The former Free State hooker is by anyone’s definition, deeply imbued with the ethos of rugby union – anyone who has bled buckets to serve the game at the sharp end of the scrum takes that as a given, part of the ebb and flow.
There was, if truth be told, no hint of the doom and despondency which was to follow less than a day later as the sun above the cricket oval crept ever closer to the trimmed fringes of the outfield and the braai coals glowed.
It had, the Incomprehensible Scot, privately admitted, something of a personal trial as, having duly bowed the knee to the democratic process, he uncomprehendingly trudged his way through four days of a less-than-sparkling cricket Test against India at the Wanderers before the Proteas finally crumbled.
It was, from the very moment that the Arithmetically-challenged Golfer – a legend in his own mind regarding all sporting matters – first opened his mouth to provide an opening statement, evident that this would be a long afternoon.
It is one of those extraordinary factors in living a life of routine that when the unexpected inexplicably occurs, things tend to go somewhat pear-shaped and the conversation tends to drift into entirely unexpected areas.