England are in the final of the World T20. The same England who, just last year, were the laughing stock of the ODI World Cup. Nominally, anyway, because much has changed. England have, in Trevor Bayliss, a new coach. They also have a lot of new players, and a new fearless approach. But the captain, Eoin Morgan, remains – as does his boom and bust form with the bat. At this World Cup, as two golden ducks attest, it looks bust.

But perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sure, in an ideal world, Morgan would be scoring a boatload of runs (if he wasn’t still playing for Ireland, that is), but it’s rare that a team has all eleven in form, and perhaps Morgan’s captaincy makes up for his lack of runs. Would England have achieved such a rapid and astonishing turn around without Morgan? Would the likes of Jason Roy have played so fearlessly without the example of his captain? We will never know. Likewise, how many runs have been saved by Morgan’s field settings? How many wickets are down to his bowling changes? The only statistical barometer is results, and England are winning. And winning in style.

It is worth noting that Darren Sammy, captain of the West Indies, England’s opponents tomorrow,  has also failed – mostly by not being required, to be fair – to produce much with bat or ball in this tournament. Sammy is following a tradition of captains who, if playing local league cricket, might be hit with a DNF (Did Not Feature) fine. An early cricket-watching memory I have is of David Hughes captaining Lancashire to limited overs silverware, and Mike Brearley is the most obvious example.

Thinking about it, the most successful teams I have played in have had a captain whose captaincy was their strongest suit. Nigel Dixon was very much in the Hughes mould, but Alex Mutucumarana could have batted higher in the order, could have bowled a few overs. But he didn’t, and it enabled him to concentrate on the captaincy. As a result – and maybe I’m biased because I took Moots’ spot at the top of the order – I’m convinced the team performed better. (We couldn’t have performed much better, winning the league unbeaten in 2010)

Perhaps, therefore, it is time to view the captaincy as a sacrificial role, particularly in the hectic atmosphere of a T20 World Cup. T20, by its very nature, makes an event of every ball, and it is the fielding captain who has to play ringmaster. It should come as no surprise if this, along with all the attendant media demands and man-management requirements, has a negative impact on a captain’s output. But when the team is winning, who cares?

Nasser Hussain described the decision to dispense with Alastair Cook and give the captaincy to Morgan before the 2015 World Cup as a “hospital pass.” In contrast, Andrew Strauss’ choice of sticking with Morgan after that predictably disastrous campaign now looks like a Dennis Bergkamp through-ball. To extend the metaphor, Morgan has tucked it away nicely. Now, on the brink of the final, is not the time to question his position in the team.

Listening the other day to the League Cup Final, it occurred to me that, of all the cliched go-to descriptions in the world of sports commentary, there can’t be anything less meaningful than describing a goalkeeper as “a good shot-stopper.” Begs the question, are there any ‘keepers to whom this doesn’t apply? No. But that would be to wilfully ignore the implication bound up in this piece of apparent praise. Might be good at stopping shots, but how is he at organising his defence? At instilling a sense of trust in his back four? How is he at commanding his box? At claiming crosses? Talk about being damned with faint praise. Being a good shot-stopper is the equivalent of having a great personality. And just how good a shot-stopper is the ‘keeper in question, Liverpool’s Simon Mignolet, when he couldn’t stop Fernandinho’s eminently saveable shot that opened the scoring?

It is only rivalled in the nonsense stakes by the notion that a player has been sent off for “denying a goalscoring opportunity.” Often, by giving away a penalty. Hmm. Strikes me that a penalty is a pretty clear goalscoring opportunity. Why ruin, at worst, or dramatically alter the course of the game, at best, with this twin punishment? Because the penalty could be missed? Tough. Because the player who would have been sent off could go on to score the winner, make a match-winning save or tackle? Maybe, but he could also go on to score an own goal or get sent off for something, in my book, far more deserving.

All of which brings us, in a roundabout way, to the weekend just gone and four early baths:  Arsenal’s Francis Coquelin against Tottenham, Everton’s Kevin Mirallas against West Ham, Liverpool’s James Milner against Crystal Palace, and Manchester United’s Juan Mata against West Brom. This is not a defence of their actions – all four should have known better than to risk a second yellow. Nor is it a criticism of the refereeing. Rather, it made me question whether the current disciplinary system is fair. And if not, how could it be made fairer? After all, what kind of a doctor gives diagnosis without prognosis?

