Does Test cricket have a future as a “live” spectator sport? © Getty Images

Crowd numbers and local interest would suggest that Test cricket is still in robust health in Australia and England, despite the fact that both countries are ranked mid-table. Compare that to India - the juggernaut of cricket, not just financially but also in terms of on-field performance - and if the modest crowd numbers in recent series are any indication, it appears that even being on top of the world does not guarantee anything remotely close to a full house. Stadium attendance figures alone do not tell the full story because it is clear that Indians still follow Test cricket with avid interest. But if a rampantly successful team with so many iconic ‘greats’ cannot attract spectators in India, does Test cricket have a future as a “live” spectator sport?

The Gabba Test rarely disappoints and whenever England or India visit here, you can almost guarantee that it will be well patronised. The current Ashes Series lacks the plethora of superstars - Ponting and maybe Pietersen apart - but that has not detracted from significant public interest in the event. Assuming Virender Sehwag, Sachin Tendulkar, VVS Laxman and Harbhajan Singh are still playing when India come here next, any cricket lover would be daft to miss them in action, especially because it may be the last time we see these legends in action. The question remains though: what does Test cricket need to keep spectators coming in through the turnstiles, instead of taking the soft option (like I’ve done this week) and watching it on TV or following it on Cricinfo?

Scoring rates are still pretty decent, certainly more entertaining than in any other decade. We’re consistently seeing more runs scored per day, so from an entertainment perspective, the batsmen are certainly doing their fair share to make it an attractive product. And yet, Australia and England apart, Test match crowds are spending their entertainment dollars/rupees/rands elsewhere. So who is letting the team down?

Fielding captains and bowlers can take some of the blame, I reckon. In an era where bowlers have never been fitter and captains have detailed bowling plans to adhere to, dictated by software and print-outs, the inability of just about every single team in world cricket to bowl their allotted 90 overs in 6 hours is nothing short of a disgrace. Where 90 overs was meant as a minimum requirement, it has now become de rigueur for teams to view the extra half hour as essential, and that too, just to complete the bare minimum. And the ICC just watches on in indifference. There can be no excuses. Fast bowlers are super fit these days, they have the latest in hydration, compression garments, ice baths, massages, footwear etc and they are still unable to match their ‘amateur’ predecessors of a few decades ago. Even teams with lots of spin-bowling options cannot bowl 90 overs in the allotted times.

Captains, armed with all the strategic information, courtesy of software-generated coaching aids, continue to have lengthy discussions with bowlers as if they’d only just thought of a new idea. Watching Ponting waste time on the fifth morning in Brisbane, at the start of the day’s play when they surely must have already discussed field placings and strategy was incredibly frustrating. And I was sitting in the comfort of my home, not feeling hot and bothered at the ground, having paid over the odds for a ticket in an uncomfortable seat with exorbitantly priced drinks and food and smelly toilets. Why would I catch public transport and endure discomfort to watch captains who are unable to make decisions instinctively without having to seek five different opinions?

The umpires just stand by and do very little to hasten proceedings. The ICC worry about the extra time that may be wasted in using video umpire technology and so implement a system where each team only gets a quota of referrals, but they do absolutely nothing to impose any genuine penalties on the pointless time-wasting that happens every single day of a Test match.

Meanwhile, we continue to endure a video umpire system that fails in its most basic task – to guarantee that the correct decision is made. Surely that should be at the forefront of the logic pertaining to the UDRS, to ensure that we get the correct decision. Otherwise, let’s just leave it to the on-field umpire and learn to live with the mistakes. The current system still hasn't eliminated the mistakes. As we’ve seen at the Gabba this week, Mike Hussey’s lbw was a potential match-changing moment and it was still the wrong decision. I’d rather waste a few more seconds to get the correct decision or just accept the on-field verdict and keep the game flowing. The current system is still essentially flawed if we're still getting crucial decisions wrong. The paying public would probably prefer the correct decision and sacrifice a few valuable seconds. The umpires usually halt play for bad light anyway, even when it's clear that the batsmen are in no danger of "physical harm", so why the great concern about not wasting time?

