When you're young and stupid this is how you imagine all sports moments ought to look, like something out of a G-rated movie about an all-star donkey who plays point guard, or one of those daydream sandlot plays that involves you jumping off a friend's shoulders to catch the would-be home run. Then you grow up and learn that, in fact, NFL players don't stunt each other skyward to block the field goal because such a brilliant maneuver would in fact be too brilliant, on the order of cheating. (Also, health ramifications. There's a great chance someone would pulverize your spine like a stack of soggy crackers on the way down.) Sports seems less like a transcendent buddy comedy waiting to happen and more like a collection of jocks who have been nanny-stated into an imagination-free zone where the race does go to the swift and the battle to the strong and the world at large considers trampolines a menace. And then we wonder why "The Avengers" rakes in receipts that make "Titanic" look like "John Carter." Because they're on a team and they throw each other around. That's how you win, guys! We've been trying to tell you that for, like, ever.
Then a Zimbabwean rugby player nicknamed (codenamed?) Beast does what any honest, hyperstrong rugby player would do in a situation when a teammate becomes temporarily gravity-free, and is in danger of returning to earth. Tendai Mtawarira hoists the teammate up by his clothing, behind his head, and protects him from certain self-wreckage while opponents stare on in a sort of trance. The chap who runs into the screen at 1:00, eyes saucering, is marveling at the feat of raw power, perhaps. Or he's imagining how awesome it would be to play on a team where dudes bust out superhero moves just, like, whenever.