My main beef is with the idea that two yellows equals a red. When the punishment for two yellows or a straight red is the same, at least in the short-term context of the match, it is surely worth considering. Is it right that two minor discretions (a mistimed tackle, taking off a shirt to celebrate, for example) equate to the kind of serious – violent, even – foul play that should result in a straight red card? It’s like saying two twenty pence pieces make a pound. Sure, a three-match ban might account for the extra sixty pence, but that doesn’t help the ten men during the rest of the match – or, for that matter, help them recover for the next game. It must be noted here that sometimes – as was the case with Liverpool on Sunday – having a man sent off can have the opposite effect. But that doesn’t mean that the course of the game hasn’t been altered, or that the reasons for this diversion are justifiable.

So what to do?

As kids, we used to have an orange card system for jumpers-for-goalposts games. Not only did it, for the most part, keep everyone on the pitch, it felt like a more ideal model of justice. It certainly improved consistency, cutting out the notion that, often, a second yellow is harder to come by. You know, those fouls that elicit a comment along the lines of “would have been a yellow had he not already been booked, Clive” – fouls like Eric Dier’s on Olivier Giroud, not long after Coquelin’s dismissal.

But we were just kids having a game in the park. There wasn’t millions of pounds (and hearts) depending on it. And we weren’t managed by Don Revie. When I put the idea on our football WhatsApp thread of introducing an orange card system to professional football, my pal Fraser cautioned that it would effectively allow for at least twenty more fouls per team, making it unwatchable – and more winnable for the most cynical teams.

He’s probably right, so maybe the next idea that came in, from my pal Colin, is fairest of all. He suggested that a player receiving a second yellow card should be sin-binned. Why not? It works in other sports. As, it’s also worth noting, does retrospective punishment. And penalty tries, for that matter. I have made no secret of my dislike of Rugby, but perhaps, in this regard, football could do worse than learn from its bastardised egg-shaped brother. FIFA have announced that trials will take place for video technology to aid referees, but perhaps, by focussing on the crime, we are neglecting to assess the punishment.

“At the moment, where I am at this stage of my career, I want to make sure I’m in good nick to play Test cricket. It [Test cricket] still excites me, I love it, I prioritise it in my head and my heart.”

So said 33-year-old Jimmy Anderson in the build up to the Johannesburg Test. On the face of it, AB de Villiers, 32 next month, is at a similar stage of his career, but, speaking at his first press conference as South African Test captain, he was unable to commit his long-term future to Test cricket.

“There have been a few rumours floating around, and in most rumours there is always a little bit of truth,” de Villiers said. “It’s not just in the last while; it’s for two or three years I’ve been searching for the right answers, to play a little less cricket one way or another, to keep myself fresh and to keep enjoying the game.”

On the strength of the quotes above, there is the temptation to praise Anderson, while failing to find much sympathy for de Villiers. Bravo, Jimmy – the primacy of Test cricket is everything. Shame on you, AB – how can you be tired when South Africa only played 8 Tests in 2015? Maybe you could cut down on your IPL commitments, or turn down the chance to join the Caribbean Premier League. But that would be to miss the point. Even if Anderson was in demand from T20 franchises, he can afford – literally – to follow his head and his heart. A fat central contract from the ECB sees to that. De Villiers – and the vast majority of international cricketers, certainly those outside the Big Three of Australia, England and India – don’t have that luxury.

We already have the absurd situation where the cream of West Indian cricket can be playing in the Big Bash League in Australia while, in the same country at the same time, the West Indies are failing miserably to put up any kind of competition in the Test series. Who’s to say the same fate won’t befall South Africa? And New Zealand. And Bangladesh and Pakistan and Sri Lanka. Hell, even England might not be immune.

De Villiers went on: “Obviously international cricket is the main cricket you want to play, especially Test cricket. It’s the main format and we all want to be part of that. There are huge traditions and culture in this format. I believe there are one or two areas where we can improve, and make sure that we keep the guys’ focus in the right place. Obviously there are big tournaments going on around the world. Some you can’t ignore because financially they make a huge difference in our lives, and obviously you’ve got to look after that side of it as well. International cricket is the main one you want to play, and one or two things will have to change in order for that to happen. My focus is on international cricket and I want to play for as long as possible. I’ve got dreams of winning World Cups and maintaining this No.1 status in Test cricket for as long as possible. Obviously I want to get my experience across to some of the youngsters. There are so many dreams I’d like to follow.”