Here we are, in an era where we have entertainers like Sehwag, Chris Gayle, Tendulkar, Sangakkara, Ponting, deVilliers and a host of other swashbucklers, and Test cricket is still struggling to attract live spectators. Thank God for the Barmy Army, The Fanatics and those other faithful few from each country who follow their team around the world and bring the sort of spirit that I’m seeing right this minute as Alastair Cook celebrates a wonderful double-century. The quality of cricket and cricketers these days deserve more. Yet, for some reasons, in India especially, even with the mouth-watering prospect of watching a batting order that reads Sehwag, Gamhir, Dravid, Tendulkar, Laxman, Raina, Dhoni (and now Harbajhan), the public would still prefer to watch them from afar. If you can't get people to go to the ground to watch the number one team with this sort of pedigree, what will it take? Another reason why the Ashes should still be a terribly important part of the world cricket calendar. Even for the neutrals.

The Australians may have lifted the World Cup in 1987, but many Indian and Pakistani fans were denied watching the most riveting cricketing encounter of all: an India-Pakistan World Cup final. © Getty Images

In 1987, I had just moved to the United States and was dealing with the sad loss of cricketing access as best as I could. When the World Cup rolled around, my sense of deprivation grew even worse. Was there no end to this cruelty, I thought? I cursed myself for ever having succumbed to the "onwards to the US for graduate studies" bug. What price US F-1, indeed, if it meant denial of cricketing pleasures? I, who had been so eager to bid my park cricket friends farewell on the night of my departure flight, now bitterly regretted ever having left. There was no Internet, no Cricinfo, no rec.sport.cricket (newsgroups existed, of course, but I hadn't discovered them; heck, I hadn't worked out how to send email to non-Bitnet addresses).

And then, miraculously, as the Cup progressed, it seemed I would be delivered; perhaps a telecast of the World Cup final was possible via satellite hook-up. An enterprising Indian graduate student had figured out the technical details, and was now set to organise what could be quite a festive night: the final of the World Cup, telecast live on a Saturday night, onto two large projection screens in lecture theatres.

As the final approached, an India-Pakistan encounter looked likely: both teams had made it to the semi-finals. The US $10 tickets that the graduate student association had put on sale went like the proverbial hot cakes, as scores of hopeful subcontinentals lined up at the ticket desk I manned in the student centre. A sell-out was a foregone conclusion.

Disaster struck as Pakistan lost in the first semi-final to Australia. The next day, the lines of the refund-seekers formed early, only to be rewarded with our persistent, “Sorry, no refunds possible”. I suspect a few Indians snickered inwardly at the sight of the disconsolate Pakistani lads. The Cup was ours; or so they thought. Could India really be denied at Eden Gardens?

Alas, a semi-final still had to be played, and in it, India were “swept” aside by the English. And the refund-seeking now had an Indian flavour to it. My persistent cry of “Sorry, no refunds” still rang out, but it was tinged with the same disappointment writ large on the faces of those who had seen their hopes dashed by the Anglo-Australian usurping of the final. The lines were longer; the disenchantment even more pronounced.

I didn’t need a refund because I didn’t buy a ticket; I was employed as a ticket checker and food vendor for the final. Which meant the final was a bit of work, and a bit of pleasure. It also meant I faced an exhausting, sleepless weekend: I had to work from 10am to 6pm on Saturday, (baking pizza in the school cafeteria), then from 11pm to 7am on Saturday night, and then again from 10am to 6pm on Sunday (yes, more pizza). On the night of the final, we still had a full house; no one was going to stay away from a World Cup final, after all, but that largely Indian and Pakistani crowd couldn’t quite summon up the same enthusiasm for an England-Australia final, knowing especially that it was built on the backs of their greatest disappointment.

By Sunday evening, I was delirious with sleeplessness and almost catatonic thanks to all the bad coffee and junk food I had consumed over the weekend. And as I staggered home, on a commuter train that Sunday night, I resembled most of all, those zombie-like creatures that had lined up just a few days previously, demanding their precious US $10, denied, cruelly, what would have been for them, the most riveting cricketing encounter of all: an India-Pakistan world cup final.

"Younis Khan convinced everyone of his unbending personal moral fibre" © AFP

Even though he made a century on Test debut, it took a while for fans to warm up to Younis Khan. His technique seemed casual, even careless. Each delivery was eyed for a boundary, he was vulnerable to swing with far too many edges, his bat was too far in front on the forward defensive, and there was more bottom hand in his drives than the unwritten standards of Asia’s batting aesthetic would allow.

