To change or not to change is the question. Conferences or divisions, 50 overs or 40, covered wickets or uncovered, one, two or even no overseas professional. There seems to be only one thing on which everyone agrees and that is that the character of the sport is changing.

I am not merely referring to the question of walking or not walking, or the issue that really isn't - sledging - because in every era there are those who have successfully and unsuccessfully walked the tightrope between angel and villain. Just as important to the change of cricket's character has been the arrival of 'professionalism' and the increasingly nomadic nature of our sport.

It is apparent that there used to be a far greater sense of camaraderie between the counties. The ever-increasing desire, indeed requirement, for success seems to be driving invisible wedges between teams.

In years gone by, opposing players would always meet for a pint to discuss the day's play, gossip, techniques and whatever else tickled their fancy, and a good deal did.

Whether new-age fathers are rushing home for children's bath-time at the close of play, or the drink-driving laws have put people off, I do not know. For one reason or another this seems to be happening less and less.

Having a 40-something-year-old former county professional, and a New Zealander to boot, as a coach has made me even more aware of the increasingly anti-social nature of the game.

The statistics of John Wright's career tell a very different story, but to listen to him one could be forgiven for thinking that he spends more time at the bar having a yarn with his colleagues and friends than he did in the middle.

He and his contemporaries seem to have a never-ending supply of anecdotes - the bowler with size 10 feet who wore a size 14 left boot during a John Player League game to try to cure his no-ball problem; Ray East pretending to drop dead during his run-up when a car passing the ground backfired; a batsman having been dismissed last ball before tea, changing helmets and coming out to bat again after tea (and getting away with it for a couple of balls).

I am quite convinced there is a generous degree of exaggeration, but unless the occasions arise where these stories can be told frequently then they can't be really satisfactorily exaggerated.

Despite what he claims, I am quite sure that John Wright did not have a colleague who was so tight he could take out of his pocket a cigarette that was already alight, but I am sad that the opportunity for me to outrageously embellish this story may be limited.

This week at Canterbury our 12th man, who was acting under intense pressure from his team-mates, took the refreshments out at the drinks break in a car. We thought it was amusing, it injected a degree of humour into the morning session, and set the Worcestershire 12th man, Phil Newport, a delicate poser. Sadly, the weather forecast doesn't look good enough for him to commandeer the ice-cream van.

It was this light-hearted moment that set several of us thinking about when something like this had last happened and the changing nature of the game.

We are all in favour of increased professionalism as it will undoubtedly help our game at all levels. Cricket, however, must be enjoyed to be played well and therefore give pleasure to the paying public, who, after all, are expecting to be entertained in one form or another.

I WAS extremely flattered to discover that I had recently been the subject of a conversation involving Fred Trueman. He apparently took a friend of his aside at a cricketing event last spring and said confidentially to him: ``Fleming, bowling for England. If you were a batsman you wouldn't sleep at night would you?''

I am told that there wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which, not unnaturally, surprised this someone, who said: ``Why's that Fred?''

Fred replied: ``In case you overslept.'' If only we all had the chance to play when cricket really was cricket.