Pure nostalgia: Bruce Fordyce and the Comrades Marathon

Another sportsperson I was mesmerised by as a child was Bruce Fordyce. Every year it was a family ritual to watch the Comrades Marathon on TV, and every year, without fail, it seemed to be dominated by a slight, small-framed but giant legend of a man. Fordyce won the race a record nine times, eight of them consecutively from 1981 to 1988, before adding a ninth victory in 1990—a feat no other runner in the race's history has matched. The Comrades itself is a brutal test of human endurance: roughly 90 kilometres between Durban and Pietermaritzburg, alternating each year between the punishing "up run" and the fast, unforgiving "down run," a course that has broken far stronger-looking men than the wiry Fordyce. What made watching him so captivating was the contrast between his unassuming build and the sheer dominance he exerted, often pulling away from the field in the second half of the race while his rivals fell away behind him. Another vivid memory was the cut-off, when an official would stand with his back to the finish line and fire a gun to mark the brutal end of the race for anyone who hadn't made it in time. Sometimes heart-wrenching, with exhausted runners crawling on hands and knees just to beat the gun, it was totally captivating viewing.

Pure nostalgia: Two great tennis rivalries that mesmerised me as a child

Though I only properly picked up a racket later in life, tennis has grown to become one of my absolute favorite passions. That love is rooted in vivid memories of my youth, mesmerised by the sport's golden era of rivalries. I was captivated by the contrast of Björn Borg and John McEnroe—especially their titanic 1980 Wimbledon final, a grueling 55-game epic capped by a legendary 34-point tiebreak. Borg's ice-cold baseline discipline against McEnroe's twitchy, improvisational genius at the net was a clash of entire philosophies, and that tiebreak alone remains one of the greatest passages of play the sport has ever produced.

Equally thrilling were the massive clashes between Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert. Eighty matches over fifteen years, with the same essential contrast that made Borg-McEnroe so gripping: Evert's relentless precision against Navratilova's athletic aggression, each forcing the other to keep reinventing her game. These two rivalries defined the sporting landscape of my childhood, and watching them push each other to unimaginable heights planted the seed for a lifelong love of the game—one that eventually led me to pick up a racket of my own.

Memorable moments: What a hit!

I have a vivid memory of playing French cricket with my beloved Gramps at the park—just him and me on a quiet afternoon.

For those who haven’t played, French cricket is an informal, close-quarters game. The batsman stands stationary, using the bat to shield their legs from the bowler, who tries to hit their shins with the ball. It’s a game of quick reflexes.

During our game, I got overly excited. Gramps bowled the ball, trying to sneak it past me, and I swung the bat with everything I had.

Instead of connecting with the ball, my bat swung wide and struck Gramps directly on the elbow.

There was a loud, sickening crack. The impact must have been absolutely excruciating. I can still clearly remember the flash of pure, sharp pain that crossed Gramps’s face in that first microsecond. But almost instantly, through what must have been a superhuman effort of will, he forced that look away.

He managed to break into a smile, though he couldn't completely hide the lingering agony in his eyes. Looking right at me, he gasped out, "Never mind, my boy—what a hit!"

Even now, I feel a twinge of guilt when the memory comes back, but it is entirely overtaken by a deep, expanding love for him. In a moment of such intense, sudden pain, so many people would have lashed out in anger or frustration. Gramps did the exact opposite. He chose to absorb the pain entirely on his own, doing everything in his power to ensure his grandson didn't feel bad for a clumsy mistake.

Family stories: Toucher Tony

Later in life, well after Gran and Gramps had emigrated from the UK to Cape Town to be with us, Gramps took up bowls. It wasn't just a hobby; he had found his true calling. While Gran played and enjoyed the social aspect, for Gramps, the green was sacred ground.

He was famously gregarious, a frustrated actor at heart who finally found his stage. Every year at the Annual Bowls Christmas party, he would hold sway as the MC, regaling the club with stories and jokes he had meticulously collected throughout the year. He was the lifeblood of the club, a man whose energy and humor could turn a simple game into a theatrical performance.

Gramps even had a specific, cinematic dream for how his life would conclude. In his mind’s eye, he would sidle up to the edge of the green, supported by his zimmerframe. He would take aim, throw his final "wood," and as it rolled toward the jack, he would suffer a swift, painless heart attack. As the world faded to black, the last sound he would hear—the ultimate validation of a life well-played—would be the cry: "Toucher Tony, Toucher! Well done!"

In the physical world, reality was less poetic. Peripheral neuropathy eventually claimed the strength in his legs, forcing him to give up his beloved sport. He spent his final year in a care home, passing away exactly one year after his "darling" had come to get him.

But in my mind, the physical ending doesn't count. When I think of him now, I see him on a super-vivid, ethereal celestial bowling green. He isn't hobbling; he is galloping along with vital abandon, throwing his woods with perfect precision. Gran is there, watching with that sixty-year-old look of love, the clubmates are roaring at his latest story, and the air is filled with the constant, triumphant cry: "Toucher Tony, Toucher!"

Memorable moments: The Paarl Gymnasium massacre

Growing up, my mother was the silent, steady heartbeat of my rugby career. I have the most heart-warming memories of her standing in the pouring rain, huddled under an umbrella, cheering us on through every muddy scrum and sodden tackle. Her love was as consistent as the Cape winter weather.

