The real Bok man of the match against England was glaringly obvious

There was a moment at the end of South Africa’s 45-21 demolition of England that brought to mind the most infamous Oscars mix-up of them all. In 2017, Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway presented the Academy Award for Best Picture. Somehow, they had the wrong envelope. La La Land was announced as the winner, speeches began, and only then did the mistake become clear. The real winner was Moonlight.

This was rugby’s version, mercifully without the tuxedos and existential Hollywood awkwardness. Damian de Allende was named man of the match, though it would have made as much sense to hand it to the impi mascot who ran on before kick-off and appeared to tear a hamstring. Not because De Allende was poor. The centre was typically robust and direct. But because anyone who knows that passes must go backwards knew Damian Willemse was the game’s shining light.

Willemse has always been admired, but for a while he occupied that strange space reserved for gifted players who solve several problems without obviously owning one position. He was a fly-half, a full-back, a centre, a bench weapon, a Swiss-Army knife, a luxury item. He ticked every box. The question was whether he ticked any one of them emphatically enough.

There was a sense that he was an 8/10 in almost every category without quite touching a nine. Brave, skilful, quick, strong, elusive, creative, versatile. But was he truly elite at one thing? The comparison is not exact, but Marcus Smith has existed in a similar conversation for England. A wonderful footballer. A player capable of making a game tilt. But also, at times, someone coaches seem to admire most when they can keep him in reserve and unleash him against tired legs.

That conversation should be over for Willemse. Who cares where he plays? Just play him.

Against England, he was a Rolls-Royce. Smooth, powerful, unhurried and expensive-looking, the heir to a title once synonymous with Andre Joubert who glided through games. Willemse now has that same glide, but with more bite. Less classic saloon, more armoured limousine with a blade hidden in the door panel.

In fact, he is closer to a medieval halberd. A weapon that can bludgeon, hook, pierce and cut. Willemse can do all of that. He can step around a defender, run through one, kick over another, catch above a fourth and then reappear at first receiver as if he has decided everyone else needs to get a move on.

That was one of the most impressive aspects of his performance against England. For Kriel’s try on 58 minutes, South Africa were rumbling but running out of puff. The lineout drive had done damage. De Allende straightened. Forwards carried hard. But the attack needed someone to change the picture. Willemse appeared at first receiver off Grant Williams, stepped and shifted the ball on to  Malcolm Marx. It was not a pass that will make the highlights reel, but that hardly mattered. He had inserted himself into the moment. He saw a passage that needed acceleration and took charge of it. Seconds later, Jesse Kriel was scoring and England were behind their posts again.

We saw something similar against New Zealand last year, when he scored a momentum-swinging try by bulldozing through the defence in a 43-10 drubbing in Wellington. When South Africa’s attack needed direction, Willemse stepped forward and ran through the population of Te Ika-a-M?ui. That is the point with Willemse. For all the silk, there is ballast. For all the footwork, there is force. His effortless aesthetic can obscure the violence he possesses. He looks like a man playing in designer loafers even when he is running through traffic.

England tested him under the high ball, as they were always likely to do. That has been the lingering question around him at full-back, whether he offers the same aerial certainty as a specialist such as Aphelele Fassi. Consider this another question emphatically answered.

Willemse was immense. He was calm under pressure, clean in the contest and decisive once the ball was his. When he could counter, he countered, as he did to spark a move that ended in a Cheslin Kolbe try. When the better option was to kick, he kicked, as he did when he raked a 50-22. When South Africa needed someone to settle the game, he settled it without ever slowing it down. That is a rare trick. He is now close to the complete player. If he learns to kick at goal, World Rugby might have to introduce a handicapping system.

This was also his 50th Test, which feels faintly ridiculous. How has he only played 50? Injuries, mainly. Interruptions. A career that has already delivered more memorable images than most players manage in a lifetime has still been watched in fragments.

And what images they are. The two fists brought together in Paris as he called for a scrum from a mark, producing one of the great memes of the 2023 World Cup. The full Springbok kit days after the final, clearly still on a bender and behaving as many of us would if we had just won the World Cup. The hipster glasses. The swagger. The sense of a young man living his best life without ever losing sight of the work.

South African rugby has produced plenty of icons who seem carved from granite. Willemse offers something different. He is expressive, stylish, modern and still unmistakably tough. He carries the Cape with him. He carries the Springbok jersey lightly enough to enjoy it and seriously enough to honour it.

He is already the youngest player to win two World Cups. Hyperbole is dangerous, but there is a version of his career in which he retires as one of the most decorated players the game has seen. I have no doubt that he will win World Rugby Player of the Year if his body gives him enough uninterrupted runway.

The Springboks will always be associated with blunt force. But dynasties do not last on muscle alone. They need players who can solve different problems in different ways. They need someone who can bludgeon and cut at the same time.

They need Damian Willemse, wherever he stands.