From troublemaker to child protector

THIS was a well-known bar in Green Point. Just before Covid-19. A man sat down next to me and in my tomfoolery I told him I could read palms. He held out his hand and there I was, scrutinising the lines in his hand.

His eyes widened and the more he looked at me in amazement the wilder my predictions became. When he left the waiter, Stella, asked me if I knew him. No.

Did I know who he was? No, I didn't know. In awe, she revealed that it was James Dalton, a former rugby player. Because I don't normally watch rugby I was none the wiser. Diving is my interest.

Because I do often go to that bar, I find myself glancing at games on the TV; mostly I enjoy the atmosphere and participate in the spirit of the moment. It reminds me of the days before TV when sports commentator Gerhard “Spiekeries" Viviers described rugby matches to listeners of the Afrikaans radio service of the SABC.

The faster the guy ran with the ball, the faster Gerhard started talking, his voice rising higher and if the player scored a try, there was chaos. One heard the cheers and screams of his listeners in homes all around. I liked that atmosphere.

I googled James. Many are the successes that do the hooker proud,  probably known to Vrye Weekblad's elect readers, so briefly: He played in 43 test matches 35 of which were on the winning side. He ran out 10 times in the Tri-Nations, scored two tries and played in two tests in the 1995 Rugby World Cup. In his eight years in international rugby, he played against 11 countries and the British and Irish Lions.

***

The day after my meeting with him at that bar, I read about a fight in which he was involved at an eatery in Sea Point where I had also metaphorically “thrown around apples".

Its customers were known for their provocatory ways but when they went looking for trouble with James, didn't always know who they were dealing with. At the time James had a purple belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. He is still actively involved in the sport.

Within seconds, he had wrestled the man, much taller than him, to the ground and held him there until the security guards and police arrived. The matter was resolved rather quickly and amicably.

At one stage he was in the Sea Point police cells for three nights. “It was the best three days of my life," he says. “It was like a holiday." Nothing came of that either, there was no dossier.

The press had mostly treated him harshly, Dalton tells me, especially the Afrikaans media. Smoke there was, but few real fires. Yes, it happened that he got inebriated and behaved like a bully and was then arrested, but a case had never been brought successfully against him.

Someone once ran to the newspapers and lied that he was involved in a hit-and-run accident, also in Sea Point. “It was an infamous lie," he says. “Rubbish!"

He speaks Afrikaans because he grew up in an Afrikaans home, but we two-step with Afrikingels. James says as soon as he puts a foot wrong, the media “name and shame" him. They are obsessive.

“Have any journalists called you to get your side of the story, before they publish the stories?" I ask. “No," he replies. Come on, it's not journalism, it's pony press hit-and-miss talk.

***

We order food to eat. He gets himself a 400 g rib fillet, one helluva piece of meat which you could beat a burglar over the head with. I order garlic snails. He gets a cappuccino.

The waiter asks him if he wants sugar for his coffee. “No thanks, I'm sweet enough," he replies. She giggles like a flirting teenybopper.

A man at another table comes up to him and shakes his hand. “We miss you, James," he says. “Thank you, brother," James answers.

He doesn't mind people approaching him, but some have no sense of boundary. A stranger once walked up to him and stroked his head, telling him: “Oh, but you're so small." James responded: “Hey, I'm not your fucking playmate!"

***

It's two days before James' one-year milestone, free from booze and sleeping pills. In front of me sits a man who looks years younger than when I met him before Covid-19. At 52, his skin is fresh, his blue eyes the colour of the summer air in the Free State.

I WhatsApp him on the big day, December 6, to congratulate him. He is childishly happy and passes on a message that his loved one, Nadene, had sent him: “My love. What a year it's been. The best year so far. A year of continued restoration.

“One of growth, new business and personal growth, courage and dedication. Congratulations being 1 year sober. I am so proud of you. Your strength  and commitment is so honorable.  Well done my Bully. Thank you for the changes you've made this year.

I love you so much.”

***

Before he stopped drinking, there was a fire in him, deep in his gut, James tells me. In an interview with Marlon Brando about this exact same fire, the great actor says: “So many talents burn quickly and hungrily [...] and it was true of me. So little time, so few opportunities. Your talent races through time and people like a forest fire, burning, consuming, destroying.”

James says the thing about some of the wrong decisions he had made and his temper is that there was no rite of passage from the time he left school to the time he started making a name for himself as a rugby player in his late 20s.

