The temerity of a plastic bag . . . how dare it in such a big test?

● Everything stopped for a moment or seven at Newlands on Friday as an empty, orange plastic bag inched its way along and up the sloping section of the sightscreen at the Wynberg End, bumping left here, tilting right there. 11.20am, said the clock.

AB de Villiers had seen it first, as well he might have considering he was facing at the Kelvin Grove End.

He held up a hand to halt the bowler, his mostly white glove gleaming in the summer sun. With that De Villiers and Faf du Plessis, both umpires and all 11 players on the field stopped whatever it was they were doing and stared at the sightscreen and the slow progress of the empty, orange plastic bag.

Clambering after the bag wasn’t an option seeing as it was on a white sheet covering that section of seats directly behind the pitch — you could easily do yourself a nasty.

The temerity of the thing; a mere plastic bag. How dare it?

But what to do except wait for it to make its way, with a certain sad whimsy, out of the batsman’s eyeline so play could resume.

Impotence was all around as some of the most famous figures in sport waited for that to happen.

You would like to think, wouldn’t you, fellow South Africans, that a couple of unfussed Pretoria okes like AB and Faf had the patience to hang about without complaint for the few seconds it took the bag to slip over the top edge of the sightscreen and drop into the walkway below, out of sight and mind. Happily, they did.

You would also like to think, as South Africans, that the 11 players on the field were fuming at the indignity of having their importance impinged upon by something so unimportant and undignified as a plastic bag.

And you would like to think that, wouldn’t you, because the 11 players on the field were Indians.

Not just any Indians: Virat Kohli’s men, the on-field embodiment of the monster India has become to all other countries in which cricket is common to gardens and grounds alike.

The Indians have, we tell ourselves, too high an opinion of themselves for not good enough reasons, and they exaggerate everything. They think they’re better than the rest of us, don’t they? And why? What the hell makes them so entitled?

We’re in dangerous territory here. Stereotyping looms, and with it accusations of racism.

Look past our prejudices and see that Indians have given cricket more talent and skill than most other countries, and there’s no matching them for passion for the game.

Then there’s money. It’s not part of cricket’s culture to talk about the stuff, but without the millions India pump into it where would it be? Right up there with croquet in the public consciousness, possibly.

So, laugh at the haughtiness of the Indians if you will. But remember, too, to thank the gods for them.