In allowing CSA an easy escape, parliament failed cricket

“I don’t even know this person who you are talking about. Who’s that person?” – committee chair Beauty Dlulane fails to recognise the name of Naasei Appiah, who is mentioned 10 times in a summary of the Fundudzi report.

TELFORD VICE | Cape Town

CSA will hold its board’s feet to the fire for losing its way before, during and after the tenure of Thabang Moroe, who was not qualified to be appointed chief executive. But the findings of the forensic investigation that was used to sack Moroe and might yet cost others their positions will not be made public.

Also, the conflict of interest inherent in CSA’s upper structures must be undone, the game will be in trouble if international teams do not resume touring soon, and government should interfere in cricket if needs be.

That was the extent of the value of the almost four hours CSA spent discussing the Fundudzi forensic report with a parliamentary committee on Tuesday. For the rest, CSA were in the unusual position of appearing to be the more competent people in the room. Then again, the other people in the virtual room for the online meeting were shockingly out-of-touch with the state of the game — and thus woefully unsuited to their roles.

Although the oversight committee, comprised of MPs from a range of parties, was furnished with the 468-page report on Friday, it was apparent that most members hadn’t bothered to give the document more than a cursory glance.

On being informed that Naasei Appiah had joined the meeting despite having been being fired as CSA’s chief operating officer — a decision he says he will fight — Beauty Dlulane, the committee chair, said: “I don’t even know this person who you are talking about. Who’s that person?” Appiah is mentioned 10 times in the summary of the forensic report released on October 5, and presumably more often in the full version. If Dlulane had been familiar with either document she would have known who he is. 

Consequently, CSA’s representatives were able to deal easily with half-volleys instead of snorters and yorkers, correcting umpteen errors of fact committed by ignorant committee members as they went. The meeting was an exercise in worthlessness mitigated only by the contributions of Marius Schoeman, the CSA independent director who chairs its audit and risk committee.

“There is clarity that what happened happened under the watch of the board, and accountability rests with the board,” Schoeman said. “The board appoints the executive and has an oversight function. The current board has an accountability and a responsibility to address the findings [of the report]. No finding can be left and not be actioned on, and that’s the responsibility of the current board.” And the buck doesn’t stop with board members: “Every [CSA] employee who is implicated in the report will be addressed within the disciplinary code.”

When will the rest of us get a look at those 468 pages? “The report will remain confidential,” Schoeman said. “The feedback to stakeholders will be the actions that have been taken. We will not reveal details within the document. We will get a third-party assurance provider that will confirm that specific matters have been addressed.”

Much of the report deals with the failings of Moroe, who was dismissed in August. Should he have landed the post at all, considering he came to it from a midlevel position with a cellphone service provider? “As far as the question of the appointment of Mr Moroe, that he didn’t meet the minimum requirements, yes — you are correct,” Schoeman told a curious committee member. “It’s a finding that I find astonishing, in that one has minimum requirements. The report also indicates that the advertisement was different from the job description. In my experience those are things that should not happen.”

Much that shouldn’t happen does happen at CSA, not least because its highest authority, the members council where each of cricket’s 14 provinces is represented, also takes seven places on the 12-member board. That could change at the annual meeting, which is scheduled for December 5. “We realise that there’s much work to be done insofar as regaining the trust of our stakeholders, including the public,” Schoeman said. “One of the key factors, and it comes out of the report, is the inherent conflict of interest that exists because members of the members council are also board members. In terms of the members council charter and MOI [memorandum of incorporation] they have to act in the best interests of the affiliate members that has nominated them, but as a director they have to act in the best interests of CSA. I do not want to be in their shoes, because it’s difficult to wear those two hats. The priority is on doing what’s best for CSA, because the role of directors is governed by the Companies Act and overrides charters. Poor oversight, poor governance — it’s evident from the report; no doubt.”

Schoeman was supported by Dheven Dharmalingam, another CSA indepedent director, who said: “We need to make sure that, at the annual meeting, this board ends up with a majority of independent directors.” 

Dharmalingam, CSA’s finance committee chair, made the case for government to allow South Africa to host international teams again in the wake of the coronavirus lockdown: “If we don’t start playing cricket, we don’t earn content revenue [from broadcast rights] and we don’t earn our share of the profit from the ICC, [and] this organisation will be in trouble.”

