There’s a story about Ben-Jason Dixon which tells you exactly how the giant flanker navigates life. Last September, Dixon and his friend Dane Galley drove north from Cape Town to attend the wedding of Stormers team-mate, Hacjivah Dayimani. It was a ten-hour journey, so they pulled in to a fast food joint for some sustenance along the way. A few poor souls from the local township hung around outside, hoping for work, food, or spare rand. Dixon went into the store while Galley waited in the car. He re-emerged cradling a mountain of piping hot burgers in his arms and began dishing them out to the people on the street. “Have a good evening, guys.” No fanfare. No smartphones. No gushing viral videos about the magnanimous rugby star curating his image as a man of the people.
“Authenticity is very important to me,” Dixon says. “It’s ancient wisdom from the Bible: when you do a good deed, do it in secret. If you do it for the approval of people then you already have your reward.
“I try to have that authenticity when I do something. Everybody sometimes does a good thing because they think they have to. A lot of times I do it because I want to. That is a bit of a mercy-orientated gift I have, to feel compassion.
“I’m not going to try and build something I can point to and go, ‘look, I’m a really good person’. I don’t try to be something I’m not.”
This firm barometer of right and wrong has always been embedded in Dixon’s psyche. Part of it stems from his iron faith. The rest, a cocktail of emotion and integrity, feelings so complex that even as a professional athlete, he grappled with the morality of why it should be his team, and not his opponents, who prevail in a match.
As captain of his primary school side, Dixon would often be so overcome with emotion that he’d cry while delivering half-time team talks. He worked as a live-in assistant, known in South Africa as a stooge, at Paul Roos, his alma mater, coaching the U15 boys a few hours before competing in the URC final last year. When he made his Springbok debut this year at the age of 26, he belted out the national anthem with his mouthguard already wedged in place and his collar buttoned up to the top, the very picture of a warrior primed for battle.
Yet the fabled South African jersey was never Dixon’s Everest. He loved the game and played it with all his might, but he didn’t covet caps in the way of so many boys across the Republic.
You get starved of contact, man. My parents have a big king-sized bed and I’d line my mum up and tackle her onto it.
“Some things in life you aim to acquire and cherish,” he says. “Strangely it hasn’t been a dream in that sense for me. Obviously, it is a massive honour and blessing but it’s more like, I’m on this journey, I want to go towards excellence and if it happens it’ll be amazing. I didn’t necessarily aim for it.”
Even if he had, Dixon was not considered a likely contender through most of his high school days. He’d been a fine swimmer, light and lean but lacking the muscle mass to thrive in the ferocious throes of South African schoolboy rugby. In his penultimate year, the Paul Roos coaches stuck him in the third team.
“I was playing lock and weighing under 90kg; I wasn’t as strong as some of the other players. Maybe I didn’t put in enough time outside of training.
“I got to captain the third team which was lekka but it was a bit frustrating because you want to really train hard and perform and some of the guys are more there for fun times than training.
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“One of the things from my high school career which stands out is learning to give your best. I remember a lot of times after matches I’d feel like I didn’t give my best, or when I was tired I held back a little bit. It was something I kept trying to overcome, even in training to push hard in fitness sessions.
“It got a lot better. Eventually I got confidence I could perform and not hold back. In my last year of high school things went really well, I got selected for Craven Week and SA Schools, and then the Western Province academy. I always had the self-belief, but maybe I was a bit late with some of the skill development and my body.”
Today, nobody thinks of Dixon as lightweight. Not with the torpedo-like tackles and punishing grunt work which have earned him comparisons to Pieter-Steph du Toit, rugby’s ultimate pugilist. While recovering from a serious knee injury three years ago, Dixon missed contact so much that he’d use his mother, Ethni, for tackling practice.
From what I’ve heard, the Bok environment hasn’t always been like that – it’s been heavily seniority-based, they are the bosses and the rest are servants.
“You get starved, man. You don’t have any physically demanding stuff. My parents have a big king-sized bed and I’d line her up and tackle her onto it. Not too often, just every now and then. I’d do it to my friends as well – instead of giving them a hug, I’d just give them a little bump. I missed it a lot.
“My mum is tough. If I’m known at all for work ethic, I credit her for the genes and the inspiration.”
Mrs Dixon might soon be called into the trenches again. Her son was not named in Rassie Erasmus’ November squad, but another knee injury, suffered against Glasgow on Saturday, would have kept him out of the tour in any case. Brace yourself, mum.
Dixon’s first clutch of caps taught him lessons about the intoxicating and brutal Test arena. The debut against Wales at Twickenham. A rampaging performance in his first start against Portugal. Tussles with the Wallabies and Pumas and a trying scrap with the All Blacks, in which he made a high-profile error and, in a pre-planned move, was replaced before half-time.
You wonder what so thoughtful a person makes of the storied Bok environment. Through the exceptional Chasing the Sun documentaries and the deluge of positive media, it is painted as a rugby utopia that often sounds too good to be true.
