Whether betraying impatience with a wayward opening bowler, frustration at an umpiring decision or generally suggesting that the fates have lined up against his team, he can convey a beaten air that makes England look vulnerable and cheers the opposition.

In a sense, it is a mark of his honesty. He seems unable to dissemble. Yet the ability to dissemble, to create confidence when none is apparently justified by the situation, is a crucial quality in any leader in peace or war.

In shorter games like football or rugby, a sudden surge of energy or an inspirational team talk can do the trick. In a game like cricket that goes on for hours, where keeping up the players' spirits is a prime requirement, the captain's demeanour and deportment may be just as important as any tactical changes to the bowling or the field.

Len Hutton complained to me once about Keith Fletcher in this respect: ``You should be able to spot the fielding captain when you first walk into the ground. With Fletcher, it's hard to tell who's in charge.''

That is not Atherton's problem. We can see only too clearly who's in charge: it's the chap who looks as if he has swallowed the ball. Whatever he may be feeling inside, a captain has to look like an optimist. The players must believe that he can get them out of trouble, even if he hasn't the slightest idea what to do next.

Mind you, Hutton was given to pessimism himself, once moaning audibly that the game was up as early wickets fell in the crucial Adelaide Oval Test of 1955. Fortunately, Denis Compton didn't hear him and quickly knocked off the runs.

Hutton believed that the captain's role changed for the worst when he ceased, in the interests of democracy, to have a dressing room of his own. He thought the captain lost some of the mystique of leadership when he mixed as one of the boys. He also thought the players lost out in terms of cricketing knowledge because it became harder for the team to talk openly about the tactics of the game.

Atherton remains our best batsman, a fine young man and a shrewd student of the game. But he needs a rest from the cares of an office that was thrust on him too soon and has grown too public and too wearing for one man to carry for long.

This should not be seen as a personal failure, though that may be asking too much in this tabloid age, when any change or casual remark is trumpeted as a triumph or a scandal.

Atherton may comfort himself with the homely reflection that the darkest hour comes just before the dawn. Ian Botham is on hand in Zimbabwe to remind him of the events of 1981, when he was dropped as captain after two Tests of the Australia series, then bounded from humiliation to heroics, winning the series with his historic batting and bowling performances in the final four.

Handing over the captaincy may not turn out to be an end, certainly not a tragic end, but a relief and a new beginning.

AM I alone in finding it outrageous that the Italian authorities have charged Frank Williams with manslaughter over the crash that killed Ayrton Senna?

It is obviously necessary, for the sake of Senna's family and other drivers, that the cause should be identified. But Italy is so riddled with corruption at all levels of public life, including politics, business, the law and the church,that one immediately suspects someone of seeking political gain from this witch hunt.

Williams is one of the most remarkable as well as one of the most chilling personalities in world sport. To suggest that he and his team may have been culpably involved in destroying their biggest investment is not only absurd, it is wicked.

THE end of the year is a suitable time for making predictions. I forecast that by this time next year neither Jack Rowell nor Mike Atherton will be in their present jobs.

On a more positive note, I see Tim Henman making further advances (though I fancy Boris Becker for Wimbledon), Nick Faldo winning another major and Manchester United retaining the Premiership title.

And oh yes, Coventry City's sole Cup final victory 10 years ago is unaccountably missing from the lists of 1997 sporting anniversaries. After their recent run of victories, they must be worth a tenner to repeat it.

It is also a suitable time to thank the hundreds of readers who send me their opinions and memories, even those who strongly disagree with the column. I'm sorry I can't always follow up.

Meanwhile, I am still pondering an aphorism by my old friend and colleague, Peter Dobereiner, the wise and talented golf writer who died this year. ``A columnist,'' he said, ``is the sort of person who hides in the mountain while the battle is raging far below, then comes down afterwards to bayonet the wounded.''