It's as if it never happened. As if Kagiso Rabada, in a final over in which he had 12 to defend but bowled two no-balls and two wides and was muscled over square leg for for six by Noor Ahmed, never found the composure and wherewithal to shrug off those disappointments and scramble back to the stumps to run out Fazalhaq Farooqi and tie the scores with no deliveries remaining.

As if Tristan Stubbs never had the gumption, the mind and the torque to send Farooqi's low full toss scudding over long-off for six to tie the scores again at the end of the first Super Over.

As if Keshav Maharaj, having demanded to bowl the second Super Over, never emerged from the dungeon after being hammered for three consecutive sixes by Rahmanullah Gurbaz to have the balls to try to york him - a spinner reaching for the yorker, imagine! - and having him caught at point to finally decide this outrageous spectacle that had long since leapt the acceptable boundaries of a game of cricket.

As if Gurbaz, in the molten moment of defeat and with the South Africans leaping and whooping all about him, did not sink to one knee, head bowed, heart in despair, soul in distress, and countenance the awfulness of it all.

Apologies for the length of these sentences. There was a lot going on. Besides, this - if you haven't already noticed - is a rant.

You would be forgiven for thinking none of this happened at the Narendra Modi Stadium, or anywhere else, on Wednesday, or anytime else. Because by the time all of it did, Australia were an hour or so into their 67-run whipping of Ireland in Colombo. Which was followed by West Indies' rousing win, by 30 runs, over England at the Wankhede.

South Africa were declared winners over Afghanistan - the word beat shouldn't be allowed anywhere near this result - after two Super Overs? Really? Who knew?

It's obscene that we should be forced to forget so quickly a drama that, in a better world, would be left untouched to marinate in its own magnificence. But, in this imperfect world, the only world we have, tournaments are only as good as their next game. Even a tournament as significant as the T20 World Cup.

Why else would the future be promoted in the throes of the present? How could that not be interpreted as, "This isn't much of a game, but if you stay tuned and wait a while something better will be on your screen."

Such is the way of cricket as an emphatically-for-profit, not-at-all-for-the-good-of-the-game, only-existing-in-any-significant-sense-on-screen enterprise. This is not about the players or the fans. It's about the money. That there would be no money without the players or the fans is moot, but no less true for that.

When, at the Gabba in December 1960, Australia and West Indies famously tied the first Test of that series, nobody would have been told to change the channel - even if live broadcasts had been a thing then - while the game was still on the go. Indeed, nobody anywhere picked up a bat for an entire day. Then India and Pakistan began the second match of their rubber in Kanpur. Imagine that: Pakistan playing in India. Imagine something almost as bizarre: the match was drawn.

Sixteen days passed before the Aussies and the Windies rejoined their enthralling contest at the MCG. Three more Tests later, in Sydney, Adelaide and back in Melbourne, Australians lined the streets in their hundreds of thousands to bid the West Indians a grateful farewell.

Frank Worrell's team left a legacy, and a reason for them to be welcomed back next time. Here we are, 65 years later, still talking about the wonderful things they and the Aussies did for cricket in that series. Rohan Kanhai and Garfield Sobers scored two centuries each. Worrell reached 50 five times, but never got to three figures. Alan Davidson twice took six wickets in an innings, and twice more a mere five. Importantly, the players performed with guile and gusto. As if they were engrossed in a game. Not trying to survive a professional grind.

This is not about nostalgia. For one thing, in 1960 the cricket world was still ignoring the appalling institutionalised, systemic racism in South Africa; accepting their all-white teams as visitors, ensuring they only sent all-white teams there, and apparently fine with South Africa's refusal to play, home or away, teams for Asia or the Caribbean on racial grounds. For another, Afghanistan was then a monarchy whose leader, Mohammad Zahir Shah, was cosying up to the tyrannical Soviet Union. For still another, nine of the dozen Tests India and Pakistan played against each other in the 1960s and 70s were drawn. The political tensions, although severely heightened currently, have always been there and paralysed almost all attempts to take a risk that might win a match. Is the world a better place now than it was then? Yes, that is a trick question.

South Africa and Afghanistan played, in Ahmedabad on Wednesday, and albeit in a T20I sense, like Australia and West Indies did all those years ago. Who will remember that? Likely nobody. Who has the headspace to do so when, 24 hours after that epic started, two other matches have been completed and another has started, and two more will be played on Thursday?

Maybe not even the Wednesday wonder, as wondrous as it was, could permeate the fourth wall of the screen and leap into the memory. Maybe, for that to happen, you had to be there. Happily, some of us were.