Teams from countries that have high virus infection rates need government permission to visit South Africa. England, who CSA hope will arrive near the end of the year to play six white-ball matches and put up to USD4.2-million into the coffers, is such a country. Will they be allowed to come?

Not by the tone of committee member Nocks Seabi’s view: “CSA is a public entity. It is running cricket as a sport on behalf of South Africans. If there is a need for government to intervene in the interests of South Africans, we do so.”

Seabi is an MP for the ruling African National Congress, which also counts sports minister Nathi Mthethwa among its members. In a letter, seen by Cricbuzz, to CSA’s acting president, Beresford Williams — who was forced to recuse himself from Tuesday’s meeting because he is implicated in the report — Mthethwa rasps that Williams is “kindly reminded that as a sovereign country in which I am the minister responsible for sport … there is a raft of laws at my disposal that empower me to deal effectively with recalcitrant behaviour within my portfolio”. 

That authority includes the withdrawal of national colours, which would prevent South Africa’s teams from representing the country. As bad as things are, they could get worse. 

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Anger at CSA decision unites disparate factions

The ICC have been asked to “investigate and consider action against CSA for failings of membership”.

TELFORD VICE | Cape Town

IF you feel the need to take a swing at Cricket South Africa (CSA) — and who among those who hold the game dear does not — join the queue. This week the suits with the terminally tangled  pinstripes were hit by a right hook from AfriForum, who threatened to set lawyers on them. On the same day came a left hook from the South African Institute of Race Relations (SAIRR), who wrote to the ICC demanding intervention. A day earlier the Democratic Alliance (DA), the official opposition, fired a straight jab — predictably aimed at government’s chin. 

The trigger was CSA’s decision, following a meeting with minister of sport Nathi Mthethwa on Monday, to hire only black and brown consultants unless it could be proven none suitable were available. 

AfriForum is a right-wing pressure group. The SAIRR espouses liberalism. They are small but punchy voices on opposite ends of South Africa’s political spectrum. The DA are a centrist party who lean more right than left in global terms. For CSA to have goaded all three into lashing out on the same issue within 24 hours of each other is an achievement of sorts.

Either CSA have got something right by irritating people who rarely share a view, or they have shown themselves to be incapable of keeping any of the people happy any of the time.

On their website, AfriForum said they had “instructed its legal team to investigate possible legal action” and quoted Ernst Roets, their head of policy and action, as saying CSA’s resolution “can in no way be regarded as anything other than unjustifiable racial discrimination”.

The SAIRR’s letter, the work of Hermann Pretorius, their deputy head of policy research, asked  “the board of directors of the ICC to investigate and consider action against [CSA] for failings of membership” and claimed CSA had “increasingly strayed from the values of the ICC”.

The DA’s website said transformation “can only be achieved with political will on the part of the government to develop sports at a grassroots level” and that “this decision … will not address the dysfunction that is currently reigning in South African cricket”.

At issue is perceived government interference in the form of CSA’s perceived acceptance of the imposition of affirmative action in their hiring policies. All three of the complaining organisations are seen, perhaps unfairly, to represent largely white causes. What they seem to have ignored in this case is that quotas and targets favouring black and brown South Africans over whites are common in all sectors of the country’s economy as an attempt to correct centuries of legislated racism in favour of whites.

The fact that whites had exclusive access to the best schools — and thus to good coaching and facilities — and that they alone were allowed to live close to the better grounds explains why most of South Africa’s most prominent players have come from that community despite them comprising less than 10% of the population in a country where most of the people who play the game are black and brown. South Africa have never put their best team on the field because they have never known who their best players are. An imperfect experiment with democracy was begun in 1994, but instead of delivering a fairer life for all the country has become, according to the World Bank, the most unequal society on earth.

But CSA’s promise to Mthethwa means most of the obvious candidates to work as consultants — Jacques Kallis, Allan Donald and Gary Kirsten, for instance — have been all but disqualified by the whiteness that gave them the opportunities that helped them make the most of their talent. 