“It really is special,” Dixon reflects. “I thought it would be a lot more tense, but you are quite free to be yourself. From what I’ve heard from some of the senior players it hasn’t always been like that – it’s been heavily seniority-based, they are the bosses and the rest are servants. It’s not like that. There’s a good lead-by-example culture, but also a friendliness.
“What’s been impressive has been how you allow yourself to complain a little bit if you’re at your club team or talk bad about somebody. It’s being preached a lot but also lived out really well: it’s not about you, it’s about the team, it’s about the performance, about South Africa. There’d be enough reason to complain but in the team environment, who are you to complain? No, everybody deals with that on their own because they don’t want to bring [negativity] to the team. That’s really different from some of the experiences I’ve had with rugby teams. It’s next-level, I would say. People put the main thing first.”
Dixon remembers weeping before playing Australia in Brisbane; a game he was not due to start before his own clumsy ruck clean on Ruan Nortje ruled the Bulls lock out of the XV.
“I don’t know why, but I couldn’t keep my shit together. It just bubbled over. There were tears after training. Some people were like, ‘hey man, are you okay?’ It was nice, I could let it come out and go through that experience.
You definitely face your doubts at this level. Am I really good enough? Maybe I’m not that good. Being compared to Pieter-Steph, the guy is unbelievable.
“My mum’s brother and his family bought a farm just outside of Brisbane and are trying to grow proteas [South Africa’s national flower] there, so I went for a visit, slept over and was uplifted again.”
The New Zealand affair remains a puzzler. The All Blacks, at Ellis Park, with all the history and enmity and crushing expectation, is about as seismic as Test match rugby comes – certainly for a South African. Dixon forced a dusty pass off the floor which Jasper Wiese could not hold, and the Kiwis weaved and galloped their way home from 40m.
“I don’t know, for some reason I got it wrong a little bit in the prep,” Dixon says. “I found it difficult to get into that nice competitive zone where it’s you vs them, you’re ready to give it everything.
“After my knee injury, I had a long time where I struggled with this, when I’m not at my best or I worry a lot about winning and losing or hold back a bit, or I think, why must my team win? The righteousness of winning. All of that gets in my mind a little bit.
“When that’s dealt with you feel like ‘yes, I can just go out and express myself’. That game, I found difficult to just show the quality of player I am. It wasn’t that I played poorly, I knew I didn’t perform to my best ability which was obviously a little bit disappointing afterwards. It was such a big occasion and for some reason I didn’t get up for it the way I wanted.”
Erasmus left Dixon out of the second New Zealand Test but brought him back in to battle Argentina, where he felt much more himself. Those first five internationals were by turns stirring and confronting.
“You definitely face your doubts at this level. Am I really good enough? Maybe I’m not that good. Being compared to Pieter-Steph, the guy is unbelievable. If I compare myself too much to him then I might just… I did get into that space a little bit where I was like, ‘ach, who am I even as a rugby player? I feel a little bit useless running around the field.’ I tried too hard in some areas.
“You must focus on the things you do well and you need a sense of confidence in who you are, your ability and if you do compare yourself a lot, you are not going to play so well. That did creep in.
You are a little bit scared of what people will think of you, fear does hold you back so much. I’ve struggled a lot with it but I do step out a bit more. I’ve tried to say difficult things.
“It is a challenge, but on the flip side, it’s so much more of an inspiration to have somebody like Pieter-Steph, because I’m not there but I want to be the kind of player he is. He’s given me really kind words of encouragement: ‘I’ve watched you, seen what you can do, keep working.’ Stuff like that. I’m like, yeah man, this is amazing because I look up to him a lot.”
It is rare to hear a player speak so candidly about his insecurities. It is, in some ways, important to understand a 6ft 6ins Springbok gladiator is not emotionally bulletproof and has the same qualms and anxieties as the rest of us. Dixon has learned to air his true thoughts. John Dobson, his Stormers coach, recalls the player bluntly critiquing a session and challenging him after a half-time rollicking Dixon felt was unduly harsh.
“It’s a growth in my life, a big challenge I’ve had is fear and intimidation, and I feel it’s my calling to walk towards somebody who is fearless with boldness,” Dixon says. “It’s kind of opposite to what I want to do in my self-preservation mode. You are a little bit scared of what people will think of you, fear does hold you back so much. I’ve struggled a lot with it but I do step out a bit more. I’ve tried to say difficult things more often.”
When his knee is mended, Erasmus will surely toss Dixon more opportunities in the green and gold. If Dixon can take them, a shot at 2027 is a very real prospect. But that’s not what matters most; not to a man so unashamed of who he is, unafraid to bare his vulnerabilities, and unconcerned by the trappings of his sport.
A brilliantly real article. No bias or judgement, just facts and a good story.
What a refreshingly humanizing story. Especially for someone who's battling with their own fears, to see people you reveer and admire on a big stage dealing with the same set of insecurities as you helps you move more boldly in them.