WORLD EXCLUSIVE!

We spring Bok cowards!!!

This grainy photo is the world's first glimpse in weeks of former South African Test cricket speedser hero and now disgraced villain-on-the-run Allan Donald.
Working around the clock, a team of Bug investigative reporters spared no expense or mini-bars to track down the cowardly Donald, who disappeared from London immediately after his team's shock exit - through his own gross incompetence, mind - from the cricket World Cup.
The arrogant Proteas had vowed to win the Cup for an expectant Rainbow Nation and as a farewell gift for outgoing President Nelson Mandela even though he wasn't white.
In a world exclusive, we can now report that for the past two weeks, a heavily disguised Donald has been working on the killing floor of a central Queensland abattoir under a false identity. The Bug gained access to the abattoir's timesheets, which named him only as S. Bok, a casual employee engaged on piecemeal rates.
The craven cowardly cricketer begged us not to blow his cover, or that of Herschell Gibbs whom The Bug discovered also living in disguise as Donald's wife in a run-down caravan park on the banks of the Beef City's Fitzroy River.
But we won't do that!
While skipper Hansie Cronje and the other soundly defeated and humilated Proteas were brave enough to return home after the semi-final debacle against the brilliant Aussies to face an emotional and seething homecoming crowd at Cape Town airport and summary execution, where did these cowards run to?
When Lance "Why win the World Cup on the next ball when I can lose it on this one" Klueshhhnnuer was reportedly holding his head up high as an angry nation first stoned him to death, and then to make doubly sure, goose-marched him to the city's gallows after first painting him black to make sure the trapdoor worked (a bug the new SA regime has still to overcome), where were our yellow-bellies hiding?
Well, the game's up!
The Bug can now reveal that Donald and Gibbs - the man who, in a too-cocky-by-half display of Boer'n-to-rule arrogance, dropped Aussie skipper Steve Waugh in the super six showdown that proved the turning point in the event - slithered out of London and travelled Down Under under their pathetic aliases.
Borthwicks abattoir manager Sam White wasn't too surprised when The Bug revealed who his infamous employee really was.
"Spring sorta talked funny but we just thought he was a Kiwi," White said.
"Come to think of it, that red beard did look slightly incongruous poking out from under his helmet and visor."
One of Donald's fellow workmates, Fred "Two Fingers" Mayne, wasn't so kind.
"He was always late back onto the killing floor after a cribb break," Mayne said. "After the bell, Spring'd dawdle back long after we'd resumed work and just keep muttering "I just didn't hear the call .... I just didn't hear the call" over and over to hisself. It was real weird so we didn't like him much."
Yardman Frank Stannish was more forthright.
"He was a fucking dead shit alright. I was bringing up a consignment of Angus steers to the main holding pen the other day and that bloke Spring just sat on the fence for an hour hollering: 'Kill them kaffir kettle! Kill them kaffir kettle!' It was kinda spooky."
But it was not Donald's strange abattoir antics that finally led to his - and Gibbs' - exposure.
John Ridgeway, manager of the four-rink Rockhampton Bowls Club on the outskirts of town, takes up the story.
"Spring and Proteas used to come in for a quiet beer seeing their caravan park was nearby," Ridgeway said. "They always kept to themselves - first I thought they were just shy but when I finally saw close up just how ugly Mrs Bok was you could understand why they always sat in the corner. They weren't any trouble at all except sometimes when Spring got a few too many beers under his belt he would shout at Proteas for dropping some special cup that must have really meant a lot to him.
"Anyway, just yesterday, Spring came up to me all agitated like and said: "I can't take it any longer. I've just got to have a bowl."
"As it turned out, we were playing fours at the time and one of our regulars hadn't turned up so we said, sure, why not join in.
"Boy, was that a mistake. All four rinks now have these enormous holes halfway down the playing surface and nearby residents are suing us for thousands of dollars to replace all their broken windows and weatherboards."
Already on the scent and closing in on our two cowards, The Bug reporting team heard of the bowling green vandalism on their illegal police radios and cornered Donald and Gibbs at their caravan last night.
Donald was pathetic in his cringing plea for anonymity. "Please don't blow our cover," he begged, whimpering piteously as a sobbing Gibbs smoothed down his cheap, floral-print dress, dabbed at his running mascara and resignedly began to pack their small, tattered suitcase. "You know Rockhampton's the arse end of the world. There's no where else for us to go."
Perhaps there's a soft spot to hardened journos after all. Besides, the pair's pathetic performances did bring the Cup Down Under where it belongs. And disclosure could, most likely will, mean death.
"We'll delay publication of our world exclusive 'til tomorrow morning," was The Bug's reluctant, but generous offer. "Then we're dropping the boom, big time."
"You can run," we taunted the gutless, yellow-backed duo as they began thumbing for a lift further north along the Bruce Highway, "but you can't hide."

Donald (right) pictured working at the Rockhampton abattoir earlier this week before our exclusive report blew his cover.