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Mike Selvey in his blog on The Guardian website ponders Jesse Ryder, a man locals describe as an accident waiting to happen.

Ryder, the fat boy made good in a sport where the levels of fitness required are now considerable, became an instant hero. A Test place beckoned for he played the ball late, technically better than a mere beefy biffer. A bit like Marcus Trescothick thought some. Then, in the Stock Exchange bar in Christchurch, he blew it.

On Monday, Ryder was paraded for the media, arm heavily in a sling, and the sight of his sad, bloated face mumbling out his prepared statement of contrition was genuinely one of pathos. Clearly he was embarrassed, although it was hard to tell if this was because of the deed or the public exposure.

Ryder drinks heavily after games but does so beforehand too. I asked one player about a report I'd heard that he was knocking back tequila slammers in the early hours before a Twenty20 international, and was told that this was the tip of the iceberg and by no means a one-off.

As might any young person who feels the need to drink to excess, often alone, into the small hours, Ryder needs help more than condemnation. This is not to suggest that efforts have not been made, because the cricket authorities of both Central Districts and Wellington have sought to help him, but he has not responded