An Australian and the national chairperson of the ANC walk into a hotel bar on Saturday night. The Australian asks for a bottle of red wine. And some Coke. Two cans. He mixes the two into a glass and drinks it. He sits quietly, eyeing the bottle. He has an award-winning mullet. It is shiny and lush, long and lovingly brushed at the back with just the right amount of spikiness on top. He’s not in a happy mood. It has not been a good day to be an Australian and he is at The Cullinan, the same hotel as the Australian cricket team. He launches into a rant about Steve Smith and Cameron Bancroft to anyone who will listen. He sounds confused and hurt. He stops, picks up his bottle of wine and leaves, headed to his room, his mullet trailing him like a wedding train. At a table in the corner of the bar sits Gwede Mantashe. He’s down for the Cape Town International Jazz Festival. He’s wearing a checked shirt, smiling and joking. He seems in a good place.Twenty-four hours later David Warner sa...

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