Marcus Trescothick has sparkled for Somerset, but should not be in consideration for the Ashes © Getty Images

Calling England followers. Let’s be optimistic out there. Bit by bit, with the Ashes less than a year away and, even more important, a first series win in India for 23 years in the offing, the pieces seem to be plopping into place.

Freddie’s back and firing with one-and-a-half barrels, which is about as much as could reasonably be expected when you consider how little he’s played over the past 18 months; Matt Prior is grasping his second chance with the determination that marks out life’s winners; Stuart Broad is starting to bowl with the belief that underpins his batting; he may still insist on not looking where he’s bowling, but Jimmy Anderson has taken bigger strides than anyone this year; as evidenced by a greater trust in his own bowling than any of his captains has had, KP is blessed with the positive mindset that fuels every lucky leader.

And Steve Harmison, on his day the most intimidating bowler on the planet, is back, giving KP four speedsters capable of exceeding 90 mph (whether this renewed hunger is strictly in response to Sir Allen Stanford’s largesse is neither here nor there; he does this for the living, not the loving). Is it being greedy to hope Michael Vaughan can reclaim that silken touch? Maybe, but that can certainly be balanced by the painful acknowledgement, given his ebullient county form, that Marcus Trescothick will never, should never, return.

Last Saturday brought a sobering reminder of Somerset’s gain and England’s loss when Trescothick hammered 184 off 112 balls against Gloucestershire, not so much breaking his own national 40-over record, set just a few weeks earlier, but obliterating it, by fully 60 runs. To the inevitable question that followed, the answer was unequivocal: “I am done and dusted.”

Whether Kevin Pietersen’s powers of persuasion are extensive enough to compel a change of heart remains to be seen – and anyone who can persuade Harmison to spend less time with his family is not to be underestimated - but, for now, the prospect of translating such form to the international arena still appears to fill Trescothick with about as much enthusiasm as a long weekend with Robert Mugabe. Even the stoniest heart, surely, would not begrudge him his priorities.

At least the story has now been told. Whether it is the full one cannot be certain, but at least the chain of events that led to England’s greatest casualty of the post-Oval 2005 era, is now that much easier to swallow. Almost as easy, in fact, as the mints Trescothick confesses to having used in a shameless if vain attempt to help his bowlers stem those tidal waves during the 2001 Ashes.

Trescothick’s mea culpa of an autobiography, Coming Back To Me, serialised in the News of the World, traces this sad tale in all its gory unglory. A tale of loss, fear and depression, it is nothing if not a cautionary tale for these sporting times. It is worth recounting the odd passage. Plagued by guilt over his refusal to return home following the sudden deaths of his wife, Hayley’s, father and grandfather, the Pakistan tour of 2005 found him “exhausted, emotionally vulnerable, isolated and far from home…ready for the taking”.

Come India the following February he was gone: “I never saw the ball that got me out [against a Board President’s XI in Vadodara]. I knew I was going to crack. I threw my helmet in my bag and there, in the middle of the dressing-room, I let it all out. I said: ‘I’ve got to go home.’ Then I began sobbing. I rushed outside. I was nervous, uptight and retching and I didn’t want to cause any more of a scene in front of the other players. But Fletch [England coach Duncan Fletcher] grabbed me to get me out of sight. At that point I was a shell. I didn’t care. I’d lost the will to do anything else.”

The following November, an attempted comeback against New South Wales ended when he requested permission to leave the field to go to the loo, and never returned. “It was as though someone flicked a switch. I knew it was over. The tears welled up as I started to walk back to the pavilion. I knew I no longer had any say in the matter. The illness had come back, the bastard had returned, and the shadow cast by its black wings consumed me again.” The heart bleeds.

The recent confessions of Stuart MacGill, Michael Slater, Shaun Tait and Lou Vincent prove that Trescothick is far from alone in his admission of mental frailty, never an easy thing to do amid such a macho world but a welcome sign that dressing rooms are becoming less oppressive. Nor, of course, should we be in the slightest bit surprised that players buckle under the pressure.

A recent ICC bulletin from Dubai claims that, from 1993 to 2000, the top 20 most active players “featured in an average of 62 days international cricket a year, while between 2000 and 2007, this rose to just over 71”. Participation rates among fast bowlers, moreover, “have remained consistently around 76%”. These figures, though, take no account of the time spent away from home and hearth, nor, indeed, of the way in which tours have multiplied in quantity while shrinking in length, compressing and hence intensifying the pressures.

