To be selected to play for your country must be the highest possible honour and ultimate accolade for any sportsman. What could possibly compare to representing your nation, knowing that you are carrying the hopes and aspirations of millions of your loyal countrymen, some of whom will have spent small fortunes travelling half way around the world to watch you perform?

If you were one of that select band you would surely give everything you’d got, summon up every last ounce of energy and fight for every ball or point to ensure that victory was yours. Even when faced by an aggressive, ruthless, determined and highly skilled opponent you wouldn’t flinch. No, you would relish the challenge, take a deep breath, grit your teeth and enter the fray with renewed vigour, refusing to take a backwards step until the contest was won, wouldn’t you?

Of course you would unless, that is, you are a member of the England cricket team in which case, when faced by such an opponent you would quail, quiver, collapse and capitulate, resembling more a rabbit caught in the headlights than a supremely fit athlete prepared to slug it out toe to toe and man to man. You would just roll over and have your tummy tickled, grateful that at least you still have a fat pay cheque, a fancy car and a nice house to return to when the whole pitiful shambles is brought to a close, as it was last weekend in Sydney.