"Japan stun South Africa" - The five biggest shocks in Rugby World Cup history

With six pools now set for the biggest tournament in history, memories of past World Cup earthquakes resurface—moments when giants fell, underdogs soared, and the sport’s unpredictability came sharply into focus.

Here’s a look back at the shocks that still echo today.

Kamaishi witnessed one of the World Cup’s most heartfelt moments as Uruguay, written off before the tournament even began, toppled a powerful Fiji side playing its second match in five days.

Fiji struck early through Mesulame Dolokoto, and when Eroni Mawi rumbled over again they seemed to have regained control.

But Los Teros had arrived brimming with belief, and the match soon unravelled into a breathless, bruising contest that suited the underdogs perfectly.

Santiago Arata’s sniping run stunned Fiji, Manuel Diana muscled over soon after, and Juan Manuel Cat’s try completed a whirlwind turnaround.

Felipe Berchesi’s calm boot kept the scoreboard ticking as Uruguayan players embraced every tackle as if it were their last. Fiji, by contrast, unravelled under pressure.

Missed kicks by Josh Matavesi and Ben Volavola kept the Pacific Islanders chasing the game, and although Nikola Matawalu’s late try salvaged a bonus point, the damage was done. Uruguay—playing their first match of the tournament—held on with a mixture of grit, heart and sheer defiance.

For a team made up largely of amateurs, it was a victory that transcended rugby: a reminder of what this tournament can still mean to players from the game’s smaller nations.

Cardiff Arms Park has seen its share of Welsh triumphs, but in 1991 it became the setting for one of the sport’s most humbling defeats.

Wales, semi-finalists four years earlier, entered their home World Cup with lofty expectations. Western Samoa, meanwhile, arrived as relative unknowns—strong, yes, but not expected to shake the tournament’s foundations.

From the opening minutes, it became clear Wales were in for a long afternoon. The Samoans brought a level of physicality the hosts had never encountered. Their tackling was brutal but legal, and each thundering hit seemed to drain both Welsh energy and Welsh belief. Players fell one by one: Mike Hall, Phil May, Richie Collins—all forced off as the Samoan onslaught continued.

With every defensive stand, Western Samoa grew taller. Their confidence soared; Wales’ evaporated. The home crowd watched in disbelief as handling errors mounted and the game’s rhythm slipped permanently from Welsh control. By the final whistle, the reality was unavoidable: Wales had been outmuscled, out-thought, and out-fought.

The 16–13 result not only sent shockwaves through the sport, it became a piece of rugby folklore—summed up neatly in the wry line heard for years afterwards: “Thank goodness we didn’t play all of Samoa.”

Twickenham has staged many unforgettable rugby moments, but few as breathtaking as France’s semi-final ambush of a New Zealand side widely considered unbeatable.

The All Blacks had Jonah Lomu in unstoppable form—two tries on the day confirmed as much—and a squad brimming with world-class talent. France, by contrast, had stumbled into the last four after an erratic tournament.

Yet from the opening whistle they played with a swagger the rugby world hadn’t seen from them in years. Christophe Lamaison orchestrated everything: early penalties, probing kicks, and audacious drop goals that pulled France back from 24–10 down.

Around him, Olivier Magne, Marc Lièvremont, Christophe Dominici and Philippe Bernat-Salles delivered the kind of inspired performance found only when French rugby hits its most joyful, chaotic peak.

Dominici’s iconic one-handed take and sprint flipped momentum entirely. Soon after, Richard Dourthe’s try had the Twickenham crowd roaring in disbelief, and when Bernat-Salles finished another sweeping move, the impossible was fully in motion.

New Zealand, rattled and error-strewn, could only watch as France piled on 33 second-half points. Lomu still looked superhuman, but even he couldn’t halt the avalanche. It remains, to many, the greatest World Cup upset—a night when France rediscovered its soul and the All Blacks lost their aura.

The 2007 World Cup opened in Paris with what was supposed to be a triumphant French showcase. Instead, the Stade de France turned into a cauldron of anxiety as Argentina—already respected but not yet seen as contenders—delivered an inspired, fearless performance.

The Pumas struck early through Felipe Contepomi’s boot, unsettling a French side whose nerves were obvious from the outset. Juan Martín Hernández peppered the hosts with bold drop-goal attempts, while the Argentine forwards attacked every breakdown with manic intensity.

Then came the moment that defined the match: a French attack broke down, Remy Martin’s pass was intercepted, and Ignacio Corleto raced the length of the pitch for a stunning try.

France never recovered their fluency. David Skrela’s kicking kept them within reach, but each time the home crowd sensed a surge coming, Argentina’s defence slammed the door shut again. Their tackling was relentless; their discipline, ironclad.

In the final minutes, the roar of the French crowd turned to disbelief. The Pumas missed chances to extend the lead, but they never lost control.

When the whistle blew, Argentina had not only beaten the hosts—they had announced themselves as a global force. The upset launched a remarkable campaign, reshaping rugby’s balance of power.

Brighton’s modest stadium became immortal on the night Japan produced the greatest upset in rugby history. South Africa—two-time world champions, giants of the sport—were expected to overpower the Brave Blossoms with ease.

Yet from the first minutes, it was clear Japan hadn’t read the script. Michael Leitch’s side tackled ferociously, moved the ball with ambition, and matched South Africa score for score.

Ayumu Goromaru delivered the game of his life: 24 points, immaculate kicking, and a beautifully crafted try that electrified the crowd. Still, each time Japan edged close, the Springboks responded through their forward power, pounding over via Francois Louw, Bismarck du Plessis, Lood de Jager and Adriaan Strauss.

But Japan refused to fade. With them behind 32-29 late on, they turned down a kickable penalty—a moment of breathtaking bravery. Instead, they chased the win against opponents who had built their rugby identity on ruthlessness.

Phase after phase, the ball moved wide until Karne Hesketh, diving into the corner with seconds remaining, sealed a result that stunned the sport.

Japan hadn’t won a World Cup match in 24 years. South Africa were tournament favourites. Brighton delivered a miracle that still echoes today: the day rugby’s hierarchy was blown apart.