A crowd of around 350 sought shade on the grass embankment of the picturesque Mainpower Oval in Rangiora.
It was a disappointing turnout, especially given the scorching weather and the star attraction of Stokes. But the Stokes factor was probably only worth an extra 50 or so spectactors.
But still, they enjoyed having the controversial Christchurch-born cricketer in their midst.
They urged him to do well. He was greeted to the batting crease with, by conservative Canterbury standards, uproarious polite applause. The debutant's bare bat bore no sponsorship stickers. His first ball, blocked with a straight bat, earned appreciative claps.
Big stars have performed well here before – memorably a classy Rahul Dravid century, Martin Guptill pumping a ball over the pavilion, over the road and onto the railway line… and Peter Fulton's record-breaking ton in last year's Ford Trophy final.
So when Stokes was bowled by Anaru Kitchen's left-arm orthodox for just two runs after seven balls, the crowd collectively groaned.
"OK, let's go then," one fan joked.
Canterbury struggled through to a sub-par 221 on what looked like a batting paradise of a pitch.
During the change of innings, Stokes signed more autographs, stopped for selfies, and chatted away with young fans.
When he took the new white ball in his hands, the crowd were excited again.
His first over didn't disappoint. Fire and pace, a massive LBW shout that looked plumb to beer drinkers at square leg, and a sharp dropped catch at slip.
Stokes toiled without luck, created chances, but probably bowled a tad too short.
"Stokesy, what are we paying for?" one wag on the bank yelled.
He looked like a guy who's short of a gallop and who had just flown halfway around the world, funnily enough.
He bowled two spells of four overs and his second looked livelier.
After his eighth over, he appeared to tweak his back or strain his side. A drink between overs, a crouch on his haunches, and had a short graze at first slip. It sent nerves fluttering for the English tabloid scribes sweltering in the portcabin pressbox that has never seen such activity.
After the Otago openers put on 175 for the first wicket, the Volts then shuffled spectacularly, losing seven wickets for just 23 runs.
Cometh the hour, cometh the man?
It wasn't to be. His first ball was snicked through slips and the third was smashed for six onto the now largely emptied embankment.