Could the latest in CSA’s long list of assailants make a case for state meddling? Officially, the ICC takes a dim view of politicians getting too close to the affairs of the game. That was their reason for suspending Zimbabwe in July 2019. But the Indian and Pakistani boards have not been nailed for being unhealthily friendly with their governments. India won’t play Pakistan unless Delhi approves, and as patron of the board prime minister Imran Khan has a major say in Pakistan’s cricket affairs. Happily, he also has a wealth of knowledge and experience as the pre-eminent allrounder of his era.

India and Pakistan are exponentially more valuable to the world game in every sense than Zimbabwe, who are at best expendable and at worst a blight on international cricket from the financial and administrative perspectives. So taking strong action against them in order to be seen to uphold the rules would likely not be challenged, unlike what would happen if India or Pakistan were the targets.

Where are South Africa on this sliding scale? Closer to Zimbabwe than to Pakistan, and nowhere near India. But probably far enough away from rock bottom to escape a knockout punch from the ICC.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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CSA’s credibility crumbles further with Faul’s exit

“Chris Nenzani’s resignation in no way absolves him from any wrongdoing.” – you know you’re in trouble when minnows like the Democratic Alliance bully you.

TELFORD VICE | Cape Town

MONDAY went from bad to bizarre for Cricket South Africa (CSA) when, hours after they announced president Chris Nenzani’s resignation, acting chief executive Jacques Faul also walked away.

Life for those still attached to the ailing organisation could get yet more complicated, what with the country’s official opposition demanding sweeping action — including the resignation of the entire board — ahead of CSA’s appearance in front of parliament’s portfolio committee on sport, art and culture on Friday.

A safe pair of hands who guided CSA through another crisis in 2012 and 2013, Faul was appointed in December in the wake of the suspension of Thabang Moroe on allegations of misconduct. Who his replacement might be was not clear on Monday, but CSA company secretary Welsh Gwaza and chief commercial officer Kugandrie Govender would seem to be the prime candidates. 

Faul confirmed his decision to Cricbuzz, but was not free to say more: Monday was his wife’s birthday. He said last month he would leave CSA on September 15 and return to his permanent position as chief executive of the Titans. Even so, his dramatic exit on Monday in the throes of a stormy board meeting will rock a game still reeling from Nenzani’s exit. Nenzani’s days, too were numbered — his tenure was due to end at the annual meeting on September 5.

But the twin shocks will only add to the pressure on CSA to pull out of the spiral of disaster they have been in since Moroe’s suspension, which followed more than two years of increasingly alarming decision-making under his authority.

All of which will add to the intensity of the focus on Friday’s parliamentary meeting. On Monday, the opposition Democratic Alliance (DA) issued a statement by shadow minister Tsepo Mhlongo, who wrote, “While the DA welcomes the resignation of … Nenzani, his resignation in no way absolves him from any wrongdoing.”

Mhlongo demanded Nenzani’s attendance at Friday’s meeting, and that vice-president Beresford Williams, who has been named acting president, and the rest of the board also resign.

Although they are the official opposition, the DA are small fry who hold only 84 of the 400 available seats in a parliament dominated by the African National Congress (ANC), who have 230 seats. But, at CSA’s last appearance in front of the committee in June, Nenzani angered the sports minister, the ANC’s Nathi Mthethwa, in a discussion about transformation. “I felt insulted with your intervention when you said you only take people on merit‚” Mthethwa told Nenzani.

In South Africa, if you earn the disapproval of a ruling party who have failed on every front and remain in power after 26 years only because of an utterly miserable cast of alternatives and voters’ tragically misguided loyalty, you must be getting a lot wrong. Faul’s resignation is only the latest evidence that CSA are deep in the abyss.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Cricket can’t go back to the future

In South Africa, an already groggy game faces the distinct possibility of going down for the count for good.

TELFORD VICE | Cape Town

NOT for the first time in one of the most disunited societies on earth, South Africans are not speaking with the same voice. Some are adamant that almost nine weeks of lockdown have not been enough — or stringent enough — to slow the spread of the coronavirus. Others are outraged the country hasn’t taken more steps towards normality. Sadly, as with everything here, the issue has become politicised.

Supporters of the ruling African National Congress (ANC) are broadly in favour of the measures taken. The opposition, notably the Democratic Alliance (DA), want the rules relaxed. The ANC speaks largely for the majority black population. The DA is the standard-bearer for the white minority. Blacks and whites have taken to social media to attack each other in tirades fuelled by ignorance, unfairness and abuse.