That de Villiers feels he may not be able to follow those dreams says much about the state of the global game. Don’t hate the player; hate the game, as Ice T might say. When arguably the best player in the world – certainly the best multi-format player – is tempted to walk away from international cricket then we should all be listening. As we should have been when the likes of Dwayne Bravo did just that.

Yet it isn’t the job of the players to sort out a schedule where they aren’t flogged to death. Or fix the club versus country schism that threatens the future of international cricket. If it was, they wouldn’t be blamed for choosing the more money-less work option. De Villiers, after a decade of commitment to South Africa, can’t be blamed for wanting to spend more time with his family or for feeling that his unique talent is better remunerated in T20 cricket. He couldn’t be blamed for walking away. But he’s not. He’s sounding a warning to the powers that be, for which we should all be thankful. Of all the breathtaking shots that de Villiers has played, perhaps this warning shot is the most important.

“We can’t stand still as a game,” Alastair Cook was quoted as saying in the Guardian. “The people who run it have got to know the responsibility is on their shoulders to look after it and try to push it forward the best way they can.” They could start by tackling the huge inequalities in the global game that have only been exacerbated by the Big Three takeover.

At the end of the week in which Mitchell Johnson has retired and Ian Bell seemingly been retired, the mind goes back to Cardiff in July.

It’s the fifth ball of the fourth over after tea on the third day. Crack! Bell’s cover-driven four, played on the up, sounds as good as it looks. Feels good, too. Feels important, and not only in the context of the match. Bell’s boundary ticks the score over to 170-3, effectively 292-3 after a first innings lead of 122, but there is a broader significance here.

This is Mitchell Johnson bowling, Mitchell Johnson who has just been creamed through the covers. And it’s Ian Bell doing the creaming. This is the final instalment of the 2013-2015 Ashes Trilogy, and a potted history will tell that these are the defining figures of the first two series – Bell serving up death by a thousand (late) cuts in the summer of 2013; Johnson’s weapons grade destruction the following winter.

Now, Bell and Joe Root have so far taken ten from Johnson’s over, taking his match figures to 35.5-4-160-0. Sure, this Cardiff wicket is slow, and Johnson has an ordinary record with the Dukes ball on English (and Welsh) wickets and in front of pitiless England fans. He may well, in the aftermath of the tragic death of Phil Hughes, also be reluctant to crank up the pace and the aggression. But if ever a cover-drive felt like an exorcism. Or maybe the whitewash never happened. Maybe Johnson’s 37 wickets at 13.97, taken every 30.5 balls were all a bad dream – a sun-drenched flashback to 2006/7.

Events out in the middle are mirroring that point in a day’s play when the crowd, booze taking its hold, begin to get a bit rowdy.

Miiiiiiiiiiiitchell, Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitchell.

The final ball of the over. What will be the response to the professional and personal insult of the preceding ball? He starts his deliberate, menacing approach to the crease, flexes like the Olympic javelin thrower that he surely could be, and … bowled him!

Suddenly, the ghost of Ashes past is back. Those who, moments earlier, were mocking him know it. And don’t those pockets of green and gold know it. English fears and Australian expectations could yet be realised this summer.

They’re not, as it goes, and Johnson rarely hits the heights of 2013/14. But he remains the most compelling player on either side, because the threat of those terrifying heights is never very far from the surface. Perhaps, too, because the depths of 2009 and 2010/11, so mercilessly mocked by the Barmy Army, are equally close to reemerging.

Has there ever been a wider gulf between a player’s best and worst output? Has there ever been a fast bowler with a mentality so at odds with his gift?

Now that he has retired, it occurs to me that Mitchell Johnson is the most compelling cricketer I have ever had the pleasure of seeing live. Being at the ground, away from the tyranny of the television director, eyes keep returning to those broad shoulders, equally capable of taking all that flak, bowling to the left, bowling to the right, and bowling at the speed of light.