Despite that inaugural hundred, his average after his first 12 innings in Test cricket was only 21.25, and on more than half of those occasions he had been dismissed in single digits. Yet he was a heavy scorer on the domestic circuit, and the selectors persisted. His brass tacks, take-it-or-leave-it manner also won him a following.

Then came a string of overseas hundreds – in Sri Lanka, New Zealand, and Bangladesh, and against West Indies in Sharjah – and he more or less settled into the No. 3 spot, promising to heal one of Pakistan’s long-standing ulcers. Nevertheless, his erratic form continued. In the spring of 2005, when Younis met India in a Test for the first time, he had played 32 matches and his average was still less than 40.

That series revealed much about the man, not just to the public, but possibly also to himself. The first Test in Mohali saw him dismissed for 9 and 1, including the embarrassment of getting castled while shouldering arms. He was also off-key in the field and ended the game completely out of sorts. The press dismissed him, and Pakistan’s own team management vilified him.

The first true sign of his greatness as a batsman was that this mounting anger and hurt willed him into excellence. After 147 in the next Test at Kolkata, which Pakistan lost, he went to Bangalore, and scored 267 and 84 to become Man of the Match and square the series. The performance set Younis apart and demonstrated the enormous promise and possibilities of his career as a fighter, capable of batting his team out of trouble.

If you talk to Rashid Latif, the former Pakistan wicketkeeper and captain, who mentored Younis like a younger brother, the fulfilment of Younis’s heroic destiny was never in doubt. Younis came under Latif’s wings at the Malir Gymkahana, a sports club in one of Karachi’s middle-class suburbs. He impressed everyone with his untiring work ethic and his ceaseless devotion to every aspect of the game. “Younis never missed a match,” recalled Latif, when I spoke to him on the phone recently. “This may not sound like much, but in the context of Karachi in those difficult days, it told me a great deal about him.”

The point is subtle, but important. In the mid-1990s, when Younis was cutting his cricketing teeth, parts of Karachi were an ethnic war zone. The city's majority Urdu-speaking community was at loggerheads with the Pathans, who hailed from Pakistan’s north-west frontier. Younis, an unmistakable Pathan, would brave gang fights and flying bullets through some of Karachi’s most troubled areas, to be schooled by his teacher Latif, a celebrated Urdu-speaking son of Karachi, in a relationship that had the makings of an epic. Imagine a portentous Catholic-Protestant collaboration in Belfast during the height of the Irish trouble, or a black-white partnership in Soweto during the darkest days of apartheid, and you’ll get some idea.

Today Younis is a 64-Test veteran with 17 centuries and a 50-plus average. Aged 33, this puts him within striking distance of Pakistan’s most hallowed batting records. Already he has threatened Pakistan’s highest Test innings, 337 by Hanif Mohammad, with a triple-hundred in Karachi in 2009. Pakistan’s highest Test aggregate (8832 by Javed Miandad) and highest number of Test hundreds (25 by Inzamam-ul-Haq) are also in his line of fire.

He has a reputation for fearlessness – squaring his shoulders to any attack, straightening up after any blow, never shying from a verbal or psychological joust, and never hiding behind a nightwatchman. He has also convinced everyone of his unbending personal moral fibre. This magnificent inner strength enabled him to lead Pakistan to a Twenty20 world title mere weeks after terrorists had shattered the national cricket ethos with an attack on the visiting Sri Lankans in Lahore. It also allowed him to wait out the recent tense duel with PCB chief Ijaz Butt, until the lesser man finally blinked.

Many observers feel that Younis Khan also happens to be the most capable and deserving candidate for Pakistan’s Test captaincy. His record as captain (one win, five draws, and three losses) may not be noteworthy on paper, but he has leadership stature and, unlike other potential contenders (including the current captain Misbah-ul-Haq), is an automatic selection in the side. Most importantly, with the Pakistan team ensnared in a spot-fixing scandal, Younis stands firm as the only frontline player utterly untouched by this cancer. This might have had something to do with his unceremonious ouster from the captaincy following the disastrous summer tour to Sri Lanka last year – which would constitute a very good reason to put him back in the saddle now.

