The gentle power of Waylon Murray

THERE’S a particular mythology around rugby in South Africa. It is loud. It is powerful. It is gladiator under stadium lights. It is power, grunt, anthem, bruised muscle, and national expectation.

- JANE LINLEY-THOMAS

And yet, as I sit down with former Springbok centre Waylon Murray on The House of Motherly podcast, instead of talking about the biggest hits, we go to the places that demand the greatest courage — without a crowd, without a whistle, without the roar of Kings Park Stadium behind him.

We start with Waylon as a young boy, the boy before the Bok. What did he dream about? What made him feel safe? Who made him feel seen? Because so often, before the world requires greatness, there is simply a little boy who wants to belong. This is where the tenderness begins.

We trace the exact moment rugby became more than just a game, when it shifted from pure play to identity, responsibility, and meaning. When the body, talent, and opportunity collide, but so does expectation. We speak about how much the world asks men to be strong. Strong bodies. Strong jawlines. Strong silence.