There is a lot to be said for being TV-less and relatively newspaper-less. I remember being quite puzzled by the way that the little man in the steam wireless was pussyfooting around some delicate detail during the last Olympics' drug scandal.
You remember that Canadian sprinter chap: it was only months later when I chanced upon a picture of him not on the sports pages that I found the lmitsw was trying not to tell me the man was not a white Canadian. The surprise was comparable to that of, having spent a summer following their progress on the wireless, seeing the Zimbabwean team in the Parks and finding that they were white to a man.
I would not be telling you this had I not, over the holiday, stumbled on a postcard sent to my grandfather in 1906 with a picture of the West Indies touring team: of the fourteen people in the photograph, fewer than a half of them showed any sign of an African ancestry more recent than Lucy, the mother of us all.
Less cautious writers than I would ask: ou sont les negroes d'antan? West Indies touring sides of modern times are, how can I get away with this, different.