
If Rassie Did the Garden
A lawn mowed in pitch stripes, a flowerbed with a defensive structure and a yellow card for the dog.

A lawn mowed in pitch stripes, a flowerbed with a defensive structure and a yellow card for the dog.

Forty players, one check-in counter and a team manager who has planned the queue down to the kilogram.

Pass-the-parcel as a set piece, musical chairs with a TMO and a cake delivered with perfect timing.

Joburg to the coast on a strict driver rotation, with the biltong bench coming on at the hour mark.

Three hours of analysis, 147 slides and one captain who only needs a few words.

Team selection at 06:00, cones in the bakkie and a lunchbox thrown in from touch.

A Saturday supermarket run, planned like a Test match. Seven trolleys. One loaf of bread.
Rassie doesn’t chase trophies.Trophies know where he lives.
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When Rassie says “we’ve got a plan,”New Zealand checks the departure board.
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Rassie doesn’t do small talk.He does set-piece talk.
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Rassie doesn’t have a backup plan.The backup plan has Rassie’s number.
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