Former cricketer Adam Gilchrist conducted both one-on-one interviews and was later hailed by his fellow commentators as “the new Michael Parkinson” who “asked all the hard questions”.

“I’m proud of Cameron,” Gilchrist said after stumps.

A cricketer, who was 25 at the time and had played 76 first-class matches, saying he “didn’t know any better” for secretly taking a piece of sandpaper to one side of the ball in a Test match is hardly a source of pride. That statement required a follow-up question. Several, actually. They weren’t asked.

Gilchrist, more than any other former player, was in the perfect position to go hard at both Bancroft and Smith. He was the poster boy for decency and sportsmanship during his career, famously walking when he knew he was dismissed. He did it in an era before Hawk-eye and DRS. He did it even if it divided opinion inside and outside the dressing-room.

Instead, Gilchrist and his producers left us hanging, still trying to piece together what happened in Cape Town.

Bancroft skewered Warner as the chief architect of the scandal. It was hardly breaking news. Colleague Chris Barrett, who covered the South African series for the Herald, broke the story on March 26 and it was confirmed by the 12-month suspension handed to Warner days later.

Smith has also shifted blame for his actions, accusing Cricket Australia chief executive James Sutherland and former head of high performance, Pat Howard, for fostering a “win-at-all-costs” culture.

Typical of today’s world, everyone else is to blame for an individual’s actions instead of the individual.

No, Smith and Bancroft’s interviews weren’t about owning their mistakes. It was about assuaging public opinion.

It’s fascinating how often public figures completely misunderstand how the media works and, more so, misread the public’s ability to immediately smell bullshit.

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Sportspeople handsomely pay managers, advisers and spin doctors to delicately piece back together their crumbling reputations, only to find the advice does further harm.

Did Smith and Bancroft honestly believe that soft interviews, to be aired on cricket’s most anticipated day of the summer, would draw a line under the scandal once and for all? That it was going to be some sort of cleansing?

In truth, it’s been as botched as the tampering of the ball itself and then the attempt to divert the looming shitstorm by making Smith and Bancroft front a media conference at the end of play.

Bancroft’s interview with Gilchrist followed his writing of a letter to his former self published in The West Australian a few days before Christmas.

“Dear Cameron,” the new Cameron Bancroft wrote to the old Cameron Bancroft. “Today is a day that you will feel a sense of having lost everything. A day you literally used a piece of sandpaper on a cricket ball. I promise you, it will be one of the most significant days in your life. You will wonder why you did it, question every part of who you are as a person, grieve, grow, act and become someone again. I promise.”

He signs off thus: “Life is an incredible journey. Have faith and embrace uncertainty. Love you mate. — Cameron Bancroft.”

You could not make this stuff up.

Smith’s public reboot has been equally clumsy.

First, he fronted an advertising campaign in the name of mental health even though, in reality, it was just advertisement for Vodafone. Smith’s heart might’ve been in the right place but someone should have told him that it’s become de rigueur for companies to use philanthropy as part of their marketing strategies.

(Hello? Managers? Media advisers? Your time to shine here and tell Steve this isn’t a great idea).

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Then Smith, for some reason, held a media conference at the SCG on December 21, even though his 12-month ban doesn’t end until late March.

Then his interview with Gilchrist popped up on Boxing Day. Then, on Thursday morning, came another interview.

Smith’s “exclusive” one-on-one with Deb Knight on The Today Show was introduced as a discussion about “life, love and what’s ahead in 2019”.

Cut to a shot of Smith and Knight sitting in the members stand at the SCG with Moby’s Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad? overlaying the vision.

At the end of the segment, Knight's nine-year-old son, Darcy, comes into frame.

“I want to apologise for what I’ve done,” Smith tells him. “Hopefully, I can make you and lots of other kids proud of me.”

Then Smith hugs Darcy …

(Hello? Managers? Media advisers?)

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There’s no doubting the remorse Smith, Bancroft and even Warner feel for their actions in South Africa. They have paid an enormous price. Smith might be the only one who wears his baggy green on the field again.

Many people want to “move on” and that’s fair enough.

Under Tim Paine, the Australian team have won a Test against the best side in the world but also struck the fine balance between playing hard cricket and respectful cricket. It would be an imposing team if Smith and Warner were in it.

Revisiting the past might feel like picking the scabs of old wounds but the healing cannot be completed until we truly understand what went down in South Africa.

So now all eyes turn to Warner. He’s isolated! He’s been thrown under the bus! He must talk! He simply must!

Does he? Why is Warner suddenly obliged to talk just because the other two members of the “Cape Town Three” decide to stage-manage their stories on the first day of the Boxing Day Test? Why is Warner obligated to instantly fill in the gaps that Smith and Bancroft have left open?

If Warner wants to speak, he should speak at an appropriate time, closer to when his ban ends, with someone who will ask serious questions, and definitely not on the opening day of a Test match.

As it stands, Warner’s the only one maintaining a dignified silence. Yes, I’m as stunned as you.