I never even got to see him bowl particularly well, but that moment at Cardiff when Ian Bell’s stumps and English fan’s triumphalism were shattered will live long in the memory as a reminder of Mitchell Johnson’s thrilling, frustrating legacy.

“(Diego Costa) played how he has to play and that’s why you have full stadiums and you sell to televisions around the world for millions and millions because the game has to be played like that.”

Jose Mourinho’s words resonated when I went to see the excellent Death of a Gentleman, Sam Collins’ and Jarrod Kimber’s documentary. Full stadiums at the IPL. Sold to televisions around the world for millions and millions. But does it have to be played like that? Do players like Costa, managers like Mourinho, and administrators like Giles Clarke have to treat the fans with such contempt?

Discounting the sense of overkill, it seems odd to be contemplating the death of Test cricket in the wake of an Ashes trilogy played in stadiums every bit as full as in the Premier League. But, the Ashes aside, Test cricket is on its arse.

Perhaps the real death here is that of the British Empire, its influence finally at an end. With the exception of the enduring Ashes rivalry, the narratives of commonwealth cricket have been played out. Consider the West Indies. American sprinters are now the goliath figures. Cricket? Viv and Co won. Chris Gayle and Co are free. Free to go and earn shed-loads of cash in the IPL. Not that I can blame them or that the West Indies board is in any position to stop them, financially dependent as it is on India deigning them worthy of a tour.

Part of me doesn’t mourn the diminishing power of nationalism, but if it is to be replaced by corporate power then Test cricket will be about as international as rugby league. Talking of rugby, could cricket go the way of twin codes? Tests and T20s. Would Test cricket survive? Will it survive if the current trends continue? If the two codes continue to be in competition? If conflicts of interest at the very top of the ICC are unchallenged? If the market is allowed to run to its logical conclusion?

It’s not difficult to foresee a time when, as in football, club comes before country. And how long before clubs become corporations? The oil barons will move in,  we’ll all be paying through the nose to watch the Gazprom International T20 League.

So T20, no doubt dominated by India, will survive, and so too the Ashes. It’s bombproof. That’s the Big 3 sorted, but what of the rest? World Cups and World T20s. There’s no money in anything else. Perhaps the death of Test cricket is inevitable, an anachronism with no global future in a globalised world.

But that’s a story almost as old as cricket itself, and cricket has always somehow endured. What’s changed, as Death of a Gentleman brilliantly exposes, is that, even if the death of Test cricket is inevitable, it’s now a case of assisted suicide at best, murder at worst. Buried alive in Indian cement, maybe, the Ashes played on in remembrance.

Which is why, despite being funny and warm, the film left me feeling angry. Angry that the game I love is being run by such greedy, arrogant bastards –  a perception that I suspect didn’t need to be embellished by judicious editing.

The first line of the Woolf report of 2012: “Cricket is a great game.”

Cricket is a great game. It shouldn’t have to contract. Tests and T20s shouldn’t have to be in conflict. It can’t be that hard to have T20 windows when there is no Test cricket. But room in the calendar is not enough. Test cricket needs to mean something in a post-colonial world, and the meaning has to come from the best players playing the best game in the best conditions. It sounds straightforward, but it must be marketable – if T20 cricket relinquishes its monopoly on marketing, that is. A Test championship is a must, and surely not that hard to set up.

The Woolf report goes on: “It deserves to have governance, including management and ethics, worthy of the sport. This is not the position at the present time.”

With so much unapologetic self-interest and so many conflicts of interest at the very top of the ICC, it’s hard to come away with much hope from Death of a Gentleman, but it is an important film. I urge anyone with even a passing interest in cricket to go see it – and to sign the petition. If I knew how, I’d post a link. Here, make do with a hashtag:

#changecricket

Sunday 23 August. Day 4 at The Oval. Weather apps are being checked on smartphones, terms and conditions on the back of tickets. We’d spent the first three days hoping that we’d get to use those tickets – now we’re desperately hoping that Australia can wrap it up quickly. It’s an odd end to an odd series.

Nobody can begrudge Australia winning this Test. It’s been as comprehensive as their win at Lord’s – and, for that matter, England’s wins at Edgbaston, Trent Bridge, and, to a lesser extent, Cardiff. 3-2 will be a fair result, and 3!-2! an accurate way of expressing it. Five 10-8 rounds, in boxing terms.

