Only those of a certain cast of mind will feel driven to watch a live cricket match that starts at 3.30am. It was possible to enjoy at least the opening daily session of those recent Test matches in Australia that got underway at midnight with judicious balancing of food, alcohol and caffeine intake. But a one-day international: rare dedication is required for the viewer to be poised and alert at such an hour for such a contest.
Yet it is surprising how many people you will come across who saw at least part of Saturday morning's extraordinary proceedings from Adelaide. Among the excuses I have heard, in increasing order of implausibility, are insomnia, jet-lag and a persistently malfunctioning nearby car alarm.
Personally, I was serving milk when Muttiah Muralitharan ran up to deliver the disputed ball, and if that seems implausible, my 12-week-old daughter will back me up.
These one-day internationals may be of dubious sporting merit but they are of inestimable benefit to the new parent. Pyjama cricket may have its detractors but it is infinitely preferable to non-stop, non-stick frying pan demonstrations on the home shopping channel.
But we digress. The main business of the night, leaving aside the little matter of a 605-run cricket contest decided with one wicket and two balls to spare, was ranking in order of villainy Muralitharan, Emerson and Sri Lanka captain Arjuna Ranatunga. In the Sky commentary box to talk us through the philosophical ramifications of the matter were Paul Allott and Ian Chappell, while Ian Botham arrived from a stint with Australia's Channel Nine to chip in with his thoughts.
Situations like this tend to bring the best out of Botham, who in the normal run of things is considerably less charismatic as a commentator than he was as a player. Allott, on the other hand, is pacier behind the mike than he was with the ball, while Chappell has the happy knack of many former Australia players of being incapable of opening his mouth without an opinion falling out.
Allott and Chappell were in charge while the opening skirmishes of the Battle of Crooked Elbow were played out, and sensibly restrained their comments while the footage was self-explanatory. The camera lingered on the countenance of umpire Emerson, who, when he is not wearing the white coat, describes his occupation as 'investigator'.
It seems hard to imagine him as a private eye, for all his determination to uphold what he sees as the letter of the laws of cricket. No, Emerson looks more like a small-claims inspector for an insurance company than a gat-wielding private eye; more Terry Major-Ball than Philip Marlowe.
Botham was on his case with religious zeal. Hot-foot from a stint with the Aussie broadcasters (''Remember, Beef, it's British TV now. Cut out the four-letter stuff and never mind the umpire's parentage'') the former England captain launched into a measured diatribe of withering disdain. ``Who is Ross Emerson?'' he demanded, and when his fellow commentator failed to supply the expected response (''A four-eyed dimmock?'') Botham reminded us. ``Someone who never played more than club cricket in his life.'' And in the company of Beefy, Chappell et al, that is some accusation.
Botham cited another lofty authority for the prosecution. ``What was it Oscar Wilde said? Everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame? Well, Ross, you've had yours.'' Botham was slightly off-beam here, but the British audience lapped it up. Beefy may not know his Wilde from his Warhol, but when he spots a bespectacled drongo out of his depth, he sure can dish out the disdain.
What's that? Another six? Shhhhh. The baby's listening to Botham.