The terrible wrinkle is that Younis is on the wrong side of the current PCB administration, and these thoughts are moot until a new set-up comes in. The way things work in Pakistan, that could happen tomorrow, or not for another couple of years. Despite the anticipated turbulence ahead, supporters of Younis can take comfort that their hero is sitting pretty. Great things happen to men of destiny. Younis may be on the wrong side of the PCB, but he is not on the wrong side of history.

A repeat of 2009 is far more likely than a repeat of 2005 © Getty Images

I have avoided speculation about the Ashes all year, for a number of reasons. First is my hatred of looking a fool, which is why I try not to make too many predictions. Second is that I find it depressing to witter on about future series when there is actual cricket being played: I'm a great believer that if you take good enough care of the present, the future will look after itself. Obsessing about the Ashes rather than concentrating on beating South Africa, Bangladesh or Pakistan seems to me a stupid way of proceeding.

My third reason was that the series was being ridiculously over-hyped, and I had no desire to add to the billowing clouds of pointless theorising. A prime example of the over-hyping is Cricinfo's poll asking readers to predict the result. I can't honestly pick any of the four alternatives on offer, but by some distance the silliest is the one which is leading the current standings, that it will be a 2005-type classic.

I very much doubt it will be the walkover for Australia that the last half-dozen series Down Under have been, but even that is more likely than “2005: The Return”.

Of course I'd like to be surprised, but I simply can't see where a 2005 repeat would come from. What lifted 2005 into the stratosphere was that it was played by one unquestionably great side and another playing the kind of cricket that great sides play.

England had assembled the mightiest pace attack seen since the West Indies heyday of the 80s, including an all-rounder of the explosive power of an Ian Botham or a Keith Miller, were brilliantly led by Michael Vaughan, whose batting, along with Kevin Pietersen’s, had demonstrated at least the potential for greatness. It may all have fallen apart with embarrassing rapidity afterwards, but for that series we watched two of the most outstanding teams you could wish for playing outstanding cricket. And that is just not going to happen over the next couple of months.

If Pietersen recovers his pre-surgery powers, that will make three world-class players on show in 2010, Ricky Ponting and Graeme Swann being the other two, whereas in 2005, there were only about three players who weren't world-class during the series. It may very well be a close series, and there may well be twists and turns with the result uncertain until the last day of the last Test, but this is a clash between two teams in the middle of the ICC ranking table who are not capable of much more than middle-ranking cricket.

It is, however, likely to be the best Ashes series played in Australia for many a long year, but that's because the others have been such non-contests that even moderately interesting with the losers playing at recognisable Test standard would be sufficient to take the title – and the shared series alternative in the Cricinfo poll is by no means unlikely: it's actually what the rankings would predict.

But my fourth reason for not saying anything was the view I formed immediately after the 2009 series, which was that it was all going to come down to who turned up fit and in form.

Six months before the 2002-3 and 2006-7 series, I thought that England would lose while making at least a decent fight of it, but those ideas were on the basis of what I thought the team was going to be. As it turned out, on both occasions the team landed in Australia carrying a couple of key players who were unlikely to get fit in time, and in fact never did, which uncertainty and dithering was a major factor in the abject capitulations the series ended up being.

This time round, though, it's England with the settled XI who are used to winning things and seem to be match-fit and in decent form and Australia who apparently don't know what their preferred team is (a squad of seventeen - I ask you) and even if they do, most of them seem to be struggling for fitness or form and haven't won a game in ages, let alone a series.

Logically, then, I should pick the England-at-a-canter option but I can't believe in this cantering bit. Even if they win, it's much more likely that they will crash into Australia in the final straight and fall backwards over the line. The most disappointing aspect of England's play these last two or three years is their inability to deal with being in front. Give them a lead and it's just about guaranteed that they will play their worst cricket until the other side have drawn level or, preferably, gone ahead. (It even applies at the personal level: established players seem to make a habit of notching up a succession of mediocre results until it dawns on them they are about to lose their place and turn in a career-saving epic.)

So instead I pick option five, which wasn't on the original poll, which is “England to win a close but undistinguished series, like in 2009.”