Not that the ICC shrinks from such an uncomfortable analysis. Over the past two decades, its researchers have calculated, the average duration of a five-match Test series has “condensed” from 68.63 days to 48.17, ie by nearly 30%; for a three-match rubber, admittedly much the more common, the figures are 27.44 to 22.64, hoisting the intensity factor by nearly 20%. Next spring, India are scheduled to go to New Zealand and cram in two Tests, five ODIs and a Twenty20 international, plus a three-day warm-up match, in barely a month. That might suit the likes of Trescothick and Harmison, uneager as they are to be on the road, but there has to be a better balance than this, surely.

To watch Trescothick thrash and swat Worcestershire’s bowlers all over Taunton last night was to see a free spirit on cruise control. The drives and pulls were devoid of doubt, bereft of caution. Here was a cricketer enjoying his job, an entertainer doing what he does best: a big goldfish revelling in a smaller, grubbier, more opaque bowl. Helping Somerset finally land that elusive Championship pennant is now the summit of his ambitions. To ask him to return to the wider public gaze would almost certainly end in tears for all concerned, as Charl Willoughby, his worldly-wise South African teammate, emphasised this week.

“The illness made him a bit introverted and closed,” Willoughby recalled, “but since he’s put his international career behind him he is one of the nicest guys you could play with. He’s open, he’s generous, willing to offer advice to anybody. He’s an awesome cricketer and England definitely miss him but they’ve got to be understanding that he is a human being. They can’t expect him to come back because it will affect him again.”

So let’s be grateful out there. That Harmy seems to be as ready, willing and able as he has ever been. That, regardless of today’s result at The Oval, a fitful summer is ending in considerably better fashion than looked possible a month ago. And that Tresco is smiling again.

	Surely the priority, if you really do insist on flinging money at sport, should be with those who truly make us feel proud, or at least better © Getty Images

I know you’ve been having a tough time since moving from No.11 to No.10, what with all the economic worries, the cash-for-gongs saga, record levels of dissatisfaction with your premiership and that curious-looking Milliband chap sniffing your throne, so I’m not entirely surprised to see you taking such pleasure in the performance of all those “Team GB” cyclists, oarsmen and sailors in Beijing. However, I don’t think it would be fair on you to let you get too carried away. Which is why I am here to set you straight.

"Success in rowing, sailing and track cycling can essentially be bought by siphoning off money from the public purse and handing it to the athletes who are then able to train like professionals ... Success in sport - like in the agricultural market - is easier when it receives huge state subsidies." So wrote Matthew Syed, a former Olympian, in The Times the other day. OK, so he was a ping-ponger, out for himself from first bobbled serve to final fluffed smash, but the point remains. If you really want to give yourself a worthwhile goal, let’s see what you can do about our regular national teams, notably the lot who endeavour to play cricket.

To be honest, and I reckon most of your subjects would back me up, I would far prefer our soccer-rockers, rugger-buggers and willow-wielders win a few more games than a ragtag collection of largely university and/or public school types bring home more golds in more unwatchable sports than China and the US combined from a quadrennial event that costs more to stage than the GDP of Southern Africa. If you are tempted to believe I am one of those people who regard the “winning” of the right to stage the 2012 Olympics to be something of a costly and catastrophic defeat, I will not take offence.

As Ed Smith, the most literate county captain since Mike Brearley, pointed out in The Guardian, nearly 60% of Britain's medallists at Athens in 2004 went to independent schools. “Chasing cherry-picked Olympic dreams in which the winners are the privileged, cynics say, is a misappropriation of the public purse,” he wrote. “After 11 years of New Labour, British sport seems less meritocratic than ever.” I’ll second that emotion, and third it.

Surely the priority, if you really do insist on flinging money at sport, should be with those who truly make us feel proud, or at least better. And since team sports remain the last refuge for semi-selfless endeavour and true collectivism, and since you did used to be something of a leftie, that priority should probably lie with soccer, rugby union and cricket, each of them a nourishing crust in our daily bread. That said, soccer doesn’t deserve it (fancy putting club before country!) and rugby union doesn’t need it, so that leaves cricket.

