The choke, excuses and not-too-sure future

As another Champions Trophy slips past the grips of the Proteas, India celebrates another fine tournament – and perhaps they’re built for it. While India might have been a top contender from the start, they weren’t tournament favourites but their preparedness in itself made them an outfit to contend with yet again. They proved to be the best side in the end with finalists England struggling to chase India’s subdued 130 runs.

But let’s get back to the Proteas who again disappointed in the knockout stages of a tournament. While the squad had to deal with the absence of Morkel, injured Steyn and big-hitting Graeme Smith, there was definitely an honest sight of a final with a young but talented team setup. Again, the supposed depth seemed short-lived. With Steyn sitting on the sidelines, the bowling attack just didn’t click and was not as threatening. With no Morkel, too, there was no consistency from the likes of Kleinveldt, Tsotsobe and McLaren. Obvious talent but short of world-class. There seems to be a heavy reliance on the experience of Amla and De Villiers in the middle and when they fail to produce, the squad is left dwindling on youngsters who are new to world tournaments and high-pressure chases.

Its an all too familiar situation for players and fans in a South African context. When the Proteas fall, the media and pundits often throw around the ‘choking’ tag all too easily. And its easy to in my opinion. Perhaps its a matter of history for South Africa. With the talent and world number one status through the years, its strange that we find ourselves without silverware. With the continuous disappointments and knockout panics, its easy to see why there’s a little bit more missing. Where is that psychological need to see a game through? Do we blame the depth, the youngsters, the reliance on a few? Is the dear ‘chokers’ tag something now embedded in our country’s cricket DNA? We always ponder the ‘what-ifs’ and consider a semi-final with a fit Dale Steyn and perhaps a level-headed Smith opening the batting. If only. If only. If only.

There is no real cure for South Africa’s ability to disappoint when it counts. There have been several attempts to resurrect confidence but that’s just tests and appointments that are great in theory but lack when it comes to game time. It’s all about experience in the long run and there needs to be players who will learn and then make amends. It might take a number of years and there will be those that are injured but there needs to be players who hold responsibility. Actually, every player needs to hold that responsibility and a team dynamic needs to be gathered before a trophy can be clinched.

We have the right set-up and talent and AB is slowly moulding his place as a one-day skipper even though he has much to learn. South Africa will have to realise to let Smith and Kallis fall back into Test players while there needs to be options above Steyn and Morkel plonking down bowling stats. Even South African fans feared the worst when Steyn was left out in the semi. With a new coach in Russel Domingo set to take over the reigns, there needs to be some consistency in the shorter formats of the game. We can’t rely on the injury-prone and ageing giants. Then we could get over the choking mentality and ride on the talents of Du Plessis, Ingram, McLaren, Tsotsobe and the like. But its always about dynamic and toughness. Time will tell if South Africa can finally rid that “dark cloud” that Gary Kirsten mentioned.

Comrades 2013: the magic, insanity and tears

I never really caught onto the running thing. I started working at a runner’s magazine at the beginning of last year and figured I should invest some time in the sport. I was always a sporty kid but always feared running when training. In hockey, our coach used to plot a treacherous cross-country route which we had to loop around six times before we’d even begin with our skills. To every other sport, running seemed a punishment and I figured the runners I knew were suckers for pain and the burning sensation when running out on a cold winter’s morning.

“Drop your sticks!” my hockey coach would say and we’d know.

My team shared an audible whine and we gave in, huffing and puffing along the route. I remember coming in with the last bunch, out of breath, red in the face and doubting whether this was all worth it. At University, I tried to plot 3km runs around my residence and digs but I would eventually care more about my running playlist than anything else. My discipline also wavered. When I joined a running publication in 2012, I figured I might as well try running further for longer. There was a definite group that I did not know before. The runner – a character tuned into everything running. Weekend war stories consisted of the latest marathon in the area, the PB’s, gear, new shoes and the gossip surrounding club members and the like.

Later that year, the magazine sent me down to Durban to cover the Comrades Marathon – the 89km stinger of an ultra. I knew little of the race. I knew it was 89km and that my dad had conquered the route three times in the late 80’s with an impressive 9:30 finish. I also knew SABC covered race days and I knew about those small Russian twins who kept dominating the field. I knew Bruce Fordyce because he was a legend of the sport. It stopped there. The pivotal highlights on the route were mysteries; the hills seemed monumental and the history was grand. I did not know what medal meant what. It all seemed a new world to me but one I knew I wanted to get to know in my new-born career.

In June 2012, I had the privilege of sitting on one of two media trucks that would follow the leading men of the race before taking snaps at the finish line. I remember the icy slaps of a Pietermaritzburg morning and the naivety I carried on a truck beside seasoned journos who mouthed off names I should’ve been familiar with. Luckily the running journos seemed to accept that I was the “new kid” on the block and I jotted down the race’s real heroes. Steven Muzhingi seemed strong. Then I jotted down Ichanga, the atmosphere of Pinetown and the way the winner could never be known until the last 10km or so.

The finish was something different and I got to experience it again in 2013. There is no other event in the country, or world, that is as emotional as crossing the finish at Comrades – and I don’t even run the race! Camera in hand, there is a fumble for the faces who cry and grin when they trudge across the mat. For many, its months and months of had work fully rewarded. There is also a magical camaraderie that is felt. Strangers hug at the finish after their few hours motivating each other while young and old high-five in celebration. There’s nothing like it. There won’t be anything like it in the sporting world. It may just be my second year covering the race but I have no doubt that each year might be better. As a photographer, there is nothing more rewarding than capturing the relief. There is a great deal of respect I carry for every Comrades runner. So much so that I would hire a Comrades finisher above anybody else. The race seems deemed for a CV skill. It is a mad journey and one that carries more mental preparation than it does physical. As many a journo and runner has told me, if one does not have the heart and motivation in the last 20km of the race, their run will fall, their legs will give in.

While I am no Comrades runner, I have definitely found running to harness a new energy in me and others. You can see it as a turn for your health. I see it as a turn for one’s attitude. While I grapple in 10km races, I still need the mental edge to finish. Running slowly builds confidence and while some finish in 6 hours or just before the 12-hour cut-off, everyone seems a winner. The sport gives us a personal journey to accomplish and there’s nothing more satisfying than mentally ticking off a goal.

Some snaps from Comrades 2013: