Main Oval “They spend hours,” he had told me, “Making that area beautiful.” And beautiful it is. The first players trickle in as the sun is barely more than a sliver of light peeping over the majestic turrets of the chapel. Spectators gather to support as they battle for glory on the hallowed turf. The fielding team take to the field, using as much of the soft, green grass as the ever-wise skipper will allow them. Then come the batsmen. They breathe in the atmosphere as they stride towards the sacred pitch glancing only briefly at the hustling Saturday sport crowd, the carrot-topped buildings and the trees swaying in the breeze. They stoop to inspect the brow