I realise that, being Scottish, all this might mean less than nothing to you. Even if it does, you’re probably still peeved at the way Douglas Jardine, Mike Denness and Gavin Hamilton were treated by the selectors. But have you forgotten? Labour won the 2005 General Election on the back of an Ashes triumph. If you want to take your subjects’ minds off the property crash, not to mention secure a second term, you wait and see how feelgood the feelgood factor is when the urn is regained next summer. Mark my words – calling a snap election for early September will pay dividends.

Of course, simply chucking millions at causes, however worthy, isn’t necessarily the answer. It depends on how you chuck ’em. Have a look at the upper echelons of the current county averages (you’ll have to go online; the papers can’t be bothered printing them anymore) and note all those Africans, Aussies and non-Flying Dutchmen. And the reason for that, once more, is privilege. Which brings us to your beloved school system.

You and your party are forever blathering on about broadening educational opportunity, and the need to give half the country a university degree (given the plummeting standards of literacy and numeracy in secondary schools, the latter was not, on reflection, the cleverest idea, but hey, you can blame that on your old mate Tony B). But what kind of a country sells off most of its playing fields for supermarket development? Unless your parents can afford to pay by the barrowload for your education, the chances of being coached properly at school are miniscule. And you only have to look at the talent little ol’ Sri Lanka are turning out of their schools (yes, Sri Lanka!) to appreciate the value of such a breeding ground.

So, Gordon, if you really, really want to do something for sport, the answer should be as clear and plain and, well, dull as your demagoguery: buy back those playing fields and crank up the wages of the teachers who will have to work overtime to raise our future Kevin Pietersens and Darren Pattinsons. OK, Jimmy Andersons and Monty Panesars. And while you’re about it, sending a sicknote to IOC, confessing to your undying regret that staging the Olympics could bankrupt the nation, wouldn’t hurt either.

Yours sincerely

A Hopeful Romantic (Socialist branch)

	VVS Laxman aside, does any contemporary player penetrate the off side quite so effortlessly, quite so regally? © Getty Images

Events in Kandy and Colombo over the past fortnight have given us Limeys even more reason to believe in the possibility of the improbable. Not only is Michael Vaughan showing signs of re-scaling the heights of 2002 [which is not, admittedly, all that unlike suggesting Michelangelo had another Sistine Chapel in him]; he is also beginning to come to terms with what so many assume to be the toughest job in sport: captaining a cricket team while fully justifying selection as a player.

On the face of it, Vaughan’s Test career endorses that hardy slice of cricketing philosophy: while responsibility may maketh the man, it usually plays merry hell with the batsman. England’s reigning overlord, after all, is averaging more than 20% less with the stripes than he did in the ranks.

On the other hand, as his form thus far in Sri Lanka has reinforced, he does appear to be getting the hang of all that juggling. As I write, up to the end of the second Test in Colombo, he is averaging 39.18 as captain; only once, after scoring a century in each innings against West Indies in 2004, has he averaged more in that capacity – and that was 39.35. Indeed, in his last 14 innings, against West Indies, India and Sri Lanka, he has made 736 runs at nearly 53 – i.e. more than his mean as non-captain. That he is opening again, courtesy of Andrew Strauss’s unexpected decline, seems anything but coincidental: in that position he averages 49.08, elsewhere almost 10 runs fewer.

So, is that old saw, about returns diminishing as duties increase, really borne out by the evidence? Take a look at the following list of current or recent batsmen-captains:

Average as captain

Ponting 65.83 (up from 55.97 not as captain)
Jayawardene 60.41 (47.80)
Lara 57.83 (50.12)
Inzamam 52.10 (48.73)
Dravid 44.51 (59.30)
Fleming 40.59 (36.77)
Vaughan 39.18 (50.98)
Smith 45.25 (55.09)

Smith is an awkward case – all but eight of his 66 Tests have been as captain, in which capacity he was averaging 72 after his first seven matches, thanks primarily to those successive double-tons against England in 2003. The decline, though, has been steady, long and virtually uninterrupted. As for Vaughan, he became captain amid the glow of one of the purplest patches the modern game has witnessed, so again, the only way was down. (Indeed, he was averaging more, 50.98, than at any time in his career when he assumed the reins against South Africa at Lord’s in 2003.) Given that helming India is probably the most demanding job in sport, and that he, too, was surfing the crest of a wave when he inherited it, Dravid’s waning is even more forgivable. The surprise, to many, will be that as many as five of the eight players above became more productive with responsibility, Jayawardene, Ponting and Lara appreciably so.

