But, as always, let us start at the beginning.

When I was a mere lad, I journeyed with my Dad from our rustic smallholding in the Natal Midlands, across the arid Transvaal mielie triangle and the mighty Limpopo, to wild, woolly, war-torn Rhodesia.  The year was 1978 and the Bush War was raging, but what an adventure it was!  Our drive from Beit Bridge to Bulawayo was done at break-neck speed to avoid encountering bands of marauding “terrs”, and we had to forego the usual luxury of an armed convey.  Once within the leafy comforts of suburban Bulawayo, my Guv’nor was reunited with his old varsity, rugger bugger drinking buddies, who, to a man, were towering, bearded, Madison-chuffing Selous Scouts, raw from the Mukumbura bush.  Over chilled chiboolies and crocodile biltong, they regaled us with stories of savage deeds and heroic derring-do in distant jungles, with talk of firefights and parachute drops, hand grenades and FN’s.  In between my Dad’s unscheduled sparring bouts with the reigning heavyweight boxing champ (his name was Ringo Starr, but he didn’t care much for the drums) and some hippo hunting on the Mozambique border, I developed a juvenile loyalty to that rugged, beautiful country; a loyalty that I had not yet even felt for the land of my birth.

A year later there appeared in the glorious Green ‘n Gold of the Bokke the living embodiment of this tough, robust, meat-eating country.  His name was Mordt, and from the first time that he crashed through Hugo Porta’s attempted tackle to score a try on debut, I knew that my greatest rugger hero had appeared.  With an extravagantly talented backline that included Pienaar, Gerber, Botha, Serfontein and this Rhodesian juggernaut, all pumping thighs and brute power, the Boks soon triumphed over the Jaguars, Bill Beaumont’s valiant British Lions, and Ireland.  1980 became 1981, and the greatest challenge of all beckoned – a tour to New Zealand, with the eternal hope of a series victory over the menacing All Blacks.

Let us skip directly to the tumultuous finale to the Boks’ 1981 odyssey to the Land of the Long White Cloud.  Continuously harried by anti-apartheid, anti-tour protestors, the Springboks managed to remain unbeaten in all provincial games on the tour, including a memorable Naas Botha-inspired 39-12 victory over Auckland.  After a 24-12 victory against the Old Foe in Wellington, the Bok selectors named an unchanged XV for the deciding 3^rd test 2 weeks later.

Soon the day of reckoning was upon us, and thousands of Bok supporters in SA fired up their primitive Telefunkens to listen to Andre Snyman and Gerhard Viviers’ live commentary from across the Indian Ocean.  But, to the total dismay of this bleary-eyed, 10 year-old boy sitting at home in the backwoods of Natal, the Boks soon found themselves under the whip.  Although the All Blacks were operating with their usual venomous efficiency, the Boks were faced with an unexpected, relentless opponent: a seemingly fragile light ‘plane that incessantly spewed forth pamphlets, flares and the occasional flour bomb.

Harried by the Kiwis and the foolhardy flying fokker, the Boks found themselves down 3-16 at half-time, their hopes of emulating Phil Nel’s immortals of 1937 seemingly in tatters.  But Mordt & Co had other ideas, and, in an epic rearguard action, the Bok backline finally unleashed its great talents.  First, Mordt pounced on a Beck grubber to score, then he evaded fullback Hewson in a solo, chip ‘n score effort, and then, after a midfield burst by Botha, he latched onto a pass to score near the corner flag (22-22).  In the meantime, the All Black prop, Gary Knight, had been felled by an errant flour bomb delivered by the part-time Red Baron overhead.

A noble series draw for this beleagured Bok side was denied by the bizarre decisions of referee Norling in the dying minutes of the game.  Perhaps, bearing in mind the terrible toll that the tour had rent on the fabric of New Zealand society, the rugby Gods simply felt that it was not to be this time.