One minute to go and a very large man in a South African jersey is defying his bulk as he races towards the Irish try-line with improbable levels of speed.

It's none other than Tendai 'The Beast' Mtawarira and just when we think it's safe, the mythical monster has emerged to haunt our waking hours. It's the beast in the fog. Is this a rugby match or a John Carpenter horror movie?

Panic stations. Don't say that South Africa are going to snatch this one right at the death, in the final seconds before the credits roll. At last they have stirred themselves. Facing defeat in the face, they come to life and are cutting swathes through the Irish cover.

They move the ball again but the clean-cut star of many recent blockbusters pulls another heroic act from his bag of tricks to stop the baddie in his tracks. It's Bruce O'Driscoll, Brian Willis, and as ever he is dying hard. He slams into a tackle on Jaque Fourie, the referee's final whistle sounds and the Dricmeister is on his back, stretched out, as the 80,000 crowd throws its popcorn in the air.

His team-mates converge on him to applaud his latest deed but it looks like he needs the magic sponge, not a barrage of hugs and slaps on the back. Soon he is up on his feet and if there was a sunset he'd be walking into it. Ireland have beaten the world champions and this annus mirabilis for Irish rugby concludes on a high note.

But there's no sunset. Instead he has to make do with a blanket of fog. At one stage in that second half the thought crossed our mind that Nigel Owens would abandon the match as the grey mist turned to white fog. Then in those terrifying final moments we were hoping that if Mr Owens had to go upstairs to get a definitive verdict on a South African try from the television match official, the fog would throw a blanket over every camera angle too.

It didn't quite come to that but it did leave us pondering the thought that if the South Africans had shown similar ambition earlier in the game, they might have scored a second try and battened down the hatches thereafter. Because for all the battering the home side did on or close to their line, the Irish never looked like penetrating the wall of Springbok muscle that awaited their every drive and rumble. We had the repeated sight of Irish players hurling themselves at the ramparts only to be stopped, and frequently driven back. When that failed, the next option was the chip over the top, which was comfortably dealt with too. A try wouldn't just have been the icing, it would have rubberstamped Ireland's greater ambition and will to win on the day.

Ralph Keyes, in the commentator's box with Ryle Nugent for RTE, said before the game that there wasn't a lot at stake in this game. And technically there wasn't. But the pecking order was up for grabs, the status quo which ordains that southern hemisphere nations are entitled to beat our lot whenever they so choose. It's the natural order of things in rugby and it is important that it is challenged -- especially when the best team this country has arguably ever produced is putting its reputation on the line. And besides, it is always satisfying to beat South Africa, even it it's just for the sake of beating them.

As early as the fifth minute Ireland demonstrated their specific intent for this game when a couple of players in white shirts went flying into a ruck, low to the ground and with kamikaze speed. It was obvious they had been drilled and warned, in no uncertain terms, to keep Heinrich Brussow's thieving hands away from the ball. Brussow's renown as a relentless pilferer at the breakdown had preceded him and the Irish players were psyched up from the start to keep him at bay.

The scrum was another matter. The stats said that the South African forward pack weighed in at 918 kgs, Ireland 881. In the 14th minute, they shunted back an Irish scrum like it was men against boys. "And that is a worry," said a worried Nugent, "it's a significant worry." The camera relayed images of the Irish front row. There would be, said Keyes, "a long afternoon in store for those lads."

It got longer two minutes later when Schalk Burger steamed in for the only try of the game and then promptly booted the ball into the Canal End -- as bovine as his name suggests. "What an idiotic celebration," remarked Keyes.

Ireland kept coming, sometimes even in waves as they piled on the phases and, if not penetrating that fearsome wall, at least forcing the South Africans into making reams of tackles.

Jonathan Sexton, meanwhile, kept the scoreboard ticking over in a display that suggested the changing of the guard between he and Ronan O'Gara was now at hand.

South Africa kept kicking the ball downfield and Rob Kearney kept catching it. He is truly a majestic sight under the high ball, with an impeccable technique and the confidence to go with it. Kearney and Sexton are part of the new wave. They were part of an immense team effort yesterday that ultimately prevailed in the gloom.

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Sunday Independent