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Suddenly, with the force of a summer storm, the World Cup is all around us, providing vivid entertainment. A week ago people were wondering how the cricketers would earn their place in the sun. Within the space of three days they have begun to supply some convincing answers, startling in their variety.

England beat Sri Lanka so comfortably in the opening match at Lord's that Alec Stewart, newly returned to form, declared he was looking forward to digesting the next day's reports over breakfast, and pasting them in his scrapbook. I hope you didn't get marmalade on the England card, skipper!

In the Australian camp the vice-captain, Shane Warne, was fined, and given a suspended two-match ban for using his ghosted newspaper column to call Arjuna Ranatunga an absolute rotter, and such-like. Ranatunga, not untypically, needed little invitation to respond in kind.

Then, quite improbably, the South Africans wired up Hansie Cronje and Allan Donald with earpieces during the Indian innings at Hove, so they could receive instructions from their wizard coach. South Africa came here as favourites but, as Bob Woolmer clearly doesn't trust his captain and his best bowler to think independently, they have, at a stroke, made themselves appear less formidable.

England's news was heartening, though their captain might like to remember that the headlines to which he is so sensitive are determined by his team's performance. As much as we journalists would like to take credit for turning 'chumps into champs', it is, alas, beyond our scope. Only the players can do that.

But while the World Cup is going on, there are 'noises off'. By the time the tournament has finished, and David Lloyd's three-year term as coach has ended, the England and Wales Cricket Board should have a better idea of which man will succeed him. That's the hope, anyway, though the pool of candidates gets more cloudy by the day.

Graham Gooch, for reasons he was honest enough to disclose, has chosen not to stand for election. That still leaves a queue, headed by the Wizard of Cape Town, that shows no sign of diminishing. In fact, it seems the only people who have not been put up as contenders at some stage of the 'primaries' are Noggin the Nog, Corky the Cat, Bernie the Bolt and Mott the Hoople.

Those listed so far include, in no particular order, Duncan Fletcher, Dav Whatmore, Mike Gatting, Jack Birkenshaw, James Whitaker and Hugh Morris, who all hold positions within the English game. There have also been calls to scour the world for a man of substance, and Allan Border's name was briefly linked, somewhat romantically, with the job.

One man who can be written out of the story straight away is Woolmer. Don't get this wrong. The young man known in his playing days at Kent as 'Bobby Prospect' has grown into an immensely talented coach, capable of that rarest of gifts, original thought. His feats at Warwickshire are written in stone and he has done a wonderful job for South Africa in the past five years, although he really needs to take the World Cup back there to seal the relationship with a kiss.

That doesn't make him the man for England. He can't say as much, because Lord MacLaurin is still trying to persuade him to come home, and there may be a lot of money on the table. MacLaurin's decision to send Simon Pack, the international teams director, to South Africa last month, to speak to Woolmer, suggests he is serious in his pursuit.

But he is stalking a man who is now a South African in all but name. Woolmer has spent the better part of two decades there, has made his personal and professional life in Cape Town, and is on record as saying that South Africa is the greatest country in the world, which suggests that he is not only a first-class coach; he is also an accomplished comedian.

He has invested so much emotional capital into his job, since taking over from Mike Procter, that he would, quite naturally, like to live on the interest he has accrued. It makes no sense for him to take on another demanding international post, even after a nine-month sabbatical. He has intimated that he wants to do other things, and he should be allowed to do so. At 51, fresh challenges await him.

Whether or not that makes sense to MacLaurin, it is plain as day to everybody else. There is little point in trying to persuade somebody who, in his heart of hearts, does not covet the job. So who does it? It all depends on what you want from a coach, which in turn depends on how you define the coach's duties.

There is a case for saying England do not need an all-powerful coach. Australia don't have one. They have always favoured the idea of an independent captain, supported by a cadre of senior professionals, and they must know what they are about, because they have won more Test matches than anybody else. But in England, where jobs multiply like frog spawn, irrespective of whether there are enough suitable people to fill them, the urge to appoint a supremo has become irresistible.

A more sensible course would be to use a manager, of defined powers, to co-ordinate the team of coaches that currently exist. Bob Cottam can continue to look after the bowlers, and Gooch the batsmen. If specialist coaches need to work with the players, like Alan Knott with the wicketkeepers, they can be found. Just as long as they keep the wet-dream merchants away. 'Psychologists', I ask you! How many wickets have they ever taken?

The coach as king is a bridge too far. Sometimes, with all the nonsense spoken these days of 'focus' and 'visualisation', one wonders how all those terrible players, the Huttons and the Comptons, the Bedsers and the Truemans, the Bothams, for crying out loud, ever raised a gallop. Call off the chase, Lord Tesco. It's time the players reclaimed the game. After all, they're always telling us it's a simple one.