Rédaction Africa Links 24 with Des Erasmus
Published on 2024-02-25 05:01:00
In the world of rugby, James Small was a legend. His fierce competitiveness, passion for the game, and larger-than-life personality made him a beloved figure in South African sports history. However, despite all his success on the rugby field, there was always a sense that Small was searching for something more, something beyond the game that had defined him for so long.
Maybe it’s excessive to say he lost his life before he died. Maybe it’s more genteel to say he misplaced a life, in the way you might misplace your car keys or gym bag. There was something darkly comic about James Small losing his life in a strip joint. Some of us might have lost other things — our virginity, our wallets, our self-respect, we might even have lost our mates or our marriages in strip joints — but Small wasn’t a small gestures kind of guy. He was all in. And there he was, at The Harem strip club in Bedfordview, a Johannesburg suburb, having his ticker call time on a life he seemed to lose long before he dropped dead.
Small’s rugby life was filled with such vitality, such meaning, is it any wonder that he misplaced his second life? Maybe life after rugby somehow lacked intensity and meaning? He tried as best he could to get back together with his life, he really did. Only his life was rugby, and the mateship and intensity and adrenaline surge of rugby. After the rugby had gone, he tried everything. Modelling. Restaurants. Booze. Sex. Drugs. Sometimes he’d try all five on the same day. At one stage Small was a partner in an advertising agency. He even rode a Harley-Davidson motorbike, sometimes with his shirt off. I’ve always thought a Harley was a camp accessory for such a macho guy but Small was clearly prepared to try anything to get his old life back.
On the night of his death, the official version of events says that he had a heart attack, although it is germane to the record to point out that when he arrived at the hospital he was butt naked. To “have a heart attack” has always been one of those phrases that confuses me because it can give the impression that the heart is being attacked by forces outside of it. Thing is, the heart attacks itself. There’s something weirdly appropriate with Small’s heart attacking itself because, more than any other organ in his body, Small was all heart. He was the least cold-blooded kind of guy that I ever knew of because he was so scandalously, so completely, heartfelt. To say he was his heart is in no way being hyperbolic.
After his heart attack, Small was brought to the Bedford Gardens Hospital, a hospital that held personal significance for me as well. As I reflected on my own personal experiences with the hospital and the loss of my mother, I couldn’t help but see parallels between her journey and Small’s. Both had faced challenges and struggles, trying to navigate through life’s ups and downs. And in the end, despite their best efforts, they couldn’t escape the inevitable.
In the end, James Small’s life was a testament to the highs and lows that come with being a passionate and dedicated athlete. While his death may have been unexpected and tragic, his legacy lives on in the hearts of those who knew him and the rugby community as a whole. His story serves as a reminder that life is fragile, and we must cherish each moment we have, no matter how lost or misplaced we may feel.
Read the original article on Mail & Guardian