Like every industry, cricket is caught in the middle of all that. Unlike almost every other industry, millions of South Africans think they own shares in the company. Heaped on top of everything else the game faces — an apparently bottomless pit of financial woe, a mounting governance crisis, a struggling men’s team, the public’s dwindling confidence in cricket’s chances of pulling itself out of its nosedive on and off the field — little wonder the mood is gloomy. “We have an existential crisis,” Andrew Breetzke, the chief executive of the South African Cricketers’ Association (SACA), said during on online press conference on Thursday. “The future of cricket is at stake. We’ve all got to work to make sure the game survives, and then prospers.”       

What would South Africa’s priority be, and why?

To make some money, fast. Even before the virus changed everything we knew about the world, Cricket South Africa (CSA) were forecast to lose up to USD55.9-million by the end of the 2022 rights cycle. Now no-one can put a number on how much they won’t have in the bank in the next few years.   

When could it possibly happen? 

India are being courted ardently to come and play three T20Is near the end of August, which would boost CSA’s coffers to the tune of USD10-million. That would win back some of cricketminded South Africans’ belief that CSA had a clue what they were doing. With that would come renewed interest from sponsors, currently an endangered species.

What are the (other) roadblocks?

Lockdown regulations in both countries may not have been sufficiently lifted by August to enable Virat Kohli’s team to make the trip. If they come they are likely to have to spend 14 days in quarantine before the series and another 14 days afterwards, and spend all their time here in a sanitised biobubble. An attractive proposition, no? South Africa will be far from the only country trying to woo world cricket’s cash cows, so the lobbying for India’s presence will be intense. Graeme Smith, CSA’s director of cricket, did his bit in that regard at Thursday’s presser by punting BCCI president Sourav Ganguly for ICC president as hard as he used to hammer legside deliveries to the boundary.

That aside, what does the future look like?

CSA are considering scrapping what would otherwise be the first half of the season, and using the Mzansi Super League to get things going in January. That would look good on television, but the stark reality is that some of South Africa’s domestic players are already resorting to mental health counselling and emergency funds to pay their living costs, both provided by SACA. An already groggy game faces the distinct possibility of going down for the count for good. South Africa could become nothing more than a supplier of players to foreign teams and competitions, in the same way that baseball’s minor leagues exist only to produce individual players for the top level. The slightly better news is that CSA’s operational staff, led by acting chief executive Jacques Faul and Smith, seem to be determined not to allow that to happen.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Chippy Olver is the truth teller South Africa needs now

“A whole lot of other stuff that goes on right in front of our noses, day in and day out, because it involves people we’re biased towards, we don’t describe as corrupt.” – Crispian Olver

TELFORD VICE in Cape Town

“YOU’VE been through hell.” In times like these, we need words like those from people like Crispian Olver, who had drawn a packed house to hear him say them.

“Half the room were wondering what I’d said about them,” Olver told New Frame days later. The other half were there to hear a champion of plain speaking. 

We were at the Book Lounge on Buitenkant Street in Cape Town, an oasis of civility in a city whose rough edges run deep. Olver was there to launch “A House Divided: The Feud that took Cape Town to the Brink”, which lays bare the chronic dysfunction of the City — as opposed to the city — and drapes it, in all its inelegant wilful wastefulness, on the bones of the 2018 water crisis.

In 2017 he gave us “How to Steal a City: The Battle for Nelson Mandela Bay”, his exposé of what publishers Jonathan Ball called the “rotten heart” of the Eastern Cape conurbation.

Eighteen months or so from now Olver’s book on Johannesburg should appear. Like the other two it will complement his work towards a PhD. Olver strips away bullshit and presents what he finds unflinchingly. Not only is his truth stranger than fiction, it’s also more readable than much of the work of public intellectuals. He doesn’t sling strings of statistics, or warble walls of weighty words. He speaks fluent human. “You’ve been through hell,” he tells us. Man, don’t we know it.

What became “A House Divided” took shape when Olver was refused permission to research, he writes, “how the city was governed, and in particular the way that financial interests intersected with politics and the City administration”. His request was denied, he was informed, “due to the high risk and significant impact on the CCT [City of Cape Town]”. Why didn’t the best-run metro in the country want to bask in that glory?