In a different era, Michael Hussey's Test spot would not have come under so much scrutiny © Getty Images

The last decade or so has fuelled a global desire for a higher standard of living that is less tolerant of what was deemed "acceptable" not so long ago. The rise and rise of the vast economies of China and India especially provide an insight into our modern expectations, demanding a materialism that would in some previous era have been seen as a luxury or an indulgence, a bonus even. The current debate around Michael Hussey's position in the Australian Test team reflects this new economic reality in some senses. It's a sign of the times, and perhaps a sign of the fact that bat dominates ball to such an extent that here is a man who is virtually averaging 50 throughout a reasonably long career and yet there are strident calls for him to be axed. Quite amazing really.

In times gone by, not so very long ago, a Test average of 50 was generally acknowledged as the benchmark for 'greatness'. The few players who inhabited this elite club were venerated and were pretty much left to pick their own swansong date. Sometimes, that moment was pressured ever so slightly be advancing years or a temporary form slump but it was usually the case that even when Allan Border, Mark Taylor and Steve Waugh were nearing the end and subtle hints were being thrown around, their standing in the game (and Taylor only averaged 43 but he was treated as a member of the 5-plus club), they were allowed to exit with dignity. Hussey may not necessarily be allowed that luxury which is more a sign of the times than a reflection of his legacy.

The sheer numbers of players averaging 50-plus in Test cricket are much higher these days. When I was a young lad growing up in the 70s and 80s, those in the club were revered as rare gems. I immediately think of Richards, Gavaskar, Boycott, Border, Miandad and Greg Chappell but I cannot readily remember too many more. No doubt I've missed a few notables but that's almost the point - these are the only names that readily spring to mind for me. Most countries had only one – maybe two if they were lucky – of these great batsmen playing at any one time. The modern game, despite higher standards of fielding and bowlers with more stamina and increased fitness levels, seems to be producing batsmen who average in excess of 50 with monotonous regularity, thereby creating an environment where a player like Hussey is under severe pressure to hold his spot. That sort of pressure only seems to happen in countries where the recent past has produced so many quality batsmen that when players start to show a form slump, the cricketing public are merciless. Players like Rahul Dravid and Hussey would be the first players selected in many of the teams who don't have an honour roll of these batsmen in their ranks.

I remember the times when to have just one black and white television in the house was an untold luxury, something to boast about at school. Now, my children are apt to complain if the satellite signal is temporarily disrupted or if they are forced to watch a DVD on any of the other four televisions dotted around the home. That's all they've ever known. That may be similar to the situation Hussey is facing now, partly a victim of a team that is going through an inevitable rebuilding phase but with public expectations that do not allow for this regeneration process. It is no doubt compounded by the fact that all of this coincides with an Ashes. Australians are less likely to be forgiving right now, such is the nature of a home Ashes.

Many Test playing countries now have two or three players in that club. India's top six are virtually all in that bracket, quite an amazing statistic really. No wonder that they are ranked No. 1. With that sort of pedigree, there should be a public inquiry if they weren't on top of the rankings. Sri Lanka has at least three batsmen who average more than 50, Australia's recent past is littered with batsmen who scaled those heights and South Africa have a couple already in the club with Hashim Amla and AB de Villiers not far from joining in. Depending on the current politics in Pakistan cricket, they could potentially have a few who fall into that category too. That leaves just West Indies (Chanderpaul apart), England, New Zealand and Bangladesh who don't have a top order full of 50-plus 'averagees'. Of those teams, I think it's reasonable to suggest that it maybe only England, who have a strong all-round unit, would spurn someone like Hussey. Jonathan Trott, who hasn't really played enough Test cricket to justify inclusion in this durable list, is the only current England batsman to average in excess of 50. Hypothetical question: if Hussey was not selected for Australia, would England happily swap him for say, Ian Bell?

Can anyone think of another Test batsman who averaged 50-plus who was actually "dropped" from the team, rather than being pressured to retire gracefully? I'm sure there will be some names thrown up but I can't think of any off the top of my head. Yes, I'm sure Pakistan cricket might provide a few exceptions but often, those non-selections were not necessarily based on pure form but also linked to various other power struggles and temporary splits in the camp. Even when Greg Chappell went through that horror patch in the early 1980s, there was no serious talk of dropping him and it was generally accepted that he would eventually come good. Great players always do.

