Will World Rugby’s player of the year for 2004 make a self-deprecating joke about his hairline? How many times will the former Springboks captain say “sorry” before offering his opinion? When last did the retired South Africa hooker get lost in a supermarket?
There are deeper, more analytically probing concerns whenever Schalk Burger, Jean de Villiers and Hanyani ‘Shimmie’ Shimange gather around microphones and in front of a camera. As a triumvirate they can rival any other when it comes to knowledge of the game of rugby. But it is the space between insight on rucks, line-breaks and set-pieces that keeps fans coming back.
“We’re not trying to be journalists,” Shimange says when asked to identify the secret sauce that makes The Boks Unpacked such an unmissable podcast. “We’re just trying to have a good time and give people a peel behind the curtain. Sometimes we forget that the camera is rolling and that’s when the magic happens. We take what we do seriously, but I don’t think we take ourselves seriously.”
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Retired pros or coaches swapping war stories and insight on the game is nothing new. It’s not polished, and the setting has a more relaxed energy than a major studio production. Their tone is informal, the banter is off the cuff. They talk over each other between sips of beer, belly laughing as they recount hangovers, embarrassing tour gaffes, and behind-the-scenes glimpses of iconic rugby moments. And fans can’t get enough.
This is not a new concept. Joe Marler, David Flatman, Juan de Jongh, James Haskell, Jim Hamilton, Ben Youngs, Drew Mitchell; the number of former players-turned-podcasters grows by the week. Rugby, like other sports, has been reshaped by the rise of personality-led media. In a few years, it might be easier to list retired professionals without a podcast than those with one.
Shimange, a former Springbok with nine Test caps, sees the trend clearly. “We’re not trained broadcasters, at least that’s not our background, so we have a different feel,” he says. “We’ve been there and done it, and I think audiences connect with that. Ten years ago, this would’ve been unheard of.”
He was a storyteller, a joker, the type of character who could lift spirits on a long tour. Those traits, which perhaps didn’t always earn headlines during his playing career, now shine on camera.
“It’s the stories,” Shimange continues when asked to pinpoint the reason behind the show’s popularity. “There are fans who might be able to analyse the game as well as Jean or Schalk or at least think that they can. But what they can’t offer is what it’s like inside the jersey. Maybe you had this perception of a player from a rival team but it turns out he was actually a legend on a Barbarians tour. Or you’re shocked to learn that the measured fly-half once got so drunk he couldn’t find the team hotel. That’s what people love. And if you’ve worn the jersey, it hits different.”
Born in Limpopo, Shimange honed his craft at Cape Town’s Rondebosch Boys’ High, a school that has produced more than a dozen Springboks. From there, he joined the Western Province academy, played for the South Africa U21s in 1999, and debuted professionally with the Natal Wildebeest a year later. A 14-year career followed, including spells with the Cats in Super Rugby, and a Test debut in 2004 against Wales in Pretoria in a 53-18 win.
Though he never cemented himself as a first-choice Springbok, Shimange was highly respected among team-mates for his professionalism and presence. He was known as a technically reliable hooker, sharp around the park, and someone who always put the squad first. More than that, he was a popular figure in the changing room; a storyteller, a joker, and the type of character who could lift spirits on a long tour. Those traits, which perhaps didn’t always earn headlines during his playing career, now shine on camera.
With John Smit and Bismarck du Plessis ahead of him, Test opportunities were limited. But Shimange was always accessible, always willing to chat to journalists, often seen in mixed zones and post-match media scrums.
“I just enjoyed talking,” he says, laughing. “A lot of guys didn’t like doing interviews but I did. Then one day SuperSport asked if I’d be interested in commentating on Craven Week [South Africa’s elite schoolboy competition]. I was still a player but I thought, ‘Why not?’
“I wouldn’t say I was a natural. It was a little difficult at first. But soon you get in a groove and it becomes easier. The guys who I was surrounded by were pros. The best advice I got was to not try to sound like a commentator. Some guys like Matthew Pearce just have that natural commentator voice. If you try to replicate that you’ll mess up. Just be yourself. That’s what I’ve done and it’s worked for me.”
Even if his playing record doesn’t leap off the page, those who shared dressing rooms with him recall the impact he made. De Villiers has referred to Shimange as “my teddy bear”
What sets Shimange apart is his ability to make the game accessible without stripping it of detail. He has an easy laugh and a gift for phrasing things in plain language, a quality that resonates with casual fans while still earning respect from purists. At Craven Week, where many young players and their families were watching closely, he developed a reputation for balancing analysis with warmth, never over-complicating, but never dumbing it down. That knack has carried through to his current role, where his voice has become synonymous with South African rugby.
But even if his playing record doesn’t leap off the page, those who shared dressing rooms with him recall the impact he made. De Villiers has referred to Shimange as “my teddy bear”. This personality, along with an instantly recognisable voice, meant a shift towards podcasting was inevitable.
“ Jean and Schalk and myself, we got together. We’re fortunate that we played together and we have a natural chemistry. We really get on well. But we’re also not afraid to give each other stick. My wife often jokes that the way we talk to each other you’d swear we hate each other. Sometimes people ask me if me and Jean don’t get on because of how we speak. But we do. We have a lot of love and respect for each other. It’s just how guys talk in rugby sometimes. I think South Africans really relate to that.”
That organic rise, the shift from professional athlete to respected voice, to global media presence, is something Shimange never planned. It just happened. “If you took the cameras away, that’s how we’d talk,” he says. “That’s not something you can fake.”
I think people watching would want to think that they were at the pub with us. We’re fans like anyone else.
And maybe that’s why it works. In a media space that’s increasingly crowded and commercial, authenticity stands out. It’s not about slick production or viral soundbites. It’s about camaraderie, lived experience, and giving fans a seat at the table.
“People don’t just want stats or tactics, though obviously we bring that as well,” Shimange says. “They want a story and a laugh. I think people watching would want to think that they were at the pub with us. We’re fans like anyone else. I think it’s nice for people to look on and be reminded that the guys on TV are just normal people too.”
Even if some of them still get lost in supermarkets.
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