Now let’s toss in, at something akin to random, 12 notables of distant and recent yesteryear who doubled as skippers:

Bradman 101.51 (98.69)
Hammond 55.23 (59.48)
Sobers 58.80 (57.01)
Gavaskar 50.72 (51.33)
Javed Miandad 50.08 (53.53)
Hutton 52.14 (58.47)
Lloyd 51.30 (38.67)
Richards 45.11 (53.64)
Ian Chappell 50.00 (37.26)
Steve Waugh 52.30 (50.44)
Hussain 36.04 (38.10)
M Taylor 39.63 (46.97)

Almost 60% of the above (seven out of 12) endured a decline in productivity as leaders, yes, but of rather more significance is the fact that more than 40% (five) improved, Chappell and Lloyd especially.

Merging these two lists, moreover, demonstrates the relatively insignificant negative impact captaincy can have:

Biggest rise

Chappell + 12.74
Lloyd + 12.63
Jayawardene + 12.61
Ponting + 9.86
Lara + 7.71
Fleming + 3.82
Inzamam + 3.37
Bradman + 2.82
Waugh + 1.86
Sobers + 1.79

Biggest fall

Dravid – 14.79
Vaughan – 11.80
Smith – 9.84
Richards – 8.53
Taylor -7.34
Hutton – 6.33
Hammond – 4.25
Miandad – 3.45
Hussain – 2.06
Gavaskar – 0.61

Those least touched by the cares of leadership have been Gavaskar (0.61 difference), Sobers (1.79), Waugh (1.86), Hussain (2.06) and Bradman (2.82). Of the 20 batsmen under examination, furthermore, only six can be said to have suffered in any substantive way (average reduced by more than 5%) from carrying the extra burden – Dravid, Vaughan, Smith, Richards, Hutton and Taylor. Since they all averaged 39-plus, moreover, none can be said to have been conspicuously unworthy batting selections in the way that, say, Mike Brearley (22.48) or even Jeremy Coney (30.19) were. So much, then, for received wisdom.

Vaughan, though, has something else to commend him. Lara’s retirement from the five-day arena may have left a vast void on the aesthetic front, but the Sheriff of Sheffield’s post-knee-op rebirth has plugged a few gaps. VVS Laxman aside, does any contemporary player penetrate the off side quite so effortlessly, quite so regally? Not to these eyes. Throw in a follow-through that might have inspired Rembrandt and the artistic impression is nigh-on Gowerian. Or, come to that, Azharuddin. Six-point-zeroes all round.

Which prompted another mischievous thought. How about picking a current XI to satisfy the senses, and one on whom, despite their collective eyesoreness and/or greyness, you might wager your last penny not to lose? All right, all right, since you insist…

Sensual XI: Michael Vaughan (capt), Chris Gayle, Ricky Ponting, Mohammad Yousuf, VVS Laxman, Prasanna Jayawardene (wk), Stuart MacGill, Shoaib Akhtar, Brett Lee, Shane Bond, Danish Kaneria.

Undemonstrative XI: Kumar Sangakkara (capt & wk), Michael Hussey, Rahul Dravid, Jacques Kallis, Shivnarine Chanderpaul, Paul Collingwood, Anil Kumble, Shaun Pollock, Matthew Hoggard, Stuart Clark, Paul Harris.

	Ryan Sidebottom's dismissal in the second innings left a bitter taste and lent force to the argument that the days of the strictly reactive third umpire should end © Getty Images

How shall we remember this Test? Let us count the ways. Slowly, appreciatively. The gripping to-and-fro struggle for the upper hand between well-matched sides that kept us guessing until the last, confirming the five-day form as the most edifying and satisfying spectacle thrown up by the competitive arts. The sight of a spinner deciding matters with the new ball. The almost equally estimable bowling of Chaminda Vaas and Matthew Hoggard. Further proof that Kumar Sangakkara is not only the best willow-wielder currently residing on this particular planet but author of the most statistically-impressive sustained streak of form since Braddles. The batting of Ian Bell, Matty Prior and, in the aptest of farewells, Sanath Jayasuriya (thanks awfully for doing so much to preserve this plaything of ours, old boy). The awesome wicketkeeping of the lesser-known Jayawardene. The way Sidebottom’s curls make him look like Rupert Everett playing Charles II. Oh, and Murali beating Warney.

