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What is the most terrifying experience an amateur cricketer can have? Facing the pace of Courtney Walsh when your batsmanship is scarcely capable of dealing with that of Courtney Love? Not quite, although many have told me that my trembling description of a short stretch in the nets up against the great West Indian last week was among my finest contributions to sporting literature, though not quite up to the standard required for this column. In fact, it was written by a rival Tim Rice.

Far more harrowing than having 5.5 ounces of hard leather (and how sad it is to see this majestic Imperial weight traduced as 155.9 grams in the Laws of Cricket as per Wisden) flashing past your temple, is the challenge that meets so many cricketers, indeed all sportsmen - the after-dinner speech. Personally, it is as a listener that I tend to suffer most, but for many finely-tuned athletes it is having to be the deliverer that brings out the cold sweat.

As the average county cricketer's benefit season is now a complex and long-running affair, many a stylish batsman or penetrating bowler has to sing for his supper much more often than he would like. Once up on his feet he may well find that his style and penetration on the field are of little use to him.

On the other hand, he may not. Plenty of top players have delivered the goods at the Grosvenor House or Hilton with a panache that matches their playing achievements, or even exceeds them in some cases. I come to praise M C J Nicholas' after-dinner turn, not to bury his fine career statistics when I say that he is but one that falls into the latter category.

However, by and large it is probably true to say that the best cricket speakers have been those who will never appear in The Cricketers Who's Who. This tradition goes back a long way - notably to J M Barrie, the creator of Peter Pan and founder of the Allahakbarries CC. His team (whose name, roughly translated from the Moorish, means 'God help us') was founded in 1893 and early sides consisted primarily of writers and artists. Sir James' love of the game was on an heroic scale, but there was never any danger of him being better known for it than he was for his writing.

Barrie gave many speeches welcoming touring teams to this land, notably the great Australian sides of the Twenties and Thirties. In 1930 he explained his alleged bewilderment at being selected to do so by the fact that his host wanted ``a left-handed speaker''. He would speak warmly about every player, stating at the end that he ``just wanted to run through the side''.

The World Cup was got off to a somewhat underwhelming start by a speech from Tony Blair, whose enthusiasm for Lord's has hitherto been on a par with his enthusiasm for the House of Lords. However, as Tony's predecessor, a lover of cricket sans pareil, told a packed house welcoming the Sri Lankans at Northamptonshire's County Ground last week, if England win the World Cup, there will be no greater cricket-lover in the country than the Prime Minister.

John Major is not the only current Conservative MP to have shone while addressing a cricketing gathering. Michael Ancram, the party's chairman, stunned a Lord's Taverners luncheon recently with a grasp of the essentials and his guitar. He even sang a duet with your columnist, appropriately a song made famous by The Crickets. Only Julia Roberts' underarm has made similar impact in all-male circles this season.

One of the best cricket speeches I heard recently was in Los Angeles, delivered by that distinguished goalkeeper of the Old Wilsonians' 7th XI, Bob 'The Cat' Bevan, at another Lord's Taverners outing. Whether all the Californians present latched onto his references to Nicholas Parsons playing down the wrong line, or to his definition of an optimist as an England batsman with sunscreen I cannot say; but they appreciated his tale of the nervous after-dinner speaker who told his host that he had trouble in public with his ``Fs,'' ``Ts'' and ``Hs''.

``So you can't say fairer than that.''

Even the best speakers worry beforehand, toying nervously with their lines. One night the audience will be rolling in the aisles, the next night the same speech dies a thousand deaths.

But panic attacks, as long as the good shows outnumber the bad, are a small price to pay for the privilege of being accepted, at least after hours, into cricket's magic circle. Certainly less frightening than facing Courtney Walsh.