Run, Allan, run!

But he was watching the ball, frozen in his own trepidation and uncertainty. So was Lance Klusener. But the difference was that he was running hard towards Donald. It almost seemed like the two of them were on different pitches, in different matches. And a generation's brittleness came to the fore in a few moments of farcical misjudgment, leaving those who followed in their footsteps to paper over the cracks, even as they tried to believe there were none at all....

If only Allan had run.