Nelson Mandela and Francois Pienaar: the most iconic rugby image in history © Getty Images

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He was taller than you expected. He walked exactly as you expected. The impact of his presence was as you expected. It had you gasping; not often are the moments when one of the modern world's most important identities is just metres away, dressed in the most unexpected of garbs.

Memories of most football matches fade away. Not the 1995 Rugby World Cup final. Two decades on, everything remains so vivid about that afternoon, due to the defining moment when Nelson Mandela strode onto the pitch at Ellis Park.

The press box was situated on the halfway line midway up the main stand. It was right next to the players tunnel. We had just been scared witless, due to some lunatic granting permission for South African Airways to fly one of its jumbo jets just a hundred metres or so above the stadium. Without any warning, the jet shot just above the nosebleed seats. We suddenly thought we were part of a real-life horror movie. So close did the plane appear to be, you felt as if you could almost touch it. On the jet's underbelly were written the words: Good luck Bokke.

If that fly past wasn't frightening enough, on the stadium screens you then saw the plane make a dramatic 90-degree turn and head back our way for one more overpass - which direction you weren't exactly certain. The fear of everyone in the stadium was that the flight navigators may have had their distances and heights wrong, and we could be at the centre of one almighty disaster. This time as it flew past, it appeared to be even closer to the top of the stadium - prompting many of us to desperately duck for cover.

Only in South Africa.

"So close did the plane appear to be, you felt as if you could almost touch it" © Getty Images

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It took some time to compose yourself after that almighty shock.

Then came another mind-blowing moment. Look to your right. Surely not. Just a few metres away over a concrete wall was a person who looked eerily like Nelson Mandela, heading towards the field. And he was wearing a Springboks jersey, which had the number 6 emblazoned on its back. More shaking of the head. What is going on? What wacky voodoo medication did I accidentally slide down my throat that morning? No, the reverberation of sound that echoed around the ground when people realised who exactly was in the jersey convinced you this was no drug-haze experience.

After such an uplifting build-up, it was inevitable the Springboks would go on to win the final - with the added tension of beating the All Blacks in extra-time - enabling Mandela to be slap bang in the middle when the World Cup was presented, a key indicator that there was actually some hope for what was for too long an ugly, deeply divided country and for a sport that had for decades promoted the virtues of the white to the detriment of the local black community.

Due to such scenes, those frenetic six weeks of 1995 when South Africa wanted to show the world that, even though isolated for so long, it could stage a major world event remain high up on the list of most memorable experiences of my seven Rugby World Cup tournaments. It was certainly the least boring tournament.

Then again I had to be prepared for anything after being part of the historic return visit by the Wallabies three years earlier, when the Springboks had been welcomed back to the international fold. After a 23-year gap, the Wallabies were on their way to the Republic, and with it several weeks of lunacy.

Wallabies captain Nick Farr-Jones expressed his concern before the 1992 tour that he could be used as a political puppet; and then David Campese on arrival inflamed every South African by describing them all as arrogant.

A peace offering eventually came when the Wallabies, along with the All Blacks, who were also touring South Africa at the time, were invited to one of the most extraordinary and unexpected politics-meets-sports gatherings in history. The function for the three teams was staged in a gold mine, 226 metres beneath Johannesburg. What made it special? South African President F.W de Klerk, African National Congress sport spokesman Steve Tshwete and Chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi of the Inkatha Freedom Party had also been invited.

This looked like one almighty security nightmare, especially with the uneasiness between the ANC and Inkatha, who had been feuding for some time. They were also vehement opponents of De Klerk's government. But there they were mingling with the players in a dimly lit mine shaft, which was full of smoke from a row of barbeques cooking up an assortment of meats; the shaft was crowded even further by a bevy of scantily dressed women, who at regular intervals would start doing a rather risqué can-can - much to the surprise and delight of the homesick travellers. Conversation was near impossible as the rhythm of African drums that reverberated off the walls and low ceiling had the ears buzzing.

Memorable scenes that night included confronting De Klerk and asking if he had any plans to visit Australia. His reply: "I have never been invited." Then Chief Buthelezi tried to sneak past. Asked if wearing a New Zealand player's tie was to indicate he was an All Black, he offered a wink, showed his left hand, which had an Australian tie tucked in it, and said with a giggle: "I have the right tie now."

Back at ground level, we were given a guided tour of De Klerk's car that was fitted out like an armoured tank. His driver had a compact machine-gun underneath his coat. There were machine guns on either door, a bazooka in the boot, and each window was fitted with the thickest bullet-proof glass.

Two nations became one when Nelson Mandela strode to the centre of the pitch in a Springboks jersey and shook hands with Francois Pienaar, and Oscar winner Morgan Freeman tell the emotional story of that cornerstone moment and what it meant to South Africa's healing process in The 16th Man. Watch The 16th Man in Australia on ESPN on June 24 at 7am (EST) and 11pm (EST), and on ESPN2 at 5pm (EST).

Only in South Africa.

The deep political tone of this tour continued a few days later, when several Australian players and officials were invited to an audience with then ANC chief Nelson Mandela. The vision of him sitting at the press conference with a small Wallabies cap on his head was beamed all over the world. At this meeting, he gave the Australian team management his personal endorsement of the tour, which proved crucial when it was suddenly derailed the following week.

