The crazy truth underpinning this Springboks team

They only had one hooker in the match-day 23. A 21-year-old started in the front row. A 22-year-old partnered a 23-year-old in a new-look midfield. For the second week in a row they lost a lock to an early red card. They made four substitutions in the first half alone. A centre once again deputised as a loose forward.

And yet none of that mattered. In a game they should have lost the Springboks triumphed, beating Italy by a comfortable score of 32-14. They bagged four tries to one despite being second best in the scrum and line-out, despite playing most of the game with 14 men and 10 minutes with 13.

When you strip away the numbers and the spectacle, what emerged was not a perfection of style and tactics across a flawless performance, but a raw exhibition of resilience, of a team that doesn’t simply refuse to accept that it might be beaten, but one that cannot fathom the concept.

Yes they imploded against Australia in Johannesburg, and yes they failed to get out of second gear until it was too late against the All Blacks in Auckland, but those are increasingly becoming outliers in an otherwise irrefutable narrative. As we’ve said a thousand different ways across an astonishing six year period, the Springboks are able to reach depths far beyond the sight of their rivals.

It might not count for much when this developing story eventually draws to a close. After all, the world’s number one team really should have the beating of a side nine places and 14 ranking points behind them. Italy have only once had the better of the Springboks and that was during the dark days that preceded the illuminating Rassie Erasmus era.

And yet this should be remembered as one of the greatest victories in South African rugby history. Not just because it was achieved with a numerical disadvantage, not just because so many inexperienced players stood up when their nation called on them, not just because a derided fly-half demonstrated why he remains indispensable in moments of crisis, but because this match revealed, once again, the defining characteristic of this team: when the situation becomes impossible, they become inevitable.

Handré Pollard was at the heart of that inevitability. His critics often use the word “limited” as if it were an insult, failing to appreciate that limitation can be a strength when it comes with clarity, precision and calm. In greasy conditions, in a fractured contest that required a steady hand rather than a wild imagination, Pollard was the adult in the room. He kicked everything, marshalled his pack with icy composure, and delivered the 50-metre penalty that ripped belief from Italian hearts. This is exactly why he’ll never be jettisoned despite the side’s evolution on attack.

In front of him, Morné van den Berg produced the performance of his young Test career. His try was a thing of stubborn beauty, a smaller man refusing to bow to contact, but it was his control that stood out. If a scrum-half could have thing their own way they’d have a settled team with a coherent formation to work with. Van den Berg had neither and yet still ran a tight ship, zipping short accurate passes, accurately box-kicking from the base, taking the ball to the line when required.

And at the back was Damian Willemse. What more can we say about a player who now, more than ever, looks destined to retire with at least one World Player of the Year award? He is simply an outstanding rugby player. Play him at fly-half. Play him in the midfield. Play him at full-back. It really doesn’t matter. He just has to play.

Secure under the high ball and wriggly from broken play, this was a virtuoso show from the youngest man to ever claim back-to-back World Cup crowns. What elevates Willemse above so many of his contemporaries is not merely his athleticism but his intuition. He seems to sense where space will appear a second before it does. He ghosts into blind pockets, drifts into passing lanes, and pops up as a counter-attacking threat from situations that should be dead ends. Italy kicked long and were punished. They kicked short and were punished. They kicked contestably and were punished. Willemse turned all of it into fuel.

And while Willemse shone brightest, he was hardly alone. Ethan Hooker, abrasive and effective during a bruising midfield examination, grabbed his first Test try with panache. Canan Moodie oscillated between brilliance and chaos, carving Italy open one moment and flying out of the defensive line the next, but always threatening to break the match open. Marco van Staden was immense in the tight exchanges before and after his yellow card, a man who appears to grow stronger the more complicated a match becomes. Kwagga Smith arrived, as he always does, to inject venom and speed. Grant Williams iced the contest with yet another try at the death. For a team stripped of senior anchors in key positions, the contributions from the supporting cast were decisive.

But as impressive as the individual acts were, what defined this victory was something more elemental: the collective instinct to absorb disorder and reshape it into momentum. Other teams panic when their structures dissolve. The Springboks become clearer. Roles blur, systems bend, players swap positions like a Rubik’s Cube being solved in mid-air and yet the cohesion strengthens. This is not something that can be coached in a few weeks or purchased with a few flashy selections. It is a culture, a shared muscle memory, a belief that remains intact no matter who is on the field or how many are left.

Which brings us to the red card. It’s important to acknowledge that there is no grand conspiracy here, no sinister plot lurking behind the TMO screens. But in the cold light of day Franco Mostert’s sending off felt harsh and it is not unreasonable for South African supporters, and indeed coaches, to feel aggrieved. Still, if the Springboks are concerned, they never show it. They don’t whine, they don’t wilt and they don’t look for an alibi. They just fold the adversity into their game plan as if it were part of the afternoon’s checklist.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it actually is.

Because you can’t help but wonder if Erasmus didn’t plan all of this in some subterranean laboratory beneath SA Rugby HQ. Maybe he wanted a live-fire stress test. Maybe he wanted to see which youngster would rise, which system would hold, which combinations might accidentally reveal themselves when the script disintegrated. Maybe he simply wanted to know what would happen if the entire day descended into chaos.

A mad scientist pulling levers and turning dials, smiling quietly as his creation refuses to collapse.

Whether or not that is true is irrelevant. What matters is that in a match stacked against them in every conceivable way, the Springboks emerged not just victorious, but strengthened. They survived the experiment, and in doing so proved once again that they remain rugby’s most formidable anomaly, the team that bends disorder to its will, the team that grows sharper under strain, the team that becomes inevitable when everything else falls apart.