Why Caring Is the Real Victory

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Oh, so good. So, so good. After years and years of early Saturday mornings to watch predictable hammerings or last-minute heartbreak at the hands of the old enemy in the land of the long white cloud, Saturday was a moment to savour. With good friends, my boys, and a warm spring day beckoning outside, we watched a revamped backline and a stellar performance from the subs (In MANIE we trust – never thought we’d say that, right?) demolish the All Blacks.

In only a week, a team of players that tripped over themselves (and the ref) to lose in Auckland once again came good in Wellington. The Kiwi capital has been good to the Boks of late, and I am down for it. We chased a record in Auckland, didn’t get it, and all hell broke loose from the critics, including myself. But fast forward seven days and we all eat humble pie. The Springboks handed the mighty All Blacks their greatest defeat in history.

And the nation stands taller. To see our team, clad in green and gold, dismantle the old enemy so completely… well, it doesn’t get much better than this. We measure ourselves against greatness, and five wins out of six against the All Blacks in our last few outings tells a story of finally rising to parity.

But what struck me most wasn’t the margin on the scoreboard. It was how quickly the mood of the press and fans swung. Only a week ago, commentators were whispering about a “Bok decline.” Questions were raised about Siya’s leadership, Rassie’s rotation policies, even whether this era was closing. Seven days later, the same writers and fans were calling this the greatest South African side ever assembled. I’m as guilty as anyone.

It reminded me of that chilling scene in 1984 where, in the middle of a rally, the speaker switches enemies. Without hesitation, the crowd flips its rage and cheers against the “new” foe, as though they had never believed otherwise. The people don’t question the sudden about-turn; they embrace it. Groupthink is powerful.

Sport is particularly prone to this swing. Because it lives in short cycles, and a match lasts 80 minutes, a series perhaps three weeks, emotion overrides perspective. Victories feel like destiny; defeats feel like collapse. The truth, as usual, lies somewhere in the middle.

Leaders know this. The best coaches and captains hold steady in the storm. They avoid the peaks and valleys of the public mood, choosing instead to focus on process, preparation, and consistency. That’s how dynasties are built.

Yet the best bit was after the game. The highlight of my weekend wasn’t the Boks’ try-fest in Wellington. It was the game of touch rugby afterwards with my boys, their friends, and my buddy Al. The South African sun was shining on the Breede River, the grass was underfoot, and their laughter was uncontainable. That’s when I was reminded: the real gift of sport isn’t the victory. It’s the privilege of having something, and someone, to care about.

We live in a world where many people have been numbed into indifference. To care deeply, even irrationally, about a team or a pastime is, in itself, a privilege. And that caring is rooted in struggle, rooted in a compelling conflict. Maybe that says something about the South African DNA. Given that life is just generally such a mission, our care levels are also elevated? South Africans have resilience, we know that. And maybe it is tied deeply to our ability to also really care.

In golf, the Ryder Cup mirrors the importance of care. In 1977, Tom Weiskopf didn’t even bother playing in the tournament. He went hunting instead. That indifference seems unthinkable today. Fifty years of drama and real contest has transformed the clash, and everyone wants in. Desperately. Now, with Bethpage Black just two weeks away, the anticipation is feverish. Players are consumed with preparation, fans are mapping pilgrimages, and the press dissects every pairing rumour. The difference isn’t in the event itself. It’s in how much people care.

Caring is what transformed the Ryder Cup from a sleepy exhibition into one of sport’s great theatres. Caring is what made the Boks stand up this week. Caring is what will make the All Blacks oh-so-dangerous in their next outing. Caring is what makes me equally joyful at a touch rugby game and angry at my son once again not following instructions.

And there’s the warning. Caring without perspective leads to the kind of groupthink Orwell captured: wild swings of mood, blind allegiance, irrational despair. The art is to care deeply without being carried away.

As business leaders, as parents, as teammates, our job is to steady the pendulum. To recognise the joy in the high without losing our heads, and to endure the low without despairing. The Springboks’ demolition reminded us how good it feels to win. My boys’ laughter reminded me how good it feels to care. Together, those are the moments that matter most.

PG’s Pro Tip:

“People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” – Teddy Roosevelt

It’s true in rugby, in Ryder Cups, and in business boardrooms. Knowledge without care feels cold. Wins without connection feel empty. But when people know you care about the team, about the work, about them… that’s when trust is built and joy is shared. So celebrate the scoreboard. But don’t forget the sunshine and touch rugby that follow. That’s the real victory.

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