Pieter-Stepf Du Toit is Brutal

I'll always remember him as the 17th-best flank in the Southern Hemisphere in 2019. For me, that's broadly representative of the ceiling he's occupied throughout his career. He has also been extraordinarily fortunate in enjoying the sort of media reputation that preceded the actual body of work. He was being spoken of in terms of greatness as far back as 2014, before he'd achieved anything remotely commensurate with the billing, and I still don't believe the performances have ever caught up with the mythology.

Now, Beeno, before you respond, I realise what I've just done.

Please move all beverages away from the keyboard. Loosen the collar. Unclench the jaw. Release your grip on the mouse before somebody has to prise it from your hand. When Mrs Beeno appears at the door to investigate the furious hammering of keys, assure her that everything is under control and that Deus has merely expressed an opinion about Du Toit again.

Most importantly, breathe.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Resist the temptation to type “MAMPARA” until sufficient oxygen has once again reached the upper floors. The red mist will gradually clear, the veins will retreat, and eventually — perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow — you'll be ready to consider the unthinkable:

Du Toit might not be quite as good as Beeno thinks he is.

I realise this is advanced theology, High Priest. Take all the time you need.

Bwahmen.