the great Natal and Springbok’s death, John Bishop reflects on a unique period in South African rugby
IT WAS THE Age of Aquarius, the Swinging Sixties, a time of social, cultural and sexual revolution; it was a time of fresh optimism and excitement, rock ’n’ roll, hippies, the Pill and free love (this last part is hearsay).
Coincidentally, but for different reasons, a break from the rigid past also found expression on the rugby field, and it all happened right here in little ol’ Natal, the Last Outpost.
The change was not because of any complex shifting of values, but for more mundane reasons.
Natal, with traditionally small forwards, wanted to win rugby matches by outfoxing bigger teams. And so they looked to brain to confound brawn.
With coaching guru Izak van Heerden plotting the course, and flyhalf Keith Oxlee steering the ship, Natal developed a style of rugby which was unorthodox, daring and spectacular.
This week’s is the 16th anniversary of Oxlee’s death. The 63-yearold former Springbok had undergone a hip replacement operation late in August 1998, and was recovering at home when a blood clot suddenly ended his life.
Oxlee’s extraordinary career should be remembered and celebrated. He was an attacking wizard, famous for his refreshing approach, his panache in an era of conservative, often grim, stodgy rugby.
You can argue about flyhalves of different eras, you can compare apples and pears, kickers with runners, but what is indisputable is that Oxlee was South Africa’s most entertaining flyhalf. Ever. Charming and good-looking, he played with a smile on his face and a mischievous air. The Kings Park crowds of that era were spoilt rotten.
The unorthodox became the norm in Natal rugby as players lived on crumbs of possession. Moves were launched from deep defensive positions and Oxlee was adept at involving fast loose forwards and busy wings in exciting thrusts.
Sleight-of-hand passing and constant switches of direction were features of the Oxlee game and far more physical, talented teams were exposed by this twinkle-toed approach.
A Natal style of rugby based on a mobile pack, sure handling and ambitious running was born.
Famous
There were famous moments: the 6-6 draw at Kings Park with the formidable 1960 All Blacks, and the 14-13 win over John Thornett’s 1963 Wallabies when Natal went all season unbeaten and were disappointed that there was no Currie Cup title at stake, because of the Australian tour.
Oxlee went on to play 19 times for the Springboks, though one sensed his non-conformity, both on and off the field, was held against him by suspicious South African rugby bosses.
He became a goal-kicker only reluctantly, and relatively late in his career – at age 25 – when pressganged into kicking the winning penalty as the Boks beat Wales 3-0 in a quagmire in Cardiff in 1960.
Such was his natural talent that he immediately became a quality goal-kicker, winning matches for the Springboks by landing penalties as well as scoring tries.
He was at his peak in 1962, when he dominated the series against the British Lions, prompting touring captain Arthur Smith to say that “the problem with Oxlee is that you never knew what the blighter would be doing next”.
Oxlee brought out the best in teammates, particularly the roving wings and lightning quick loose forwards.
Number eight Tom Bedford was one. He played alongside him for Durban Collegians, Natal and South Africa for seven years, and had an armchair view of the maestro.
Bedford, now living in London (this week he had a second total knee replacement operation), says the years with Oxlee and Van Heerden were the most “scintillating” of his long career.
“Oxlee had a brain and a flair second to none. A unique individual, he was allowed to use his talents freely in the Natal set-up, the perfect pivot for Izak’s Natal rugby. Tries came from anywhere and everywhere on the field, with mobile forwards and backs producing the 15- man interplay which dazzled and made the Natal rugby of that era so very special.
“And somehow he always managed to off-load, making it so worth- while to be inside or outside him when he was carrying the ball,” says Bedford.
We would regularly chug from our Pietermaritzburg home to Durban in those far-off days to follow Natal and Oxlee. The old man, who had watched Bennie Osler, Tony Harris and Hannes Brewis, knew Oxlee was a good thing.
“Just watch him. You will never see better,” he said.
We did – and he was right.
Hero
Oxlee was my hero. We would spend hours in the backyard and at school copying his tricks, trying to put into practice what seemed second nature to our hero.
Of course, the modern high-tech game – along with the laws, players and the defensive systems – has changed dramatically. A pity, though, that those magical days could not have been bottled and later uncorked to reveal to future generations what is possible when imagination is allowed to run free on the rugby field.
Oxlee was 32 when he retired in 1967. But four years later, when a selector, he was persuaded to return, play four more games and mother a young Natal backline through difficult times.
The first was against Eastern Transvaal and Pierre de Lange, a
doughty Natal centre from 1971-79, was alongside him.
“I was overawed. I was 19 and this was just about my first Natal game. I’d never seen Oxlee play before, but he was a legend.
“I remember one moment of pure genius. We had a scrum on the half-way line and he signalled to Malcolm Warner (the blindside wing) to move across to join the backline. The Easterns wing followed Warner as we went right, but Oxlee suddenly stopped, swivelled and threw a long pass to the vacant blindside where our full-back (Malcolm Swanby), up against the left touchline, had an open run to the line.
“It was an instinctive, off-thecuff pass, but after that it became one of our rehearsed moves.”
Fast forward a decade and Natal were playing Western Province in the 1982 Currie Cup semi-final in Cape Town. Oxlee and Bedford were guest newspaper columnists and they were on the Newlands press benches that day.
I had still not met Oxlee. Heroes are to be admired from a distance, not engaged in idle chat. I was also in the wars. Hours before the game, and looking for a gift in Cavendish Square, I suddenly came over all funny, fallen and bashed my head on a counter. (Shopping usually does that to me, but this strange turn was a sequel to an earlier cricketing accident when fielding too close at short leg and using my forehead to stop a ball going for six).
I was carted off to hospital for stitches, and medical opinion was that I could still cover the Newlands game, but should then return directly to my hotel bed.
The rugby was quickly forgotten (Natal lost), but later that evening there was a knock on my hotel door and a cluster of beers appeared, followed by Bedford and Oxlee.
They had stopped in for a natter and to ask about my war wounds.
I thought I had died and gone to heaven.