England don’t deserve the weather coming to the rescue, and nobody has much desire for any rearguard heroics. Never mind that Jos Buttler could do with a substantial innings, and a bit of Moeen Ali with bat in hand is always a treat. Never mind, even, that this is Australia, the Ashes. The crowd have come to see Alastair Cook lift the little urn. It will be a bit of a damp squib, after such a heavy defeat, but it will be even damper tomorrow.

And I won’t be here tomorrow.

Australia take the new ball. Good. Peter Siddle raps Mark Wood on the pad. Plumb. Got to review it. Out. Everyone is grinning, a collective acknowledgement of the incongruity of wanting Australia to win quickly. The weather is supposed to improve this afternoon, but there is a sense, perhaps financially motivated, of now or never.

In the event, it is neither now or never. It’s later – approaching half past three, the 23rd over, ensuring a fifty per cent refund, when Moeen slashes a thin edge through to Peter Nevill.

Back when tickets were purchased, we’d joked that we might get to witness Australia seal another whitewash, see Michael Clarke lift the Ashes. Wrong. Although Clarke’s mutual appreciation with the visiting fans is a more lasting image than all the ticker-tape and fireworks. It helps that we’re sitting just along from those in green and gold to which Clarke approaches.

Much has been made of the reconnection of this England team with the fans, and they are a likeable team playing likeable cricket. As Rob Smyth put it, “Joe Root is scoring runs for fun in every sense.” And Mark Wood’s imaginary horse, and Alastair Cook’s redemption – and Steven Finn’s. It’s all there during the lap of honour, but any sense of intimacy is absent from the presentations. Not surprising, really, when the majority of the crowd is sitting 100 yards behind the stage, a sponsor board obscuring the view. Whatever happened to the crowd spilling onto the outfield, gathering under the pavilion balcony to watch the presentation ceremony? You can’t sponsor a pitch invasion, I suppose, although Parka certainly got some exposure, back in the day.

As it is, I might as well be watching it on TV. Oh, I am. A giant one. It’s like having a FaceTime conversation with someone in the same room, a further layer of absurdity to the day.

At this point, I defer to the great Gideon Haigh, writing in Uncertain Corridors:

“Where once cricket coverage was accented to conveying to the home viewer what it was like to be at the match, now the opposite is true: the profusion of advertisements, the liberality of replays and the incessancy of music are directed to replicating the televised experience for the live spectator. Yet is this a contributor to the emerging dynamic of a game with a large but growingly distant public? For why would I go to a cricket ground for a kind of washed-out replica of what I could see at home?”

One answer is to be able to say “I Was There.” No t-shirt, this time – that was Trent Bridge, where the Ashes were really won – but I Was There.

2-1 up. Nobody saw that coming. Perhaps we never do.

A lifetime of following the fortunes of the England cricket team has been instrumental in forming my world-view, and I’m all-too-aware that – in life, in cricket – pessimism and realism are all-too-often one and the same.

The nature and scale of the defeat at Lord’s was enough to fear the worst, and the changes made to the team didn’t inspire confidence. Sure, Bairstow was in the form of his life, but he hadn’t been facing anything quite like Mitchell Johnson. Was Ian Bell’s worrying form a blip or terminal decline, and how would moving to three help? And Steven Finn – unselectable not so long ago – was something of a risk as a replacement for Mark Wood.

Then Australia won the toss. All over. Whoever wins the toss wins the game.

I’m not sure what was more remarkable about what happened next: England’s display, or the durability of English pessimism. The latter withstood Australia being skittled for 136. It held firm when England ended Day 1 just three runs behind with seven wickets in hand. It felt justified when Johnson bombed out Bairstow and Ben Stokes. Mooen Ali and Stuart Broad put on 87, England led by 145 on first innings, yet pessimism prevailed. At close of play on Day 2, Australia were effectively 23-7, and yet we were still nervous. How many would you be happy to chase? It’s got Trent Bridge 2005 written all over it, and I’m not sure I can stand a repeat of the unbearable tension.

If ever proof were needed that pessimism is at the very core of the kind of Englishness that is associated with the national cricket team. 23-7, for crying out loud.