Because many who disagreed with the then mayor, Patricia de Lille, including highly skilled and experienced city planners, over major construction projects found themselves restructured out of their jobs. Because De Lille was worryingly close to the money flowing into those projects, and demanded that the experts did little besides implement her decisions. Because the City, far from being the epitome of efficiency, worked despite itself. But trying to keep Olver out only strengthened his resolve to get in. 

“Sparing none of the political actors, [“A House Divided”] demonstrates how ordinary citizens and the poorest among us get detracted [sic] by intra-party battles and business interests,” is how Adam Habib, a doyen of Olver’s ilk, endorses a work he describes as “public interest writing at its best”.

We know the government is corrupt. Just as we know Eskom can’t keep the lights on, and that we live — and die — in the shadow of outrageously high rates of vicious crime against women and African foreigners. So writing about South Africa’s problems means engaging an audience suffering from dysfunction fatigue.

“I find the South African debate about corruption incredibly binary,” Olver said. “There’s this tendency to sweeping generalisations where anything — even a minor finding in an audit report — is deemed to be corrupt. Whereas a whole lot of other stuff that goes on right in front of our noses, day in and day out, because it involves people we’re biased towards, we don’t describe as corrupt.

“I, for a long time, tried to suspend my judgement about what’s corrupt and what’s not, and looked at the nature of the deals [in Cape Town] that underpin all of this. And pay attention to their lineage. How far back to these modes of interaction and involvement go?

“Local government’s a fertile terrain to do that in. The tax base is, basically, the property rates system. And municipalities are directly incentivised to grow the value of the properties in their jurisdiction because it grows their taxes. It’s been like this for 150 years.

“I do quite deliberately try and deepen the debate. The discipline of writing a book is that you’ve got to force yourself to articulate what you’re trying to say in very clear forms that everyone can access and understand. Which is not to say it’s about simplifying it.”

Not that it’s simplistic to say a nation doesn’t get only the government it deserves — it also gets the opposition it merits.

“I think we’re dealing with a systemic failure across our political system as a whole,” Olver said. “There were moments in the fall-out with De Lille when the DA [Democratic Alliance] could’ve chosen a different path, before the different factions sort of dug themselves in and embarked on trench warfare.

“The more right wing group basically decided to go for broke. They weren’t just going to get rid of Patricia, they were going to undertake a purge that would involve a right wing shift.

“And Patricia herself failed because she was this hubristic, ultimately very narcissistic politician who was obsessed with power and ruled by fear — and who I don’t think was prepared to do some of the hard legwork in building coalitions. If she was really committed to her non-racial city that was spatially integrated, there was so much more she could have done.

“But she went to war with whole swathes of the city that she needed if she was genuine about her social transformation programme. She overplayed her hand in the most terrible way.

“The planners who would’ve been natural allies for her in driving her agenda; she liquidates them. The housing department was full of very progressive, technically very competent people; she liquidated them.

“Even [the City’s executive director for corporate services] Craig Kesson’s ambitious restructuring could have gone in a more positive direction if she hadn’t subverted it with her own patronage appointments and loyalty.”

De Lille became a victim of the DA’s self-harming tendencies despite it having won, under her mayoralty, two-thirds of Cape Town’s vote in the 2016 municipal elections. Two years later she was thrown out of the party.

That proved a harbinger of the meltdown that cost Mmusi Maimane his leadership in October and exhumed Helen Zille to, as the new federal council chair, preside over the DA’s imminent great leap backwards into identity politics. And all because the Freedom Front Plus siphoned off some of the reactionary white vote in the general elections in May. The next time the DA calls itself a home for liberals, liberals should sue for defamation.

“We desperately need a decent opposition in this country,” Olver said. “What played out [in the DA] nationally has been an almost carbon copy of the Cape Town battle, where once again the neo-cons dug in. This is a really about accountability for the 2019 electoral losses. They used that issue to effect a comprehensive party-wide purge and a drift to the right. The neo-cons are incredibly effective at pulling the DA back to a particular ideological position on the back of genuine mistakes made by other, more non-racially inclined leaders.”

Politicians will have another chance to improve their performance when they tackle another looming water crisis, this time in Johannesburg.

