The story of Nelson Mandela’s release from prison and his ascension to the South African presidency is well known. It was a feat bested only by his greatest accomplishment: steering the state through a period when the world was anticipating the country to dissolve into a terribly bloody, drawn-out and race-based civil war the likes of which would fittingly punctuate the close of Africa’s horrifying colonial experience. Fun stuff.

I was going to university in Cape Town when this was all going down. In 1995, it was still a pretty sketchy place to be (sorry Mom), and I, like everyone else in the country, took a moment to gasp and hold my breath when the new President arrived at Ellis Park field for an improbable Rugby World Cup final in Johannesburg.

The game – between the South African Springboks and the New Zealand All Blacks – went down as the most remarkable sporting event I’d ever witnessed before or since. I was positively glued. Only the Canucks beating the Leafs in the Stanley Cup final seems a suitable (if personal) emotional marker of compare (and just as unlikely).

The experiences that came with the day, still startlingly vivid in my memory, were more than just electrifying in the “I hope my team wins” kind of way. I knew I was witnessing moment after moment of tremendous significance for the embattled nation I’d temporarily adopted, ones that I would be able to tell my grandchildren about one day.

When South Africa won and the new “rainbow nation” remembered what euphoria felt like, Mandela strode out onto the field wearing a Springbok jersey, a loathesome symbol to all black South Africans, one that screamed of legislated and brutal Afrikaner oppression, but now – from that moment on – one that represented a country united. As Mandela (“Madiba”) handed the trophy to the Afrikaner captain of the Boks, Francois Pienaar, it felt like a chapter had closed, finally, and a new one had begun. It sealed the country’s affections for their new President, who most whites had once considered a “terrorist” and who’d only recently been freed after 27 years in prison on Robben Island. I know of no political masterstroke in history that even comes close in comparison. Today, still, the man makes Obama look like Chevy Chase.

There have been books and essays a-plenty written about that day, most notably John Carlin’s authorative “Playing The Enemy”, on which a new movie – and the subject of this post – is based. It’s called Invictus, and it stars Matt Damon as Pienaar and Morgan Freeman as Mandela (HD trailer above). The early reviews have been kickass.

Scout has many double passes to Invictus to give away, valid for the film’s run of engagement here in Vancouver. For those of you following us on Twitter, keep your eyes peeled for ticket tweets.

PS. For extra goosebumps, watch the clip after the leap that shows the footage from the day of which I’ve been writing, including the moment of the victory, the trophy presentation with Mandela and Pienaar, and the crowd cheering as the traditional African folksong Shosholoza plays after the victory…plus a mini documentary on the same subject narrated by none other than Morgan Freeman…Amandla!