Perhaps there have been the odd instances of players dropped temporarily, just to allow them to get a bit of form back, with an unwritten assurance that they'd be given the armchair ride straight back into the team when they found their mojo again. If Hussey does get dropped this time around, I'm not convinced that he will necessarily be given any such assurances. Not unless he repeats what he had to do in order to break into the team in the first instance - just score heavily in domestic cricket and force his way in when injury or some other unusual situation presents itself.

Personally, I've got a lot of time for Hussey, as a cricketer and as a person. I know him reasonably well from some dealings I had with him ten years ago and I can vouch for the fact that he is indeed a gentleman of the highest calibre. He may just be the victim of an era where Australian cricket demands a level of performance that may be unrealistic in the next few years, as they rebuild after a long period of churning out all-time greats. In any other period, Hussey's position in the side would never have been called into question but that's the downside of being at the end of a halcyon period. I'm not convinced Australia has the depth of batsmen that young India seems to have, to warrant throwing Hussey out just yet. The man himself must be hoping that Bob Dylan's timeless classic, The Times They Are a-Changin' will prove prophetic for him these next few weeks.

"Come writers and critics who prophesise with your pen, don't speak too soon, the chance won't come again."

There is no strong centralized authority in cricket despite the presence of the ICC © Getty Images

I finished reading two excellent books over the weekend: Gideon Haigh’s latest, Sphere of Influence, and David Post’s Jefferson’s Moose: Notes on the States of Cyberspace. The former is an Australian cricket writer, the game’s master historian; the latter, an American professor of law at Temple University. The first book is about the current state of cricket; the latter, about Internet regulation. One concept the two books have in common, and indeed, are obsessed about, is “governance.”

Post’s analysis centers around the dualism of the Jeffersonian vs Hamiltonian models of governance for the Internet: should regulation flow from a strong, centralized authority or from decentralized, autonomous groups evolving modes and methods of co-operation and power-sharing? The success of the Internet seems to be explainable in terms of the latter, while worries about the loss of its unique “nature” seem to be centered around the fear that the former model will come to predominate.

Haigh is concerned about the game’s governance: its present and its future prospects (readers familiar with his Cricinfo columns will know what he is up to in this dazzlingly written book). The picture painted is often a grim one, despite the fact that the ICC-national board structure seems to possess some of the features of the Jeffersonian model so beloved of Post. There is no strong centralized authority despite the presence of the ICC; the true power seems to lie in the hands of the various national boards. Calls for the ICC to “do something, anything, about X”, where X happens to be the latest crisis riling the minds of players and fans alike, are inevitably met with a shrugged shoulder or two, and the brisk sweeping of the matter under the nearest rug.

This situation has come to pass in cricket because, despite the lack of a centralized authority and the devolution of power to the national boards, cricket’s political economy does not forbid the subsequent concentration of power in the constituent units. The political structure of votes and committees and rotating presidents does a poor job of masking the cricket world’s worst-kept secret: the BCCI, for all intents and purposes, runs the show. In a truly decentralized arrangement, like for instance, the Internet Engineering Task Force, the structures in place, permit no such concentration of power. But political economy can interfere even in this case: the astronomical growth in the value of domain names led to the enrichment and empowerment of Network Solutions Inc. and the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers.

The cases of cricket and the Internet demonstrate a point I’m fond of making in my Computers and Ethics class whenever I discuss Post’s writings on centralized versus autonomous models of power-sharing: the challenge, when devising a model of governance is to try and follow the Goldilocks Principle of regulation - control things just enough so that bullies can’t take over, but not so much that individual constituents cannot self-regulate.

It goes without saying that if a local bully is what the communities want for the achievement of shared ends, then they should have it - it is their decision, and theirs alone, to devise the most appropriate means for achieving them. I’m not sure that is the case in cricket, and it is equally not clear that the cricket world could have done anything about the twinned blessings of demographics and economy that have made the BCCI the cricketing power that it is.

But any power, hopefully, is subject to the moral constraint that it be wielded responsibly, and that the shared ends I noted above, are decided upon by some form of consensus building. For if the agreement on ends is not a democratic business, then we might as well not worry about the means.

