Sport has a funny way of turning completely normal things into traditions. South Africans braai before a big game. The All Blacks perform the haka. Football fans blow vuvuzelas until everyone within a five-kilometre radius knows that there is a match happening. The Olympics have their famous flame. Footballers have their very specific goal celebrations. Fans have songs, chants, lucky shirts, and at least one pair of socks that they refuse to wash during a winning streak. Okay, maybe that last one is just some people.
But somewhere along the way, these things stopped being random habits and became part of sport itself. They are passed from parents to children, copied by new generations and eventually become something that fans cannot imagine the sport without. For Heritage Month, it is worth looking at the slightly less obvious side of sporting heritage. We all know about the trophies, the records, and the famous matches, but what about the traditions surrounding them? Where did they come from, and why do we still care about them? Because at the end of the day, sport would be pretty boring if it was just 90 minutes of people running around trying to score points.
If there is one thing South Africans know how to do, it is turn absolutely anything into an excuse for a braai. Birthday? Braai. Family gathering? Braai. Public holiday? Braai. The Springboks are playing? Obviously, braai. The braai has become so closely associated with South African culture that it feels almost inevitable that it would find its way into our sporting traditions too. Before a big rugby match, it is not unusual for families and friends to gather around a fire, argue over who should be in the starting lineup, predict the score, and somehow have a heated debate about something that has absolutely nothing to do with rugby. And that is what makes it such an interesting sporting tradition.
The braai is not technically part of the game. There is no rulebook saying that you have to eat boerewors before kick-off. Yet for many South Africans, it is part of the experience. It turns watching sport into a social event. You are not just watching the Springboks. You are watching them with your family, your friends, your neighbours, or whoever happened to arrive when they heard there was food. It is a tradition that has been passed down without anyone really sitting down and deciding, “Right, this is now officially a tradition.” It just happened. And somehow, that makes it even more South African.
Then there is the All Blacks’ haka. A South African nightmare. The players line up, stare down their opponents, and perform a powerful Māori ceremonial dance before the match. It is probably one of the few pre-match traditions that can make you think, ”I am not sure I would want to be standing on the other side of that.”
But the haka is much more than an intimidating rugby ritual. Its roots lie in Māori culture, where haka have traditionally been performed for different occasions, including welcoming guests, celebrating achievements, and expressing emotion. The All Blacks adopted the tradition during their international tours in the late 19th century. Over time, it became one of the most recognisable parts of New Zealand rugby. What makes it so special is that the All Blacks are not just performing something because it looks cool on television. They are taking a piece of Māori heritage onto one of the biggest sporting stages in the world.
And that is where sporting traditions get really interesting. A tradition can start somewhere completely separate from sport and eventually become inseparable from it.
If the 2010 FIFA World Cup taught the rest of the world anything about South Africa, it was that we really, really like making noise. Enter the vuvuzela. The plastic horn became one of the defining sounds of the 2010 World Cup. For an entire month, stadiums were filled with a constant buzzing sound that supporters either absolutely loved or probably wanted to throw out of a window. The vuvuzela was not invented for the World Cup, though. Similar horns had already been used by football supporters in South Africa, particularly in township football culture. The World Cup simply gave the vuvuzela a global audience. Suddenly, millions of people around the world were asking the same question: what is that noise? For South Africans, however, the vuvuzela was more than an annoying plastic instrument. It was part of the atmosphere. The 2010 World Cup was being hosted in South Africa, and the vuvuzela made sure that the tournament sounded like it was being hosted in South Africa too. It became a symbol of the tournament and remains one of the first things many people associate with the 2010 World Cup.
Anyone who has been to a big football or rugby match knows that the players are not the only ones putting on a show. The supporters have their own traditions. Songs and chants can be just as recognisable as the teams themselves. In South Africa, football supporters have developed songs and chants that have been passed down through generations, becoming part of the identity of clubs and their supporters. Rugby has its own version of this. There is something about thousands of people singing together that makes a stadium feel completely different. You could be sitting next to someone you have never met, supporting the same team, and suddenly you are both screaming the same song like you have been best friends for years. One example is ”Shosholoza”, which has become strongly associated with South African sport. Originally a song sung by migrant workers, it eventually became a symbol of solidarity and unity and found a home in sporting stadiums. It is difficult to explain why thousands of people singing together feels so powerful without sounding extremely dramatic, but it does. And that is the point – sport creates these shared experiences where strangers suddenly become part of the same community.
You cannot really talk about sporting traditions without mentioning the Olympic flame. Every four years, the flame begins its journey to the host city, carried by a series of torchbearers before eventually being used to light the Olympic cauldron at the opening ceremony. The modern Olympic flame was first introduced at the 1928 Amsterdam Games while the torch relay was introduced at the 1936 Berlin Games. The flame is meant to connect the modern Olympic Games with the ancient Games of Greece. Although the Olympic Games have changed dramatically over the years, the flame has remained. It is one of those traditions that makes the Olympics feel like the Olympics. You could remove half the opening ceremony, change the mascot, and introduce a completely new sport, but if someone suddenly said, “We’re not doing the flame this year,” there would probably be an international meltdown. That is the power of tradition.
Some traditions are not centuries old. Sometimes, they start with one athlete doing something slightly different after scoring. Then their teammates start doing it. Then the fans start copying it. And suddenly, ten years later, everyone knows exactly what it means. Football is probably the best example of this. Players have developed signature celebrations ranging from dances to gestures dedicated to family members, friends, or even video games. Some are carefully planned. Others are completely spontaneous. Either way, they give us something that statistics cannot – personality. We spend so much time talking about athletes through their numbers. How many goals? How many medals? How many wins? But when a footballer slides across the grass after scoring or performs a “SUIII” they have clearly been waiting months to do, we see the person behind the athlete. And sometimes, those moments become traditions of their own.
The interesting thing about traditions is that most of us probably do not think about them while we are doing them. You do not sit around a braai thinking about the cultural significance of standing around a fire before watching the Springboks. You do not sing a team song and think, ”Wow, I am currently participating in an important example of collective sporting identity.” You just do it. That is what makes heritage so interesting. It is not always something sitting behind glass in a museum. Sometimes, it is something you do without even realising that you are doing it.
Sport is constantly changing. Players retire, stadiums get renovated, rules change, and new technology gets introduced. But traditions have a way of sticking around. Your dad teaches you the song. Your grandmother tells you how she watched the final. Your friends drag you to the braai before the game. You learn the chant. You buy the same jersey. And suddenly, you are part of something that existed before you and will probably exist after you.
Maybe that is what makes traditions so important. Sport is ultimately about people. Yes, the records matter. The trophies matter. The final score definitely matters when your team is losing by one point with thirty seconds left. But the traditions surrounding sport are what give those moments meaning.
The haka connects rugby to Māori heritage. The vuvuzela connects the 2010 World Cup to South African football culture. The Olympic flame connects today’s Games to their ancient roots. Songs connect generations of supporters. And the humble South African braai somehow turns watching a rugby match into a full-day family event.
These traditions remind us that sport is not just something we watch. It is something we participate in. And maybe that is the best definition of sporting heritage: the things we keep doing because someone did them before us, and the things we will eventually teach to someone else. Because while the players may change, the traditions usually remain. And thankfully, someone will always be standing next to the braai insisting they know exactly why the coach got the starting lineup wrong.
Visual: Jemma Thomson