But if the cap fits…

It’s no baggy green. Australians wouldn’t have fretted if fortunes had been reversed. History has it that Australia expect to win, and England hope to win. But that is to ignore recent history. Sure, very recent history is fairly traumatic – whitewashes tend to be – but a broadening of perspective should inspire confidence among England fans. Australia haven’t won an away Ashes series since 2001. Since Lord’s in 2005, Australia have won just one Test in England – at Headingley in 2009. Ryan Harris has retired. Michael Clarke perhaps should have.

But forget that. Forget 23-7. They are Australia. He is Mitchell Johnson. We are England. In terms of expectations, we are forever stuck in the 1990s.

It’s 1-1 with three to play. We’d have taken that, for sure. Now is not the time for knee-jerk reactions.

Something, however, has to be done. England can’t keep being 40-3 and expect to win Test matches. An incredibly talented middle order cannot always ride to the rescue.

The first problem is the opening partnership. While it is heartening to see Alastair Cook back to his best, the search for Andrew Strauss’ successor goes on. It’s worth remembering that Strauss retired as far back as 2012. Since then, Nick Compton, Michael Carberry, Sam Robson and Jonathan Trott have all failed to convince, and the jury is still out on Adam Lyth. Just four Tests into his international career, it is too early for any conclusions. We might be closer to a conclusion – and Lyth himself might be slightly more comfortable in the role – had the selectors picked him in the West Indies. But they didn’t, and the lack of any credible replacements means that they will (and should) persevere with him.

Whether the same can be said for Gary Ballance and Ian Bell is less clear. Michael Vaughan has for some time advocated swapping them in the order to bring variety to a left-hand-heavy top order. There is also a case to be made for Joe Root moving to three. Perhaps the strongest case of all is being made by Jonny Bairstow. While England were folding meekly at Lord’s yesterday, the Yorkshireman was compiling another hundred. This season, he now has 906 runs at an average of 100.66 in the first division of the County Championship. He must bat at five, replacing one of Ballance or Bell and necessitating a rejig in the order. Or, more radically, Bairstow could keep wicket and Jos Buttler could bat at five.

You know the saying: form is temporary, class is permanent. Both Ballance and Bell have history to suggest a certain class. Bell has 22 Test centuries to his name, and almost single-handedly won the 2013 Ashes, while Ballance is the reigning ICC Young Player of the Year. But nothing lasts forever. Both are really struggling this year, particularly since returning from the West Indies.

Bell’s struggles stretch back further – almost as far back as Ballance’s trigger movement. The question is whether his current form is a blip or terminal decline. Since his glorious summer of 2013, he has averaged 28.48 with just two centuries. If the time afforded to Cook is any kind of precedent, Bell will be given forever to prove his class. Unlike Cook, however, it is much harder to assess Bell’s form. Sure, he is not producing the runs, but he doesn’t look to be hopelessly out of form. He bats with an easy elegance that extends to the way he gets out. With Ballance, as well as being an issue of form and confidence, it is whether he has been found out. Left-armers bowling full and straight would say he has.

Perhaps it is worth examining the two batsmen’s contributions to the first Test at Cardiff. On the face of it, Ballance’s 61 in the first innings and Bell’s 60 in the second look similar. Both were equally useful contributions to England’s surprisingly comprehensive win, but, while Bell’s innings appeared to be a return to the fluid, effortless brilliance of yore, Ballance batted like a nightwatchman. True, his stonewalling – reminding me of a left-handed Matthew Hoggard – was the perfect foil for Root’s punchy counterattacking, but it hardly filled me with confidence that England had a truly world-class number three. I’m sure the sight of Ballance – roots in his boots, shoelaces tied together – doesn’t unduly worry the Australians. It may have worked in the past – and may yet work again – but hopping back in the crease doesn’t seem to fit with England’s Brave New World.

There is also a personal reason for choosing Bell over Ballance. I’ve always identified with the idea that his confidence isn’t commensurate with his talent. Aside from that 2013 Ashes, Bell has been somewhat of a slipstream player, coasting along in the wake of other’s success or surrendering along with the rest of them in tough times. Even when there isn’t money on it (cheers, Colin), I still find myself willing Bell to succeed.