“Joburg has no water resources other than the poisoned water underground, and I think we’re really in the dwang. The only way you’re going to be able to manage it is by cutting water consumption; the demand-side management stuff.

“If push comes to shove I think they’re going to wheel out exactly the same strategy. So they’ll re-hire Tony Leon’s Resolve Communications, and they’re going to frighten the bejesus out of us until we stop using water. There’s some uncanny resemblance to what happened in Cape Town.”

Olver was half-joking about former DA leader Leon, executive chair of Resolve, which ran Cape Town’s awareness campaign, landing the same contract in Johannesburg. But his laugh was hollow: he’s been shot in this movie before.

“I interview to the point where I’m hearing the same story over and over. Normally that takes place at around 60 interviews. But I can’t tell you when that it because if I’m getting multiple different stories I may go to 80 interviews. Only then will I start analysing it and sequencing it and looking at what to tell out of this whole mass of information.”

He has recently reached that part of the process in what will be his take on Joburg. 

“The story may be less on government and more on what the motor of the city is: not just the private sector but all the way down to the informal economy and the street traders, and everyone just trying to find a place in this complex, dirty, violent crime-infested place that we call home. How much does government really matter? Is that where the real deals are being made? Or are they being made elsewhere?”

The problem with Chippy Olver asking questions is that he will find the answers. Damn the bloody man.

First published by New Frame.

And so to Twickenham. And back. And quite some trip it was

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LAND OF HOPE AND GLORY – Twickenham, where all sorts go to watch rugby. And much more … (Photograph: Telford Vice) 

There were promises of “Hog Roast” and “Borough’s Best Burger”, and a place that advertised, simply, powerfully and oddly aptly, “BRAAI”. Only £7 for a boerewors roll. That’s around R140.

Times Select

TELFORD VICE in London

TAKE the Central line two stops from Bethnal Green to Bank, then the Waterloo and City line one stop to Waterloo, then, from platform 17, the overground to Twickenham. Five stops.

All the while channel your inner V. S. Naipaul going to Lord’s in 1963 to watch Frank Worrell, the finest of all cricketers because he was so much more than a cricketer, lead West Indies against England.

Naipaul, owner of a Booker Prize, the Trinity Cross — the highest honour achievable in his native Trinidad and Tobago — and a British knighthood, died in August as one of the most celebrated writers on the migrant experience.

And there he was on a London bus 55 years ago, en route to the cricket with his ears wide open.

“If Collie [beloved West Indies allrounder Collie Smith] did not dead … He used to jump out and hit [England fast bowler Brian] Statham for six and thing, you know,” Naipaul reported faithfully, along with many other overhearings of his fellow travellers’ views.

Conrad Hunte, whose patience at the crease made Kepler Wessels look like Jonty Rhodes, was part of that West Indies team. Hunte came into my life when he was a working with the then United Cricket Board’s development programme and I was a young reporter. I knew him for just a few days, but he left an indelible impression as a person so decent you felt improved simply by being in the same room as him. He was, I was not surprised to learn, a member of Moral Re-Armament.

It was Hunte who sparked what became my obsession with Worrell. His eyes blazed and his voice danced when he spoke of his skipper. If Worrell could light a fire in someone as inspirational as Hunte, I thought, what kind of man must he have been? I was not disappointed in the answers I found, which lift me up to this day.   

As upright and solid as Hunte was as a human being and an opening batsman, he wasn’t always a favourite with the crowd, some of whom — Naipaul wrote — felt he was “taking this Moral Re-Armament a little too seriously. He do not want to hit the ball because the leather comes from an animal.”

That followed Hunte batting for more than two hours for his 44 in the Lord’s Test, which was drawn with West Indies needing just one wicket and England only six runs.

Naipaul, who watched the whole match and had plenty to think about on the mid-match rest day, wrote: “Day after day I have left Lord’s emotionally drained. What other game could have stretched hope and anxiety over six days?”

I would be at Twickenham for only a few hours to report on the Springboks’ match against England, and I do not fancy myself as any kind of Naipaul. But, if I’ve learnt anything writing about sport it’s that, as Naipaul illustrated so vividly, the story isn’t only on the field.

