‘Friendships, foes, murders, assassinations, the inglorious underworld and the glorious world of Springbok rugby ... this is the 1995 World Cup winner James Dalton’s life story’

As we opened the car door to leave in the early hours of the morning, I heard a gun shot. What followed was the most haunting of cries: all he could muster was a pained and defeated ‘aaaah’ I swung around to see the gunmen, leaning out of the moving car, put more bullets into his slumped body.

It all lasted no more than 10 seconds but it felt like an eternity from the moment I heard the gun shot till getting him into the back of the car to rush him to the hospital. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. I watched the colour in his face disappear. I watched the blood flow slow down and I was powerless to do anything. I can’t remember what I said or was saying. I just wanted him to fight but the bullets had done all the fighting. He was dying while I was watching and by the time I carried him into the emergency operating theatre his body was lifeless.

My best friend was dead. He had been assassinated.