The fact that the next Test is at Edgbaston should also work in Bell’s favour, and it must be hoped that the pitch will prove more helpful to England’s bowlers. Quietly, Stuart Broad is bowling as well as he ever has, as 4-83 on the featheriest of all beds in the first innings at Lord’s attests. Sadly, it seems England are more worried by what Mitchell Johnson and co are capable of than what their own bowlers might achieve. As it is, if the pitches remain so lifeless, then England needn’t worry overly as to the make up of the team, instead praying that the toss is won. The toss of a coin could be used to decide which of Ballance or Bell is dropped, but I know who I’d choose.

A few months back, my elderly boss was rushed into hospital for emergency hernia surgery, leaving me to – quite literally – mind the shop. Among the many regular customers to inquire as to her whereabouts was a guy who introduced himself as the vicar at one of the local churches. He went on to explain that he often visited my boss to pray with her. So far, so multicultural Mill Road (my boss is a Pakistani Muslim), but the irony klaxon started blaring when he said that they prayed for her health. I tactfully swallowed a “that worked well,” and expected him to leave it at that. Instead, he asked if he could pray with me.

Me: “No. I’m a staunch atheist.”

Vicar: “Come on. What harm will it do?”

Me: “What good would it do?”

Vicar: “That’s 50/50.”

Me: “Not sure they’d set those odds up the road at Coral.”

Vicar: “But I believe Jesus can heal us.”

Me: “Fair enough. But I don’t.”

Vicar: “Why not?”

Me: “Because it’s irrational. Illogical. It’s like thinking that tapping on this door three times will somehow ensure my health.”

Vicar: “Well, do you mind if I come in and pray?”

Me: “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Vicar: “Are you suffering? Do you have pain anywhere in your body?”

(Only my tongue, from biting on it so hard.)

Me: “No.”

Vicar: “Bad back? We can pray for that.”

Me: “Yeah. I do, as it goes, but I do stretches and I’ve seen my osteopath. It’s not that bad that I would consider praying.”

Vicar: “So you don’t have faith.”

Me: “I have faith. I have faith that the ground is down there and the sky’s up there. I have faith in my osteopath.”

Now, eight weeks into the cricket season, I am adhering to a superstition that I know is every bit as irrational as religious faith.

The first game of the season was bittersweet. The thawing of personal disappointment into the warmth of team victory is particular to cricket, as a duck in a famous win away to last year’s league champions, Ramsey, reminded me. Hindered by a sinus infection, the following days were full of doubt. Was leaving Camden – the only club I’d ever played for – the right thing to do? Could I still play at this level? Could I adapt to batting at five? The next game, after the relief of getting off the mark, I went on to score 41 in a drawn match. I’d had a chicken kebab from ABC Barbecue the night before. Yes, vicar, I’ve had one every Friday since. And we’re still unbeaten. No more ducks, either. But, vicar, my back’s gone again. Something went while I was taking off my waterproof trousers. So I haven’t played for the last three weeks. Stuck to the Friday night kebab routine, though. I’m as guilty of irrationality as the next man.

There are some superstitions that last forever. I have to have a red grip on my bat, for example. But some superstitions come and go. Part of me enjoys it when they are revealed as ridiculous. Confirmation that the outcome of a cricket match has nothing to do with chicken kebabs will come as a relief. Unless we stay unbeaten…

You could be forgiven for thinking that it’s 2009. It’s the start of an Ashes summer, and in the rear-view mirror, England have an Ashes whitewash, an embarrassing World Cup campaign, and an underwhelming Caribbean tour. Oh, and something about Kevin Pietersen. Peter Moores has again been and gone as coach – a few new players unearthed, a nagging sense of inadequacy maintained. It remains to be seen whether Moores’ foundations can be built upon, if Paul Farbrace is the new Andy Flower, if Gary Ballance is to be the new Ravi Bopara, or if Alastair Cook is the old – young – Alastair Cook.

With “History Repeating” by The Propellerheads featuring Shirley Bassey on a loop for the last eighteen months, it should have come as no surprise that the Kevin Pietersen saga should again rear its boring head. Just when you thought that autobiography had burnt every bridge and forever dirtied the slate, just when both sides of the argument couldn’t be any more entrenched, Colin Graves, incoming ECB Chairman, waded in. (Incidentally, that incoming: a run-up as long as Michael Holding’s, if not quite so whispering.)