But there was one fixture on the annual calendar for which her nervous system was simply not equipped: the away match against Paarl Gymnasium.

Paarl Gym was an Afrikaans powerhouse out in the country, and to our prep school eyes, they didn't look like children—they looked like a different species. They towered over us, their forearms the size of our thighs. We were convinced they’d been raised on a strict diet of boerewors and biltong instead of breast milk. For them, winning wasn't just a goal; it was existential.

I have a vivid, slightly traumatic memory of three of us desperately clinging to a single Paarl player, hitching a collective piggyback ride as he thundered toward the try line, completely indifferent to the extra weight of three terrified schoolboys.

And then there were the fathers.

The Paarl dads didn't just spectate; they participated. Many of them wore the exact same rugby kit as their sons, looking like older, angrier versions of the giants on the field. During one particularly lopsided encounter, I saw a father reach down, rip a side flag out of the turf, and begin stabbing the ground with it in a rhythmic frenzy.

"Moer hulle, seuns!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Murder them, boys!"

Needless to say, the score was always catastrophically one-sided. I don’t think we ever managed to cross their try line, let alone win a match. I never blamed my mum for sitting those ones out. While she was happy to watch us get wet in the rain, she drew the line at watching us get systematically dismantled by teenage titans while their fathers reenacted medieval battle cries on the touchline.

Memorable moments: The gangly champion

In my early school days, I was the quintessential nerd—more likely to be found in the library than on the rugby pitch. My athletic career started with a distinct lack of promise; I spent my first few rugby matches standing aimlessly on the field, sucking my thumb while my mother watched from the sidelines in a state of terminal embarrassment.

But in Standard 3, aged 10, my gangly, awkward frame suddenly found its purpose. I discovered I could leap. I could leap high, and I could leap far.

That year, for the first time in my life, I wasn't just "the smart kid." I won the high jump and the long jump for my age group. Then, feeling bold, I competed in the age group above mine—and I won both of those, too. I spent the rest of the day vibrating with the anticipation of the prize-giving ceremony.

I went up twice to collect my cups for my own age group. Then came the awards for the seniors. The presenter looked at the list, squinted, and frowned. He looked at me, looked back at the paper, and decided there had clearly been a massive administrative mistake. No one "nerdy" could possibly sweep two age groups.

He skipped the award entirely. I sat back down, trophy-less and invisible once again.

It was a crushing disappointment, but I eventually found my redemption. A few years later, I walked back up to that stage to receive the award for "Most Improved Rugby Player." I had finally traded my thumb for a tackle—and this time, they didn't need a calculator to believe it.

Memorable moments: The prestigious scavenger

My step-dad, Mike, was a devoted golfer and a long-standing member of an incredibly prestigious club—the kind of place where a crooked tie is a minor scandal. One afternoon, the Club President pulled him aside, looking deeply pained.

"Mike," he whispered, "several members have reported seeing you... sifting through the bins for discarded food. We’re concerned. Is everything alright at home? Do you need a—well, a small advance?"

Mike felt the eyes of the entire clubhouse on him. He looked sheepish, then cleared his throat.

"Everything’s fine," he explained. "I’ve started a worm farm for my garden, and it turns out they have a very refined palate for banana peels. I was just—well, I was just retrieving the leftovers."

The President stared at him, caught between relief and pure aristocratic confusion.

The President was relieved to hear Mike wasn't broke, though he did suggest that next time, Mike should try to look a little less "homeless" while catering for his compost.

Young Woman and the Sea - what a movie!

I just watched Young Woman and the Sea (2024), and found Gertrude Ederle’s story incredibly inspiring. As the first woman to swim across the English Channel in 1926, she didn’t just complete the grueling 21-mile journey—she shattered expectations. Battling strong currents and freezing waters, Ederle finished the swim in 14 hours and 34 minutes, beating the existing men’s record by nearly two hours. At just 20 years old, she proved not only that a woman could do it, but that she could do it better, making her a trailblazer in both sport and history.

New York Parade in honour of her

Two Oceans race

Antony, Stuart, Neil, Dom, Michael and Jess all did the Two Oceans.  Jo, Annelies and I went 5 minutes down the road to watch them running by. The atmosphere was electric.  This was Antony's 10th Two Ocean, a wondeeful achievement.|

 

South Africa wins the Rugby World Cup 2023

 Elation!  South Africa now holds the record for the most rugby world cup wins. This was their fourth win.

Watching in Sydney

Watching in Cape Town

The match

Match details

• Quarter-final: France:  29-28
• Semi-final: England: 16-15
• Final: New Zealand:  12-11

Pickleball Championship

 I was the official photographer at the local Pickleball Championship.  It's an amazing, fast actioned game and it was wonderful to see Chris in action.

Chris excels at Pickleball

Runner up in the NSW championships!

7 a side rugby

Highlights

• My first time in the Cape Town Football World-cup stadium - very impressive!
• My first experience of 7 aside rugby; ultra fast and exciting with extraordinary passes and running.
• South Africa winning all three of its matches. Australia didn't do so well but I wasn't Australian for the day, so it didn't matter.
• Sam and Claire as devil and angel. They looked great!
• Lots of wonderful costumes.
• The wonderful atmosphere in the stadium, helped along by rousing music and kiss and dance cams.