Yet a bitter taste lingers.

If the professionals are to be believed, there were only about 15 minutes of playable light left when Lasith Malinga’s impeccable yorker did for Hoggard. Throw in Sidebottom’s first-innings resistance and it is not that great a stretch to conclude that, had the correct decision been made, England might have escaped with a draw, however much that might have offended one’s notions of justice. And yes, while I am, legally speaking, a Pom, albeit sometimes an abashed one, and England CC are the only sporting team that rouses my emotional prejudices and vestiges of near-shameless patriotism, it would have offended my own notions of justice.

The injustice of Sidebottom’s exit was plain, if not necessarily from the outset. Admittedly, in real time, it was far from obvious, to this couch potato at least, that anything was amiss. That he got an inside edge to the ball that thudded fatally into his pads, however, was beyond doubt from the very first replay transmitted by Sky.

Surely the third umpire, the grandly-monikered Tyron Hirantha Wijewardene, should have been in a position to pick up his walkie-talkie and gently alert Asad Rauf to the bat’s involvement before he made a fool of himself. “Proactivity” may be one of those horrid buzzwords coined by management consultants as a posh-sounding alternative to the traditionally curt-but-reasonably-effective “bloody well get on with it, already”, but this is one case where I heartily applaud its invention. It sounds so...so…ACTIVE.

No blame should be attached to Rauf. It had been a long day, such a draining, concentration-sapping match, and visibility was deteriorating. But this episode served to reinforce the argument a small but avowedly and incredibly sensible cadre of cricket-lovers have been voicing for some time. Namely, that the days of the strictly reactive third official should be terminated with extreme, even excessive, prejudice. One-way relationships seldom work.

	At Rose Bowl, in the first ODI against India, Ian Bell revealed himself to be an authentic international batsman, shedding the shackles of uncertainity and inhibition © Getty Images

For all the stoutness of his Test average (42.39), he has seldom convinced during his four years at the highest level. He has always looked even younger than his years – and not simply because of that slight frame, those cherubic cheeks and that almost sheepish air. It was as if he, too, could not believe he belonged.

While occasionally allowing it to dribble out, he seldom exuded confidence. All too often he appeared hemmed in by a preoccupation with technique, constricted in ambition, restrained, unable to turn good starts into match-turning scores, unable to impose. Which might explain why he has often done better at No.6. Until last night he reminded me of the primary school swot who always finishes top of the class but struggles to keep up once he rises to secondary school and comes up against all the other swots in the catchment area.

But one shot last night prompted even this non-believer to accept, not only that patience remains the greatest virtue, but that he may have been doing Bell a grave disservice. Played on the rise, with something approaching a swagger, an early cover-driven four off RP Singh, his third scoring stroke, demanded to be taken seriously, exceedingly seriously. Suddenly, here was evidence of an authentic international batsman, an accomplished craftsman shedding the shackles of uncertainty and inhibition. “I belong!” it roared. “And now you’re gonna believe it!”

It was that shot that facilitated the other vivid blow in his long-awaited maiden ODI century, at the 46th attempt - a straight six off Piyush Chawla fuelled by footwork that warranted a response from Ginger Rogers.

We’ve been here before, of course: how many illusory “defining" moments did we swear we saw from Mark Ramprakash or Graeme Hick? The difference is that Bell, thanks in the main to central contracts and the manifest benefits of playing in a (mostly) winning team, has always felt secure within the dressing room. No less significantly, he has also been backed by selectors who believe in consistency and a fair crack of that once-merciless whip. British cricket lovers can only hope this is the start of a beautiful relationship.