The three tube stations were their usual, bustling Saturday afternoon selves, strewn with the hither and thither of people on a myriad different missions. But once I was aboard the overground I felt part of a common purpose.

The dress code was caps and beanies (the odd hat), rucksacks, scarves, warm jackets, jeans, and shoes sensible and sturdy enough for grandstand clambering and that you knew could get slopped with beer.   

“Bollocks to Brexit” a large commercially produced sign read as we eased out of Waterloo, soon followed by “Brexit is bonkers”.

The fella sat next to me, a bearded, bobbed redhead of a 30-something blessed with a spaniel’s face, didn’t notice. He was too busy, between bites of a supermarket sandwich, reading his phone as well as last night’s Evening Standard. 

Across the way two luminously pasty, shaven-headed Yorkshiremen — they sounded, to me, like Jonny Bairstow — prattled away about work.

“Twickenham,” read the next noteworthy sign, and soon the hundreds on our train joined the phalanx oozing out of the station to become part of the 80 369 who would be in their seat come kick-off.

A roadside preacher armed with a loudhailer — “Confess your sins!” — and a scribbled bit of cardboard — “Jesus is Lord!” — had about as much impact on the passing parade as the Brexit signs had had on the sandwiching spaniel.

More attractive were promises of “Hog Roast” and “Borough’s Best Burger”, and a place that advertised, simply, powerfully and oddly aptly, “BRAAI”. Only £7 for a boerewors roll. That’s around R140.

The grey mass of the stadium loomed — Twickenham looks elegant from the inside, but from the outside it’s an ugly block of concrete — along with a bloke from the Democratic Alliance. At least, he was wearing a DA T-shirt.

He had enough gel in his hair to keep the flags above the stands as stiff as Cecil John Rhodes’ upper lip. He also had Rhodes’ colonial smugness. Call it what it is: the plastic surgery of privilege.

A woman whose blackness shone out of the paleness all around, and wearing a South Africa flag around her shoulders, was about to pass him when he pounced, proffering pamphlets: “Ma’am! Do you live in the UK?” Happily, she had a mean sidestep and left him in her wake, his eyes as stuck as his hair.

And so into the outer shell of Twickenham itself, a confusing tangle of lifts that don’t go all the way to the top floor, staircases hidden behind doors, and concourses that seem to lead to nothing except more lifts and staircases.

“Excuse me,” I asked I don’t know how many stewards, “how do I get to the pressbox, please?”

All of them looked at me as if I had wanted to know the way to El Dorado. More than once, they answered my question with one of their own, accompanied with a look that said they had no clue such a place existed: “Pressbox?” 

The game came and went in its usual flash — if you’ve reported on a rugby match, chances are you’ve also gone home and turned on the television to find out what the hell happened out there — and it was time to make the return journey.

I had been warned by more seasoned Twickenham reporters that getting back could be an ordeal of trains congested with the most awful kind of English ponces who stink, if you’re lucky, of beer and, if you’re not so lucky, vomit.

“It’s better when England lose,” one of my colleagues said. Of course, England won — with not a little help from the bungling, bumbling Boks themselves. And a referee who deserves to be forced to listen to the man from the DA for at least 80 minutes. 

The trains were indeed filled with sloshed spectators. But no-one stank of anything. And the natives, no doubt softened by their team’s undeserved victory, were friendly.

In fact the most interesting occupants of the carriage I was in were two women in Springbok gear. One held dearly a half-litre bottle of cider. The other did the same, and also clutched a beer.

They stood in the aisle, swaying slightly, no doubt because of the movement of the train, and engaging in uninhibited conversation.

“He asked me to get him, like, £20 worth of weed,” one said. “But he’s a ‘lej’ boss — he takes such good care of me.”

She didn’t have quite such favourable things to say about someone else: “That chick! Don’t call me out on my shit and then you dunno how to catch the fuckin’ tube!”

Her companion looked increasingly uncomfortable as the journey wore on, and as Waterloo hove out of the night and into brutally bright view she revealed why: “Right now, I don’t care; I would piss in a bucket.”

Times are different to when people dressed up to go to the cricket, where giants of the age in every sense — like Worrell and Hunte — would perform for our entertainment.

But I had to wonder what Naipaul might have made of what I saw and heard on Saturday. And about what he did see and hear and didn’t write about in 1963.