Lions seek redemption in Currie Cup final

LET me set the scene.

- MORGAN BOLTON

It was the late 90s in the south of Johannesburg. I was a prefect then at Laerskool Theo Wassenaar and in the final days of primary school before heading to the nearby high school.

It was an open day, where they welcomed prospective students, and as prefect — proudly wearing my bottle green blazer, my station pinned its lapel — it was my job, alongside my peers, to introduce them to the school.

The drop off point was on the sidewalk, at the lower end of the school, next to their fields. We would guide the younger kids, along with their parents, up to the main gate, making small talk and speaking pleasantries as we attempted to convince both that this was the school that they wanted to join.

So absorbed was I with this task on one particular stroll, that I walked straight into the pole of a road sign indicating a zebra crossing, smacking my forehead hard into metal erection.

A brief moment of discombobulation followed as I attempted to orientate myself from the knock. My head throbbing, I turned on my heels to look back down towards the teachers and fellow prefects clumped together below.