SOWETO—For my money, which lately consists of fistfuls of rand with pictures of buffalo gracing the bills, no sporting event invites greater tension and drama than a local derby. So when I realized that I would still be in Johannesburg for last Saturday’s match between the two giants of South African soccer, the Kaizer Chiefs and the Orlando Pirates, both based in Joburg’s predominantly black township of Soweto, it was an obvious must-Trot experience.

No matter how big a match gets, no matter how high the stakes, whether a league championship, a world final, or a match between college rivals, the contest against a faraway side is a shared experience for the local fans. While a Red Sox vs. Yankees “Armageddonâ€? series may induce more coronaries in New England than a mandatory government program to provide intravenous injection of chowder (those crazy liberals!), the respective communities on each side experience the drama, for the most part, with their comrades in fandom. (more…)

KRUGER NATIONAL PARK—Hemingway, furious, would have shot me in the head. Orwell would have offered dignified applause, acknowledging my restraint and humanity.

Here we were, nine of us—including two of us brandishing powerful .458 calibre hunting rifles—tracking a herd of elephants on the southern edge of South Africa’s immense Kruger National Park. One of our guides, Lourens Botha, had spotted the herd in a nearby valley. Marching quickly across the African forest, we scaled a hill next to the valley and descended onto a rocky ledge. Beneath us, a mere twenty metres away, were elephants—lots of elephants. They were enjoying a substantial breakfast, ripping large branches off the trees with their powerful trunks. And they were standing right out in the open.

Lourens and his partner, Obakeng, both young guides from the park’s Berg-en-Dal lodge, confirmed the elephants hadn’t noticed us. They put down their rifles, rather than passing them along to one of us to line up a shot. They unpacked some juiceboxes and cheese and crackers, and we enjoyed a light breakfast alongside eighteen pachyderms doing the same.

No, we didn’t shoot the elephants. The .458s that Lourens and Obi carried were for protection only—a required precaution for a walking tour in the park. And watching these creatures tear up the forest floor in impressive fashion, and trample large swaths of bush in their wake, I never once felt the impulse to fix them in the cross-hairs of the rifle and pull the trigger. Nothing about that hypothetical encounter struck me as sporting. (more…)

PRETORIA—There’s a drink here in South Africa that they call “creme soda.” It’s probably like the cream soda you’re familiar with, only it’s a bright, shocking, emerald green.

Mostly, creme soda is used as a mixer for a drink they like to call a John Deere, usually taken as a double (especially if you want to, you know, act like a man) with two shots of 86-proof cane sugar alcohol. The resulting highball cocktail — whose name comes from the obvious colour association as well as the fact that it runs you over like a lawnmower — is delicious, refreshing, and quite deadly. Ordering a first round of John Deeres is commonly called “hopping aboard the cane train,â€? so stated because once you climb aboard the train, you generally ride it to the very last stop, occasionally waking up in the back seat of a strange car in an equally unfamiliar underground parking lot. True story. (more…)

JOHANNESBURG—I get a lot of fantastic fanmail here at camp Sportstrotter. Devoted readers wondering how I get to file dispatches from Vancouver Island, Toronto, Montreal, Paris, and now, Johannesburg. “I can’t believe The Walrus sends you to all those amazing places!� they write. “How do they afford it?�

Well, I can tell you that the Sportstrotter is one of The Walrus’s greatest editorial priorities, and in addition to my embarrassingly opulent salary, I also have a practically unlimited travel budget. It’s clear that The Walrus understands that the future of Canadian journalism lies in semi-serious ramblings on the world of sport, posted weekly to a web site under a name that includes the word “trotter.� All hail the dauphin of the Great White North’s media sphere!

So here I am in Johannesburg, South Africa, the richest city on the continent and also one of its most dangerous. Jo’burg has seen the most substantial post-Apartheid integration in South Africa, but this mixing of the former oppressor and oppressed classes—the wildly wealthy and the desperately poor—has bred great resentment and violence. So, with the Sportstrotter fiancée working on a project here and logging long hours, and the streets not exactly safe to wander, I’ve been spending my daytime hours in the highly secure gated community (yes, barb-wire fences and all) across the street from our apartment, using their amazing gym and eating the fantastic food that Jo’burgers are lucky to enjoy on a daily basis (Springbok carpaccio is one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted). (more…)