I have been a cricket fan for over four decades now. I remember it was in 1959 that I installed Polly Umrigar, the heroic Indian figure of the fifties and early sixties, as my first boyhood hero. Soon, thanks to the writings of Neville Cardus, Ray Robinson and Robertson Glasgow and the broadcasts of John Arlott, Jim Swanton and Alan MacGilvray the heroes grew in number - Jack Hobbs, Victor Trumper, CK Nayudu, Stan McCabe, SF Barnes, Frank Worrell, Alan Davidson, Peter May, Derek Shackleton, John Reid, Ted Dexter, Ken Barrington, Clarrie Grimmett, Jim Laker.

Like millions of other cricket fans worldwide, I followed their exploits through newspaper reports and the radio or their deeds of days long ago through books and later through videos. And for over three decades now, like thousands of other journalists, I have been fortunate enough to get an opportunity to write on the game, take a closer look at it and come to know some of cricket's big names intimately.

Today, like countless cricket lovers round the world, I am dismayed, despondent and devastated. Is this the gentleman's game we were all brought up to love and respect? We took the introduction of the TV umpire, the match referee and neutral officials in our stride. After all, we consoled ourselves, these were required to curb growing indiscipline among the players. Moreover we agreed that technological advances were necessary to solve the growing disputes. We took the appearance of helmets, chest guards and elbow pads as part of the required equipment to tackle the growing menace posed by a quartet of fast bowlers.

Over the years, cricket has survived controversies like Bodyline which threatened to rip apart the British Empire and the Packer crisis which seemed set to split the cricketing world. But then these wounds were healed even if the deep scars remained. However can cricket survive the latest scandal? And even if it does, will the game be the same again? Cricket has long ceased to be a gentleman's game, a fact accepted even by the die hard fans. But we all thought that there were still some things sacrosanct - like the performances on the field or the result of a match. When even this can be manipulated, when the core of the game is destroyed, what else is there to savour? Perhaps the time has come to recall the mock obituary published in `The Sporting Times' in 1882 that led to the term `The Ashes' and rewrite it to suit the present scenario:

In affectionate rememberance of the game of cricket which died at Durban on April 11, 2000 Deeply lamented by a large circle of sorrowing friends and acquaintances.

NB: The body will be cremated and the Ashes taken to Hambledon.

The first time I came across the dreaded, ugly phrase ``match fixing'' was during the 1987 World Cup. Being an avowed fan of the game, I dismissed such talk as baseless. Through the 90s, even as such allegations now spread from the sub continent to other places, I refused to be convinced, probably because of my traditional belief that cricketers would never stoop to such levels. Also, being a facts and figures man, I always wanted proof before I could make up my mind that such an appalling practice existed. However as there can be no smoke without fire, the revelations by Manoj Prabhakar, the eventful happenings in Pakistan and the disclosures by Australians Mark Waugh, Shane Warne and Tim May meant that one could not turn a deaf ear or a blind eye to these developments. Something was wrong somewhere and a proper investigation would have been in order. But the International Cricket Council, the parent body in a position to conduct the investigations, turned both a deaf ear and a blind eye.

In the mid 90s, the Hindi phrase `paisa liya hoga' (they must have taken money) became commonplace whenever a fancied side lost to an underdog or when a team went down after being in a winning position. The latest squalid episode not only gives credence to the phrase but it also means, regrettably, that one has to pause and think before appreciating the ethereal qualities of the game. Was that really an unplayable delivery or did the batsman throw away his wicket? Was that six an ideal blend of power and timing or was the bowler just offering the ball to be deliberately hit? Was that a miraculous stop in the field or was it the batsman's aim to get run out? Was that a genuine misfield or was it a 10,000 dollar dropped catch?

I am sorry, folks, but the fun has gone out of the game which long ceased to be just a game anyway. I, hitherto a die hard cricket fan, hereby resolve that I am going to persuade my 14-year-old cricket loving son to take up tennis. That is, if he has not already decided to do so.

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