Nick Farr Jones and the Wallabies played South Africa in 1992 only after political wrangling © Getty Images

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The Wallabies were invited to attend the historic return Test between New Zealand and South Africa at Ellis Park. In the most hostile of surroundings, the local officials decided to snub the ANC's request that Die Stem, the whites' national anthem, not be played before the game. Louis Luyt, the influential Transvaal rugby president, allowed it to be sung, prompting the ANC after the match to threaten to withdraw their support of the Wallabies leg of the tour. This meant the safety of Australian players safety could not be guaranteed, and there appeared no alternative but for the Wallabies to go home several days before the proposed Test against the Springboks the following weekend in Cape Town.

After several tense days, which included a 2am press conference in ARU president Joe French's Port Elizabeth hotel room, which he conducted in his pyjamas, eventually the ANC relented and the Newlands Test was allowed to proceed.

Three years on, the Wallabies were unable to replicate the on-field triumph of Cape Town, where they had been inspired by several masterful Tim Horan moments and enjoyed a record 26-3 win over the Springboks.

In 1995, there were different interruptions.

Rupert Murdoch's Super League war had created a major distraction, with the Australian Rugby Union deeply worried that they would lose key Wallabies to the cashed-up league ranks. A breakaway rugby troupe, World Rugby Corporation, was also sniffing around the players offering them lucrative contracts to leave the establishment. The game was under threat of a serious divide.

As well, the Wallabies had made the fatal error of travelling to South Africa with players in their squad either not exactly fit or well short of form. Their training schedule was open to criticism, with concerns they had over exerted themselves before the pool matches. It was far from a settled group, constantly distracted by the WRC/Super League ferment. Not surprisingly the team seeded one for the tournament became also-rans, losing the opening pool match against South Africa at Newlands before Rob Andrew's drop goal saw them depart prematurely at the hands of England in the quarter-finals.

For the Wallabies, the 1995 World Cup was a miserable affair. And their humiliation was multiplied when many supporter groups on the way to South Africa bumped into the players on their way home during the stopover in Perth. The Wallabies soon discovered what their fans thought of the team's unexpected early exit. It wasn't savoury. Even 20 years on, many Wallabies fans and players talk about that eerie Perth encounter.

For those Australians who continued on their way to South Africa, it was a memorable occasion. The international media troupe initially was worried about working in a country that due to such a lengthy period of isolation was supposedly so behind the times in numerous areas, particularly in the communications field. We expected trying times in getting the story out of the country, but the media facilities and general organisation were excellent - with South Africa having been wise enough to bring in overseas help to ensure the media's often extensive and usually finicky demands were met.

And there were endless stories to distract us all, with the tournament revolving around constant dramas. The running of the World Cup had its occasional hitches, but overall it worked - culminating in the most dramatic finale of any of the tournaments so far.

Not surprisingly with anything involving South Africa, there were controversies - some which simmer to this day. The 1995 All Blacks remain adamant they were nobbled ahead of the final, claiming that a waitress at their Johannesburg team hotel, known as Susie, had poisoned them. All Blacks coach Laurie Mains was known as 'Lugubrious Laurie' due to his tense, caustic and often paranoid manner, but his team had been so far ahead of everyone else before the final, including the host nation. The memories of Jonah Lomu charging through anything England tried to put in front of him in their semi-final in Cape Town remained vivid; as did the plea from one New Zealand supporter who wrote to the team: "Remember rugby is a team game - all 14 of you pass the ball to Jonah!" It was their World Cup trophy to lose.

At the start of the tournament, South Africa were regarded among the top four or six teams but certainly well short of being World Cup favourites. The Springboks knew that, in particular worrying how they could counter the Lomu factor. To counter that, they attempted to convince their nation they were worthy ambassadors. Throughout the tournament, the Springboks relentlessly pushed the slogan: "One Team. One Country." It gradually worked.

On final night, the All Blacks were decidedly off, with countless players complaining of stomach cramps and general illness. Twenty of the 26 All Blacks squad members complained of food poisoning. Mains later alleged that Susie had been paid to put an odourless and tasteless local herb called "Indian Trick" into the team's supply of tea and coffee.

South Africa were meanwhile overly thankful towards the Welsh referee Derek Bevan. Near the end of their semi-final against France, Bevan opted against several scrummaging penalties that should have gone Les Bleus' way and seen the hosts embarrassingly become finals spectators.

The All Blacks were among those suspicious about that outcome. As revealed in Lance Peatey's In Pursuit of Bill, a history of the Rugby World Cup, Louis Luyt, now South African rugby president, said to New Zealand captain Sean Fitzpatrick as the All Blacks arrived at Ellis Park for the final: "Sean, I did everything I could to ensure the Boks would play the All Blacks in the final and now we are here."

Bevan did not referee the final, with England's Ed Morrison instead in charge as it went into extra-time; the deadlock was broken eventually by a field goal by Joel Stransky, prompting a wave of jubilation across the Rainbow Nation. But then South Africa's officials made a complete mockery of it all. Luyt's actions at the post-match function led to a walk out by the All Blacks, after he had presented Bevan with a gold watch and then claimed South Africa were the first "real" rugby world champions.

Only in South Africa.

Two nations became one when Nelson Mandela strode to the centre of the pitch in a Springboks jersey and shook hands with Francois Pienaar, and Oscar winner Morgan Freeman tell the emotional story of that cornerstone moment and what it meant to South Africa's healing process in The 16th Man. Watch The 16th Man in Australia on ESPN on June 24 at 7am (EST) and 11pm (EST), and on ESPN2 at 5pm (EST).