Always up for trench warfare - Collingwood © AP images

After my piece on Owais Shah a lively debate ensued, which included this gem of a comment from Sunny Singh: “Some place on earth, a local government has banned mentioning Paul Collingwood and Sachin Tendulkar in the same sentence if batting is being discussed. “

Now, there aren't many current batsmen who merit being mentioned in the same sentence as Sachin Tendulkar, but I suspect Sunny was being rather more disparaging about Collingwood than merely pointing out that he is not one of the all-time greats. His implication seemed to be that Colly isn't even really a Test batsman, let alone a good one, and even if that was not Sunny's intent, there are quite a few fans who subscribe to a view pretty close to it, which got me wondering how fair an assessment it is.

His international debut was as an ODI player. He was able to knock the ball around constructively in overs 20-40 with the bat and deliver some reasonably economical overs of medium-pace in the corresponding period with the ball, and rounded the package off by being an electric fielder at backward point. Bits-and-pieces players rarely do well in Test cricket, and little was expected when he made his Test debut as an emergency backup for an unfit Nasser Hussain in the first match of the 2003-04 series in Sri Lanka.

His first innings of 1 was disappointing but the second innings held promise of things to come, had we known it at the time. At 38, it was numerically unimpressive, but it took 153 balls in just under three hours as England battled, eventually successfully, to save the match against Murali bowling on his favourite ground in Galle. Collingwood was rewarded with another cap in the next match even though Hussain was fit to return, and he obliged with another couple of long-drawn-out 20-odds as England staved off another defeat. He was dropped for the third match, which Sri Lanka promptly won by an innings and 200 to take the series.

It was a mixed beginning. No one had expected the ODI specialist to show such adhesiveness, but equally no one had expected him to be virtually strokeless. He looked like a fox warily trying to escape a pack of hounds, every ball being treated as a potentially fatal thrust, the relief as each was survived evident on his face. The view quickly took hold that he was a batsman of very limited ability who had found Test cricket extremely difficult.

His next appearance did nothing to change that impression. 7 and 10 in a total of 77 balls was hardly an Ashes-winning effort, but he still collected an MBE for being part of the squad. Australians guffawed and confected some synthetic outrage, despite it being no more absurd than the World Cup winners medals collected by Adam Dale, Shane Lee or Jimmy Maher.

Collingwood paid them back for disrespect by scoring a double hundred at Adelaide in the return series, and made good on the MBE this year by being the first England men's captain to lift an ICC limited-over trophy, which would have made him a shoo-in for a gong if he hadn't already got one.

From 2006 to 2008 he was permanently on notice as being liable for the axe if he didn't perform, and would certainly have been sent back to county cricket if he had not made a lively century against South Africa at Edgbaston. Over the next twelve months, though, he dug in for several match-saving innings, particularly in the 2009 Ashes, which earned him much kudos as well as gratitude from the supporting public, standing him in good stead for his slump in this summer's Tests.

I fancy, though, that he gained more credit in team circles for his more anonymous performances as support to the stroke-players. Like Herbert Sutcliffe supporting Jack Hobbs, his function was to give as much strike as possible to Kevin Pietersen or Ian Bell or whoever else was going to play a pyrotechnic solo while he kept the rhythm going on the bass.

In the meantime, he was racking up more ODI appearances than any other England player – and also racking up more ODI sixes than anyone else. In terms of sixes per match, there are bigger hitters, but the sheer number of them puts a big hole in the theory that he is a very limited batsman. He has never lost that rather hunted look, but if you view him positively rather than trying to find fault, it could simply be intense concentration.

Having fully subscribed to the conventional theory in the past, I am changing my mind. Collingwood's strength is that he plays the innings that the team wants from him at any given time, adapting his style to the needs of the moment. Particularly in Test cricket, it would not usually be great tactics for him to play all the shots he knows: he is far better off playing second fiddle to the virtuoso when things are going well and blocking away when the situation is dire.

This does not put him in the SR Tendulkar class, of course, but he can perhaps be seen as following the path of someone like SR Waugh. He is never going to be regarded as one of the greats, but reviewing his career has convinced me that he deserves more respect than he has generally had.