A smattering of people, mainly Indian, arrive on the first day and politely ask general questions of Lehmann, although he is quizzed on the Pakistan situation in his capacity as ACA president. There's no real update, which is hardly his fault, so the news is: no news.

The next day Blewett is also asked about his general thoughts of the match unfolding, but there can be no ACA questions for him, and the conference is wrapped up in ten minutes.

The piece de resistance though is when Les Burdett, the head groundsman, or curator as the job's known here, is put up for not one, but two media conferences. The first, on the day before the match, makes sense as all those writing a preview want to know what the track's going to do, but then comes the announcement of another one during the afternoon of day two.

"Was the notification email sent by mistake?" wonders a colleague. But no. Instead we are summoned mysteriously to Montefiore Hill, a lookout to the north of the ground, which demands something of a climb in the scorching sun. There we meet Les and hear some important news, which is embargoed until the next day, so it cannot be reported just now.

It was worth the climb. A beaming Les is a natural in front of the many TV cameras, engaging each and every one of us. Then again he is something of a celebrity round this way. That, in fact, was one of the very first things I heard on my first visit to the Adelaide Oval, three months ago. It seems that only in Adelaide can a groundsman be a celebrity.

Curious, I asked Les for the explanation of his fame – the Adelaide Oval is beautiful, one of the world's best, but is it that good? - and it turns out that five years ago he was in a big ad campaign for West End beer, a local tipple, whose brewery sponsor the Redbacks. This involved him being on television and giant advertising hoards at the airport for a fair while, long enough to build up near-cult status.

He bashfully admits that people, especially children, still recognise him. To prove the point, as we whiz back to the gates on his buggy-truck, a random fan in his thirties jumps on board at the back and joins us for the ride. "Get on!" the man then shouts to his two children, jokingly, but to his surprise Les stops the vehicle and wide-eyed the boys climb on board, earnestly thanking the nice driver.

"This is Les Burdett," intones their father solemnly, still taken aback by such geniality. "He's a famous man."