Johannesburg - There is an ominous black cloud hanging over South African sport. The bell tolled not once, not twice, but three times for the country’s stars who still had much to offer.
And tucked away in a central Pretoria hospital jail cell, another fallen star still makes the headlines, his compelling narrative capturing the public’s attention, but for reasons that he would rather forget.
At times like these, the rash of records, and medals and memories of these stars pale into insignificance, because they have suddenly been removed from the stage of life as we mortals know it.
The tears of a nation flowed freely on Thursday, as Phindile Mwelase, Mbulaeni Mulaudzi and Senzo Meyiwa were remembered in Johannesburg.
The Standard Bank Arena was crammed with sporting glitterati befitting the most auspicious of awards evenings, but this was an altogether more sobering evening.
And, as is inevitable with sudden death, the collateral damage runs far deeper than we care to admit.
Mwelase, a female welterweight boxer from Ladysmith, but who trained in Joburg, had been in a coma for two weeks already, after suffering some crushing blows from Liz Butler over six rounds.
But punishment in the ring is something we see on a weekly basis, and the victim always rises, sometimes stumbling, but is seldom out cold. And a coma leaves a small window of opportunity that the sun will shine again.
Mwelase leaves a distraught mother and a shattered family, but also a victor who found no joy in the grim aftermath.
Butler has already indicated that after her fatal victory, she will not step into the ring again. So in one foul swoop, the sweet but brutal science has claimed two victims, and left a trail of suffering.
Those who try to make sense of these things would say that at least Mwelase’s demise was the most natural, for it happened in a combat sport that has always been fraught with danger, even if the combatants conceal the fear with bravado.
The loss of Mulaudzi was yet another tragic statistic on the roads of South Africa, a pandemic that knows no bounds. With every accident, there is always the nagging sense of avoidability, but no one truly knows what occurred in those final, precious moments.
The former world champion was in the process of preparing future stars, giving back to the athletic world that had opened doors and given him and us, as a supporting nation, shimmering memories on the world’s podiums.
He was also leading a “normal life”, giving his family the time that they had selflessly allowed him to dedicate to his career at the peak of his powers. No sooner did they have him, and he is gone now.
For a man whose career was defined by meticulous timing and control, the manner of Mulaudzi’s passing is all the more difficult to comprehend. Surely not him, the nation cried. But death knows no favourites and has no preferences.
It swoops suddenly, violently, to remind that none of us are immortal and you never know.
And while no life is more precious than the next, a nation gasped louder still when news broke that Meyiwa had become a high-profile victim of the scourge of violent crime in this beautiful, but brutal land of ours.
Even more so, the sense of waste lay heavy in the air. There lay a father, a friend, a son, a leader, a hero to millions. And yet, just like that, all that promise, all that pride and all that potential was gunned down. The cloud that lies heavy over South Africa this week will not lift easily.
These fallen stars’ places in the ring, or the track, or between the goalposts will be taken up by others, however, they are all irreplaceable, unique in their quirks and their character.
There will never be another Phindile, or Mbulaeni or, indeed, a Senzo.
They, like the rest of us, are one-offs and we will only see them in the future through the video archives that reduced their contemporaries to tears this week.
As always, life will have to go on, but perhaps there are lessons to be heeded from these tragedies.
In the case of Mulaudzi, we can only hope that his is a painful reminder that our roads are strips of convenience, but they are fraught with danger if you lose control. The festive season is upon us, and every year, the toll of those who didn’t make it to their destination rises.
Let the memory of Mulaudzi be a reminder that it can happen to anyone of us.
Of course, the slaying of Senzo has dominated social media and public forums, because he is just another who has been needlessly murdered for a pittance.
The mourners have come from all corners, because his profile dictates it. Sports stars command special attention because their skills are the envy of millions.
Many of us live vicariously through them, living out our dreams through their feats, and attaching importance to every little thing they do.
So when they go the way of thousands of mortals every year, senselessly killed for material goods of fleeting value, the sense of disbelief, the horror is amplified.
It doesn’t mean that their lives are more important, but the loss of Senzo would not be in vain if it kicks our leaders into urgent action.
And, tellingly, in a country where some still believe that crime discriminates according to race or social standing, his murder only serves to reiterates that our problems are the same.
No one is immune to this madness, to this crazy waste of life.
We can only hope that once the obituaries are done, and the dust settles, this is the trigger for much-needed action to curb these slaughters of our brothers and sisters, of every colour in the rainbow nation.
Because then, at least, we can dream that beyond the dark cloud, there is a ray of sunshine.
Sunday Independent