Prowling the boundary’s edge during the Sydney Test, South Africa’s rugged but amiable fast bowler, Makhaya Ntini, became aware that a TV camera had him in focus from short range. He turned his head slightly and bestowed on the cameraman, Australia and the world the simplest of "good mornings".

There was no upsurge of showbiz geniality. No smile. Just the instinctively courteous reaction of a well-mannered man with a sense of humour, enjoying the start to his day.

The passage of many years has forced me to accept that not everybody is captivated by cricket. I decided not to waste Makhaya Ntini’s "good morning" on a woman friend when, after I told her Australia had won the Sydney Test with 10 balls to spare, she remarked: "What a waste. Why didn’t they use them all?"

However, The Australian being the newspaper of the cognoscenti, I feel licensed to send the South African cricketers on their way back home with a few exclamations of "bravo!" and "good on you" because of the warmth and pleasure they brought to our chilly and anxious summer.

If romantically inclined, one might think of this South African tour in conjunction with the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, on the eve of Waterloo.

From the better cricket seasons it’s the cameos and vignettes the memory locks on to.

Outstanding among those of the past summer is the image of Matthew Hayden’s wife, tall and beautiful, standing alone in the grandstand, her face and body rigid with stress as her husband began, in late evening, the innings that would determine a new beginning or the end of his brilliant career.

She was there the next morning, standing and applauding, with love and admiration, as he walked from the crease, having scored not quite enough to justify his playing on. Such devotion does not come unearned. Countless men would have envied Hayden at that moment.

Then there were Brett Lee’s final two overs in the Boxing Day Test in Melbourne. He had had a poor year, not as fast as he had been, tending to the metronomic, wickets not coming. But in those two overs, he let it rip and might, with a bit of luck, have taken a wicket or two. Was the old Brett Lee on his way back?

In fact, Lee looked older at the end of his two overs. It was a couple of days later that we learned he had been suffering stress fractures of his left foot and ankle when he slammed it down a dozen times on the Melbourne Cricket Ground pitch.

But why am I focusing on Australian cameos after declaring that I come to praise the South African cricketers?

It is because everything that occurred during their visit was enhanced and illuminated by their zestful athleticism and cheerful determination to win games.

For them, the game was the thing.

They were not burdened, as the Indians were during last year’s miserable season, by historical grudges, nor any feeling that, on their judgment of when to play a rising ball outside the off-stump, rested their country’s international standing.

Two images survive from India’s visit: a team of cricketers hiding out in their hotel waiting for instructions about whether to continue playing or take their bat and ball home; a captain, disappointed by having an almost certain draw suddenly slip into defeat, offensively declaring his opponents had not played in the spirit of the game.

Australians and Indians will both want these unpleasant memories to fade as fast as possible. Who wants to watch cricket played that way?

By contrast, South Africa’s sportsmen have taught us, after a decade of cricket dominance, that losing, if not a load of fun, is pretty engrossing.

There are the emerging stars, replacing the superannuated and stretchered, to hold our attention. Enjoyment of a victory is more intense when it doesn’t come virtually on demand.

Besides, who can resent a team that beats you, as South Africa repeatedly did, after rising from the canvas on the count of seven, at least? Those nearly unbelievable tail-ender batting heroics in the Perth and Melbourne Tests. The brilliant catches that proved turning points. The way they kept confronting us with mystery men with super powers. Who the hell is JP Duminy? Johan Botha? Albie Morkel?

And how about the flourish with which they ended the Sydney Test?

Nine wickets down and on to the field steps the towering South African captain, Graeme Smith, the epitome of gentlemanly ruthlessness throughout the series, now heavily plastered up because of a broken hand and agonisingly inflamed left elbow.

For half an hour he pushes and pushes his plastered arm against the bowling and the pain, gets within 10 balls of saving the match. Hasta la vista, japies.