	Chris Schofield's selection into the England Twenty20 squad, after he had dropped out of the professional game, is heartening considering the lack of legspinners in English cricket © Getty Images

The recall of Chris Schofield to the international fold, for next month’s official dignification of Twenty20 in South Africa, was half the reason for this. Dropping out of the professional game and returning is a trick few have accomplished. Even fewer – Paul Taylor and Ian Ward spring to mind – have come back with a sufficient bang to earn national selection. Small wonder that, upon hearing of his selection for the 30-strong longlist, his mother burst into tears. That her determined son happens be a legspinner spoke to the romantic in us all.

No less heartening was the concurrent showing at Scarborough for England Under-19 of two teenage twirlers, Essex’s Tom Westley (18) and Hampshire’s Liam Dawson (17), who had shared eight wickets to make their Pakistani counterparts follow-on on Sunday then scooped up the first five in the second innings, setting up an innings victory.

That such crumbs should supply any sort of comfort whatsoever tells you all you need to know about the state of English spin. Consider the brewing debate over how many slowies the selectors should nominate for the winter’s three Tests in Sri Lanka. On the basis that Michael Vaughan and Pietersen offer more loop, flight and enterprise than most of the regular county set, does anybody bar Monty Panesar DEMAND selection? Not that I am aware of, hence the likelihood that Rashid will be blooded even earlier than Schofield was. And the latter now accepts that, at 21, he was immature, perhaps a tad arrogant, and that coping with expectations was way beyond his ken.

Not that we have any justifiable reason for expectation. The last world-beating England off-spinner was Jim Laker half a century ago; the last world-beating England leggie was BT Bosanquet, a century ago. Of the dozen spinners with 200 Test wickets, the only Pom is Derek Underwood, and his offerings might just as easily have been characterised as medium-paced cutters. South Africa are even more unblessed, yet Daniel Vettori’s membership of that elite is proof that seamer-friendly conditions should be no bar to entry.

Fitness permitting, Monty should gain admission to the club, and Ashley Giles probably would have done so but for the physical ailments that reportedly make his retirement imminent, but the question remains: why is it such a struggle?

The common complaint, as Giles reinforced when we chatted in 2005, is spin-resistant pitches, a legacy at least in part of Britain’s traditionally inclement climate. The same resistant pitches, presumably, that have seen Mushtaq Ahmed emerge as the key bowler this summer and the past four. In fairness, of late, global warming has led to drier early-season conditions, hence, perhaps, the encouragement for, and strides taken by, the boy Rashid - in Yorkshire of all places.

But the suspicion remains that the traditional English mindset – cautious, pragmatic, proud, more fearful of embarrassment than failure - is at odds with the art of spin. It says much, surely, that the one significant Test career chart an English spinner does top - Ray Illingworth’s economy rate of 1.91 runs per over is the lowest among those who have bowled 10,000 balls over the past 50 years – is one that celebrates defensiveness.

The exceptions-in-chief - the two Phils, Edmonds and Tufnell, and Johnny Wardle – were all mavericks who fell foul of Lord’s. Hence one’s delight at Schofield’s rebirth. However one yearns for Monty to take a leaf out of his mentor Bishan Bedi’s book by tossing it up a little more and bowling a smidge slower, Schofield, another maverick, is likelier to defeat opponents through wit and surprise. Mark Butcher, his captain at Surrey, is certainly quick to laud his flipper.

If he can marry that natural brio and brimming self-belief to control – and his Twenty20 curmudgeonliness suggests he may well be on the way to doing just that - Schofield may yet emerge as the fully-formed “mystery spinner” Nasser Hussain clamoured for when he was initially selected against Zimbabwe in 2000. Sharing a dressing-room with Ian Salisbury, England’s last Great White Legspin Hope, has clearly been beneficial.

“He told me to get the field right because unless you’re Shane Warne you’re always going to bowl bad balls,” Schofield told me a couple of weeks ago. Ah, the W-word. “People need to realise that you can’t compare anyone to him. Fortunately, I think most do now. Look at Adil Rashid. Yorkshire have treated him very well, he’s bowling very consistently and turns it a long way, but the Indians got after him. You’ve got to expect to struggle.”

Schofield, of course, is as well-versed in the art of struggling as any contemporary cricketer. Happily, he is luckier than Edmonds, Tufnell and Wardle: the England selectors and management these days tend to be more enlightened and compassionate, not to say more indulging of apparent soloists.

Let’s just hope, as he develops that pragmatic streak, that Schofield can hang on to that lil’ ol’ devil inside.