Not many readers of this column will remember the Battle of Boet Erasmus. It was July 13, 1974. I was in Port Elizabeth with my father, waiting for the right moment to tell him that I had dropped out of architecture at the then University of Natal in Durban. We’d driven from Umtata, where we both were born and raised, for the third test in what was proving to be a tense tour by the British and Irish Lions. They’d won the first two tests. The mighty Springboks didn’t seems to have an answer to them. They were incredibly strong in the scrum and their backs ran like the wind. And they ran straight. Boet Erasmus, the stadium, is no more. But I remember the stand behind the poles on my right was reserved for blacks only, all of whom seemed to be supporting the Lions. At the bottom, on the grass, at least 30 policemen with dogs patrolled this part of the ground. Dogs or not, those blacks were in for a treat. I remember the Lions tripping out onto the field like kids in a school play. They...

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