Where does the Rugby World Cup go from here?

What happens next? Not just for France who must now accept that their fairytale is over. Not just for South Africa who march on with a semi-final against England to contend with next week. But for rugby, for the World Cup and for the English language that must now find a word that packs even more of a punch than ‘epic’.

Last night’s clash between Ireland and New Zealand set a high benchmark. It was arguably a better exhibition of rugby. Both sides were more accurate and made less mistakes than France and South Africa and provided stacks of content for coaching manuals.

But Saturday’s match was confined within the parameters of the sport. Sunday’s slugfest between the tournament’s hosts and the defending champions was elemental. Time itself seemed to bend around it. It was as if all that was and all that will be was condensed in a fish bowl to the north of Paris and nothing beyond the concrete walls of the Stade de France mattered.

Argentina post-match presser 14-10-2023

Argentina post-match presser 14-10-2023

It was the speed that shook the senses. No, it was the droves of human catapults that hurled themselves into contact as if their bodies were made of some unbreakable ore. Or maybe it was the skill or the physicality or the sheer bloody chutzpah from both teams. Knockout rugby is supposed to be characterised by at least a degree of caution. This had none.

Fair play to them, and first a word for France. On another day, on a parallel timeline, they win this at a canter. Cyril Baille, Charles Ollivon, Jonathan Danty and a few others played something close to the games of their lives. But it was Antoine Dupont who attracted attention like a black hole.

Is there a better player in our sport? Not likely. Not when he has the ball on a string and the world in his palm. If anyone deserved to win a rugby match it was France’s bruised leader. Except not even he could turn destiny to his will.

Instead it went the way of the Springboks who should have been buried long before Eben Etzebeth carried half the population of France on his shoulders to score a bulldozing try late in the piece. Le Bleus had their chances to put this game to bed. At least they would have against any other side.

Perhaps it’s the self-fulfilling mythology that the Springboks so tightly cling to that compels them to chase lost causes and scramble like zealots whenever their line is breached. Maybe it’s just good coaching, or a sense of brotherhood fostered by two World Cup cycles together. Maybe it’s for the hungry boy in Zwide or KwaMashu. Maybe it’s none of that or all of it. Whatever the reason, the South Africans managed to keep themselves within a score as waves of royal blue crashed on bottle-green rocks.

They gave as good as they got, though, thanks largely to Etzebeth, Franco Mostert, Pieter-Steph du Toit and Bongi Mbonambi who provided grunt round the fringe and stood firm in the face of relentless pressure. That gave their backline something to work with and when the ball went down the line the Springboks landed blows of their own.

A word for Damian de Allende and Jesse Kriel. Both centres have had their critics. The former has been slammed for being one dimensional and for his apparent inability to pass. The latter is often derided for disappearing in big games and for only knowing how to rampage like a mindless Viking berserker on a blitz defence. Both put in almighty shifts, hammering Danty and Gael Fickou as well as providing some delicious soft touches – grubbers off the toe, popped passes off the shoulder, runs through half gaps.

Then a word for Cheslin Kolbe. A man who charged down a conversion in a game decided by a single point. It’s not an unheard of action. Every so often a speedy winger catches a ponderous kicker off guard. But for it to take place in a contest of this magnitude only makes the narrative more compelling.

To single out a single moment would be impossible. Even Fabien Galthie couldn’t select one. Dupont gave credit to South Africa. Both questioned the way the game was refereed. No doubt a hundred thousand theories on why this match went the way it did are already swirling. Some things defy explanation.

It would be remiss not to mention the few fortunate moments that went South Africa’s way. Dupont copped an elbow to the face. Kwagga Smith won a penalty on the deck when he appeared to have placed an arm on the ground. Etzebeth might have seen yellow for a deliberate knock-on that was given and could have seen the yellow he did receive – for a clash of heads with Uini Atonio  – upgraded to red. The bounce of the ball here, a misstep there and we’re waking up in a different world tomorrow.

“The margins were marginal,” Jacques Nienaber mused at the final whistle. He’s not wrong. Pick your moment where this one turned. Any number of flashpoints could serve as a reason South Africa thundered to victory. Leave the deeper analysis to the stats gurus. More detailed breakdowns will be demonstrated by astute brains on YouTube and podcasts. For now let is revel in what was a bewildering crescendo to one of the great weekends in the sport’s history.

Where does it go from here?