Already at school (Jeppe Boys High in Johannesburg) he was known as a top player, but suddenly it became like a runaway train. He worked himself to death just to be the best, people don't realise how much he pushed himself. When his friends at school woke up with a babelaas on Sundays, he was off to practice. He also participated in judo.

Then you become famous and you haven't even had a chance to grow up. “You haven't matured yet, and it plays out later in your life," he says. There's something magical about running on the pitch before a big game, the big crowds, that makes you realise, wow, this is rock 'n' roll stuff, this is powerful.

As he rode this wave of fame and success, he began to unravel. He woke up one morning and realised he couldn't go on like that.

***

“It was dark for me, I drank for the effect. There were mood swings. I was in denial. Then that fire I was talking about. I stoked it with alcohol and sleeping pills. I took 180 sleeping pills over three days, it didn't work anymore, I couldn't take it anymore," he says.

There was also a lot of shame in him, because he had this bad boy reputation. “I am sensitive, I am also human, all the negative publicity about my life not only made me ashamed, but also hurt me a lot. Those people who shamed me, shame on you!”

(Experts write that shame is one of the underlying drivers for alcohol and drug addiction. At Alcoholics Anonymous one of the sayings is: “Shame dies on exposure.").

“Look, I'm a crazy bastard, but I'm not a piece of garbage," he says.

***

Over time, as his head cleared without booze and pills, his priorities changed. He is an ambassador for welfare organisation the Jag Foundation and has a deep interest in mental health.

At schools, they install security technologies such as CCTV and automatic licence plate recognition that can monitor strange cars waiting outside schools. They are alert to kidnappings, which are on the rise in South Africa, and can happen at lightning speed. He also launched a campaign against bullies which entails placing talismans (mascots) at strategic places in schools.

He trains a lot, several times a week he gets up at 4:00 to practice his Brazilian jiu-jitsu. “I'm grading for my third stripe at jiu-jitsu, one more after that I'm on to brown, and ultimately my black belt. Only 3% of contestants achieve this in jiu-jitsu," he says.

***

What does James think of the state of rugby today? “If you have a group of 50 rugby players who are all equally good, then they are obviously world-class. There are those on the field and then the reserves, all made of the same fabric. No wonder they won two rugby World Cups back-to-back," he says.

“It's like we breed them, one winner after another, their physical strength is breathtaking. Their tolerance is exceptional."

Rassie? “He's a genius," says James. “When he was still playing, after every game he would watch it over and over with his remote control. He knows how winners' heads work, it's like he's smuggling it.

“They must not be distracted. You have to be in the moment (mindful). He takes your attention away from the things that don't matter. Don't sweat the small stuff. Also, you can't win if you're wondering what the other team is going to do," says James.

***

James Dalton was born on August 16, 1972. He is 52. His father's name was also James and he was a colonel in the police. His mother Olga worked for a bank. He has fond memories of his childhood, growing up in a police house in Kensington.

“I remember the big field opposite the police houses where we could play cricket as children. That open piece of field is today a shopping centre. As a tjokker I also spent a lot of time with my father at the police station," he says.

Most boys long for their mother's food, what does he long for? I ask. He answers without even thinking about it: “Sunday lunches: rice, potatoes, meat and melkkos [milk soup]."

He goes on to talk about his father insisting that he exercise. Judo, cricket, athletics. He taught him  a lot about discipline. He would prepare to watch Pippie Longstocking on TV, but his father would say: “Come boeta, we're off to judo. You need to practice."

After matriculating, he went jolling with friends in Durban. Rugby was not part of his future plans, he wanted to become a bodybuilder.

Then a call came from his father: “Pack your bags, you got a rugby scholarship at the University of the Free State. Go for it.”

That's how it all began – one phone call and with years of dedication, practice, perseverance – until today he has a rich career behind him and is building a ripe new life. His days of causing trouble are over.

We say goodbye and later I get a WhatsApp: “They can name and shame me. I am the one and only bullet and I am a winner and will exceed and excel in all I do. Numero Uno – Number 1. I did it my way.”

Who would have thought that I would have lunch with a sports-crazy ex-rugby player, someone I didn't even know. He has me in the palm of his hand, the one I had read all those years ago.

Push through old mate, you can. And remember: “The opinions of others don't pay your bills. Keep your focus going.”

• Read more about James's My Safe Space.

♦ VWB ♦

BE PART OF THE CONVERSATION: Go to the bottom of this page to share your opinion. We look forward to hearing from you.

Click here to register 📌