If KP’s book had offered an extreme piece of evidence to the anti camp, Graves’ apparent olive branch gave KP the chance to do the same for the pro camp. And 355 not out did just that. He always did have a sense of timing.

Just as KP was running out of batting partners at The Oval, Andrew Strauss, in his first media engagement as the new Director of Cricket, England, was citing “trust issues” as the reason for KP running out of batting partners in the ECB. Strauss sounded every bit the politician, repeating “clarity” in the hope that the word itself would be self-fulfilling, but his attempt at bringing clarity was undermined by Graves’ hospital pass. Effectively, Strauss was being asked to draw a line under the situation without a pen and a ruler.

All of which resulted in the unanimous view that KP had won the PR War – something hard to believe given that Piers Morgan has been at the heart of it. Like with Peter Moores finding out about his sacking through the media, it was hard not to feel sympathy with KP’s “fury at England deceit.” That’s not to say he should have walked back into the team. Ironically, the middle-order is, along with Jimmy Anderson, one of two aspects of the England team that is functioning, and for all that 355 not out is some statement, it was one innings. In Division 2 of the County Championship. Against Leicestershire. But worth having in reserve, surely. And definitely worth a place in the team for both the short formats – captain, even? At least wait to see what Moores’ replacement thinks.

But no. Graves had led him up the garden path. If the unnecessary resurrection of the argument revealed anything it was that it has never been about ability. And fair enough, really. Strauss is in as good a position as any to know what it takes to make a winning team. Equally, he had a front row seat to see how KP became ostracised from that team. When you think about KP’s retirement from ODI’s, his seeming preference for the IPL, the KPGenius twitter account, “textgate”, the book, it’s easy to understand that trust is an issue for all (still) involved.

I said earlier that KP won the PR war, but perhaps it was more of a battle. The latest in a seemingly never-ending line. Perhaps it was a battle KP didn’t need to fight, because the ECB made a habit of treading on their stumps. The War was over a return to international cricket, a war KP only started fighting once Colin Graves opened his mouth.

It didn’t have to be that way. KP didn’t have to write his book. He could have played county cricket last summer. He could have recognised the need to accept some of the blame. Bridges didn’t have to be burnt. He could, and I realise this is a stretch, have accepted #strausslogic and taken the advisory role. I might be a little harsh, but he could have chosen his words better, too, after scoring 326 not out and before heading off to meet with Strauss: “What more can I do? I’m ready to play for England.” And: “I’m dedicated to getting back my England place. I want my England place and I think I deserve my England place.” My England place. Not an England place. And deserve?

I’m sure KP subscribes to the theory of there being no such thing as bad publicity, and now I’m convinced the ECB feel the same way. Perhaps all this KP rehash is an attempt at distraction. From their own incompetence. From dwindling participation, expensive ticketing, and the Sky paywall. From the fact England are a pretty ordinary side. (In Tests, doing about as well as can be expected.)

Lost, however, in the all the KP fog, is that Strauss’ brief is to build sustainable success, to bring an end to the boom and bust of the last decade – to take the needle off the Propellers record. Good luck to him. I have every respect for him, but it won’t be easy. Nor was the KP decision, by the way, in that he could have taken the populist route.

One area I would urge Strauss to look into – and I don’t know how he might go about this – is central contracts. Was it a contractual, legal thing that prevented KP from just being dropped? How is it that, rather than play for their counties, England players – Stuart Broad in the West Indies, for example – are allowed to search for form and fitness in Test matches? Not only does it weaken the side and demean the fixture, it also means England go into a red hot summer not knowing how Adam Lyth, Mark Wood and Adil Rashid might fare.

Most cricket fans, with good reason, will have a less than optimistic feeling as to how England might fare this summer. For what it’s worth, I suspect Farbrace will keep the job warm for Jason Gillespie to take after the Ashes. I also suspect Alastair Cook is doing the same with the captaincy for Joe Root. Who knows if a Root-Gillespie alliance would turn out to be another Vaughan-Fletcher or Strauss-Flower. I can’t see a pace quartet emerging as good as Vaughan enjoyed in 2005, or another Graeme Swann turning up. Or another Jimmy Anderson, for that matter. At least it won’t be 2009, by then. It could instead be 1997 all over again. Progress.