The temptation is to throw a big sheet over the whole thing.
People tend not to watch sports for the purpose of wallowing in misery. Cricket is supposed to exist in the realm of fun.
On the other side of the ledger, you trounce a team, and tend not to want them to drink too deeply from the self-loathing cup. Their failing to believe in themselves cheapens your own achievements, and in elite, professional sports, you want to celebrate every win. The team you beat were just lying down to be beaten? That's no fun.
Test cricket, especially, perhaps among all sports, can be exceptionally forgiving. Its narrative arc is long, and allows for all manner of mad comeback scenarios. You got shot out for 185 batting first? Chin up, one of your opening seamers has one of their greatest days, and you skittle the opposition for 160. Not so bad now, no? Oh, you've given up a 130-run first-innings lead? That's okay, one of your openers rocks a fast century, and you're back on level terms. So you're chasing more than 300 in the last innings? Turns out that's easier to do in modern Tests than ever before.
With Kingsmead, the temptation is to say, okay, Sri Lanka were behind the game and fought back in the fourth innings. And that if you rolled up to the ground on the fourth morning, threw a big sheet over the scoreboard, and watched Dhananjaya de Silva drive, or Dinesh Chandimal cut and pull, and Kusal Mendis sweep, perhaps this was sufficient evidence of competitive cricket. South Africa were being made to work.
The truth is, actually, quite simple. Test cricket, for all its largesse, cannot forgive this. It cannot forgive a 42 all out.
Every action that followed that Sri Lanka first innings was doused in what it meant for a team to get bowled out for 42.
South Africa had been jolted by being dismissed for 191, but they were soaring after those 13.5 overs, having established a 149-run lead. The sun shone on a soft Kingsmead pitch on day two, and so when they went out to bat again, better batting conditions were in the making. Hang tight, hunker down, play safe. You lose an opener for 17, but you're already almost 200 runs ahead. It's fine.
Wiaan Mulder, the seam-bowling allrounder who had fractured his hand, volunteered to bat at No. 3, so he could make the ball a little older for the batters to follow while he could still hold a bat. If Sri Lanka had surged to 200 all out, for example, South Africa would have been less likely to take these decisions. Batting for 50 overs, instead of just 13.5, may have meant that Mulder would have had to volunteer on the next day, when his hand was likely in worse shape.
And in that scenario, promoting an injured No. 7 to No. 3 would have felt like a more serious risk, with the advantage in the match on the line. Mulder ended up facing only 31 balls., and making 15, so perhaps his effect on the game was minimal. And yet this was a higher score and a greater number of balls faced than any combination of the two that Sri Lanka's batters had managed in their first innings.
The next day, Temba Bavuma and Tristan Stubbs batted on a pitch much muted, under beating sunshine. If 42 all out had been 200 all out, Sri Lanka could have attacked for longer, their bowlers better refreshed from a break longer than 13.5 overs. Attacking fielders could have stayed in place, and bowling speeds may have dropped less than they did. Bavuma and Stubbs may still have prospered. But they were almost certain to have faced greater challenges. The opposition being three down for 200 is an entirely different proposition than their being three down for 50. The tendency, in this data-driven age, is to admit only quantitative data, and ignore the qualitative stuff.
In public, Sri Lanka's bowlers said that a collapse such as 42 all out was just "one of the things that can happen in cricket." But they are humans. Inwardly, they were likely seething.
It carried even into the fourth innings, where South Africa had so many runs on the board that they merely needed to keep catching positions in play, and continue to bowl attacking lines. There were few considerations towards keeping the runs down. Chandimal cut and pull. De Silva drove, and Kusal swept. They hit boundaries in favoured areas, but there was no serious consideration to closing those gaps. Sri Lanka needed to play dozens more of those shots, over dozens more overs, to even rustle up a scare for South Africa.
There was no sense that South Africa were ever in danger, that a moment of misfortune, or half a dozen, could turn this match.
A Test match arc is long, and it can be forgiving. But it could not forgive 42 all out.