Published: 2 hours ago | 6 September 2026 03:50 CDT
Updated: 2 hours ago | 6 September 2026 03:51 CDT
mens
international
South Africa’s hooker Malcolm Marx takes a selfie with supporters after his team’s victory during the third Rugby’s Greatest Rivalry international rugby union match between South Africa and New Zealand at the FNB Stadium in Johannesburg, on September 5, 2026. (Photo by PHILL MAGAKOE / AFP via Getty Images) 
An hour had passed in a pulsating contest in the cavernous calabash that is FNB Stadium. Minutes earlier Will Jordan had rounded a superb All Blacks move and Jesse Kriel brushed past Leroy Carter to land an instant riposte. Sacha Feinberg-Mngomezulu’s conversion nudged the Springboks ahead for the first time. The entire series hung in the balance like a stack of Jenga tiles after one too many pieces had been removed.
Then Malcolm Marx arrived; his team under pressure, he stooped low to come up with a brutal, momentum-shifting steal. The Boks hooker shot a wagging finger and wore an expression that was less the satisfaction of a professional athlete completing a technical skill than that of a schoolyard bully mocking the unfortunate kid who had just discovered that standing up to him was a mistake.
That may seem unfair on Marx. It is not intended as an insult. It is an attempt to identify a particular type of South African man, a species that exists far beyond rugby.
Growing up in Johannesburg in the early 2000s, I saw this archetype bare-chested at Wild Waters parties in Boksburg, hogging the pool table at Stones in Edenvale or wearing too many buttons undone at Tiger Tiger in Fourways. He was the last guy you wanted to see arrive at your house party.
He would look for a scrap, for some oke to moer. Even if he never threw a punch, the possibility of violence travelled with him. He walked with an energy that was menacing and magnetic. He did not need to start the trouble. It was enough that everyone believed he might.
South Africa
New Zealand
Because this group of players has been in the public eye for so long, and because they have achieved so much, it has been easy to draw large narratives around them and place each man within a broader framework. Siya Kolisi is the statesman who emerged from poverty. Cheslin Kolbe is the boy who side-stepped gangsterism on the Cape Flats. Pieter-Steph du Toit is the humble iron giant from the farm. Handre Pollard is the head prefect. Feinberg-Mngomezulu, the manicured Born Free of a new generation, is still writing his mythology in real time.
Marx belongs to a different tradition. He is the breeker. The hard man. The alpha boytjie. The rugby player who looks as though he has spent his entire life waiting for somebody to make the mistake of challenging him.
Yet the danger of this image is that it can obscure the player. Marx is not merely a vessel for South African masculinity. He is one of the greatest hookers ever: a devastating carrier, a fierce defender, an expert lineout operator and one of the most instinctive breakdown players of his generation.
His steal in the 61st minute was not random violence. It was precision. Du Toit’s tackle halted New Zealand’s go-forward. Marx read the shape of the breakdown, lowered his body and arrived with perfect timing. In one movement he changed possession, territory and belief.
Five minutes later he was at the back of the maul. Du Toit had reached every centimetre of his two-metre frame to bring down the ball at the rear of the lineout inside New Zealand’s 22. Marx then directed the bodies in front of him, keeping the maul alive as it travelled 20 metres sideways and towards the posts.
Was it the most impressive maul in Springboks history? The near-50-metre shunt against Japan in the 2019 World Cup quarter-final was pretty special. But, with respect, that was against Japan. This was against the All Blacks. By the time the maul splintered, Marx was close enough to fall over the line and make it 26-17.
The two moments were connected. Marx first took the ball away from New Zealand. He then turned the pressure that followed into points. The steal restored South Africa’s control; the maul gave them a lead New Zealand could no longer comfortably chase.
The All Blacks had the prettier numbers. They enjoyed 57 per cent possession, made 182 passes to South Africa’s 105 and produced 12 line breaks to the Springboks’ five. They carried for 373 post-contact metres, compared with South Africa’s 270. Their attack was more fluid and their hands were more adventurous. For long periods, they looked like the better rugby team.
South Africa’s hooker Malcolm Marx celebrates after scoring a try during the third Rugby’s Greatest Rivalry international rugby union match between South Africa and New Zealand at the FNB Stadium in Johannesburg, on September 5, 2026. (Photo by GIANLUIGI GUERCIA / AFP)
But the Springboks were cleaner in the areas that decide close matches. They won all 12 of their lineouts and all six of their scrums. Ox Nche’s power produced the penalty try. Kriel answered Jordan almost immediately. Marx then supplied the intervention that shifted the game decisively towards the home side.
South Africa have long had players capable of defining a match in a single instant: Lukhanyo Am creating the space for Makazole Mapimpi in the 2019 World Cup final, Morne Steyn landing the decisive penalty against the British & Irish Lions in 2021, Nche bending England’s scrum until it broke in 2023. Those moments were not accidents, but neither were they the work of identical players.
That is the appeal of this Springboks team. Its characters are distinct, but their qualities fit together. Kolisi gives them moral authority. Du Toit gives them relentless labour. Feinberg-Mngomezulu gives them invention. Marx gives them the threat that a game can suddenly become physical in a way the opposition cannot control.
The wagging finger was theatre. The steal was skill. The maul try was power. Together, they explained why South Africa are now 2-1 ahead in the series and why the final Test in Baltimore will feel more like an encore than a decider.
This is what the Springboks do: they create the conditions for a defining act, then trust the player best equipped to deliver it. Malcolm Marx just happens to look as though he has been waiting all night for one.