It’s a rarity for the final game to be a live issue when the Lions go to South Africa. Better still, that it should go down to the last play. So, given what was at stake, the agenda was simple: don’t blink; don’t flinch; don’t be behind when the final whistle blows.

The more you thought of the poisonous atmosphere of the last few weeks, and the country mile separating risk and reward, the less you expected it would be a game worth watching. Mercifully, it was.

We are still lumbered with a sport where a combination of factors make conservatism more attractive the closer you get to the prize.

There is a balance between all-out devotion to zero-risk and being sensible, and we got a compelling compromise here, vastly enhanced by sheer drama, given a final flourish by the appearance of the creaking Morné Steyn to reprise his heroics of the 2009 series with his ability to plonk the kicking tee and pick off points.

Highveld, sea-level, whatever: he can’t do too much else, but his pulse doesn’t waver when it comes to putting the ball over the bar.

That gripping, black-ball finish will be presented as justification for what went before over the last fortnight, but that’s as wayward as the penalty kick that goes closer to the corner flag than the posts. This game was gift-wrapped beforehand in plain brown paper with roughly tied, hairy twine, and, for its opening minutes, was looking like just that. Fittingly enough, it came back to that point in the endgame, nail-biting though it was.

Initially, this was the view we were given: if it was the dodgems at the local amusement fair, the Lions would have been told to call it a night before they scared off the other punters. They were being buffeted in contact after contact. Ken Owens must have lost the fillings in every tooth in his head such was the force with which his first carry – he was giving it everything – went into reverse.

Gain line became a notional target. The Lions could barely see it, let alone reach, through the forest of green. Typically, the sequence involved two or three painful and uninspiring carries direct off Ali Price at scrumhalf, followed by no ground gained, a lot of energy expended, and the ball kicked away.

Quickly this became a contest of double-teamed carries, double-teamed tackles, and collateral damage. It would have been an argument soon settled if something didn’t change dramatically.

It’s an ill wind that blows no one any good, and, in this case, the upside was Finn Russell being delivered to the game. His game-time on this tour had been severely curtailed by injury. It was touch and go whether he would stay on board or fly home. You wonder though: had he been fit throughout, how much action he would have seen? If it wasn’t for Owen Farrell’s struggle to get close to decent form, Russell could have been carrying water.

Immediately, the Lions started playing through number 10 than simply off nine. And, immediately, the Boks had some questions to answer from a gifted man who could fire them rapidly.

Lions’ hearts stopped beating when it was referee Mathieu Raynal, in the third quarter, who had to answer one over Russell’s high tackle on the diminutive, slipping, Cheslin Kolbe. The response – to award no more than a penalty – was fair enough.

That was a painful passage for the Boks. They had laid siege, early in the second half, to the Lions’ den for long enough to expect some return, and got none. Handré Pollard missed two shots in a row.

The psychological effect from passages like this is significant, but you have to remember where the Boks are coming from – less their desperately restricted preamble to the series itself and more the hours they have put in together over the last few years, and their belief in the system.

This was a battle between Rassie Erasmus, the pragmatist, and Warren Gatland, the loyalist.

The first abandoned Munster and answered his country’s call to fashion a revival from the embarrassment of losing 38-3 to Ireland and 57-0 to New Zealand in the space of a month in September 2017.

They delivered in the World Cup just over two years later. How? By minimising risk, developing a laser-like kicking game and maximising physical advantage.

This is what we saw here again yesterday. Of course, they can play rugby. Look at the quality of Kolbe’s tries to seal the World Cup final in 2019, and to swing the game back to South Africa yesterday.

The irony is that yesterday’s touchdown came from a scrappily-fielded Lions box kick, whereupon Lukhanyo Am delivered delightful footwork, Willie le Roux ran the right line to preserve the space and then delivered the perfect pass to Kolbe.

It’s worth noting the second tackle the little wing avoided – well, fended more like – was from Luke Cowan-Dickie, a monster by comparison.

Certainly, the Boks are mostly dull and brutish, but they have top-notch skills and can run through phases playing with width when the mood takes them.

The pity is – for the game and its spectators – that mood doesn’t wash over very often.

De Allende could have explained this to his pals Murray, Henshaw and Conan walking off the field in Dublin 4 last August. It won’t be pretty boys, but it will be effective. Indeed, but it’s not enough.