Wednesday, October 16, 2001 It's time to come out of denial. Australians have spent the past month twittering on about Steve Waugh's gammy leg, Shane Warne's hammy book … anything but to speak the unspeakable. Scan the sports pages until your nose turns black and you won't find a mention of the unmentionable, not a whisper about traitors or mercenaries or swapping the baggy green for the money bag.

So it's time someone grabbed Rod Marsh by the whiskers of his smoky moustache, pinned him down by those coolibah-trunk legs, poured his Swan Lager supply down the dunny and demanded: "Jeez Bacchus, why'd you do it?"

As betrayals go, Rod Marsh coaching England's new academy is like Greg Norman finally winning a US major and thanking all his swell chums back in Florida. Like Midnight Oil rabble-rouser Peter Garrett growing his hair, buying a dinner suit and running for the leadership of the Liberal Party. But there was Marsh plastered (excuse the pun) across this week's Fleet Street papers, rugged up in his Vodafone tracksuit, England crest below his left breast, shoulder-to-shoulder with Alex Tudor, pound signs flickering across his smiling eyes.

Marsh's self-justification of himself as some kind of globetrotting, cricketing Florence Nightingale - "when England's strong, cricket's strong" does not stand up. It's not as if the Poms sent Ted Dexter down under to save Australia in the mid-1980s. And it's not as if the Poms have been suffering nearly long enough yet: Marsh himself played in seven Ashes series for three wins, three defeats and a draw. Beating England should still be sweet.

He cannot be blamed for taking the money - £80,000 a year not only buys you a lot of beer back in Australia but the whole pub. But Australia should have worked harder to keep him. "Marsh helping the Poms prepare for the next Ashes battle," the Guardian's Mike Selvey nodded sympathetically, "is a bit like Nelson sending Hardy to the French to teach them how to trim their sails. What would Lillee say, or the Chappells, or Border?"

What indeed? "Toss a few quid our way, mate," was apparently their first response. When the cream of England's young talent arrive in Adelaide, Ian Chappell will tutor them in the art of batting and general skulduggery. Fellow Pom-bashers Dennis Lillee and Terry Jenner will teach them how to bowl and swagger.

This not only reflects a plundering of Australian resources to prop up the old enemy, but a slavering reliance on all things Australian that is no more in England's interests than it is in Australia's. Five Australians coached county sides in 2001. A further four -- Michael Hussey, Jamie Cox, Darren Lehmann and maybe even Michael Di Venuto -- are likely to captain counties next summer. Back home, they are worthy also-rans. Hussey is probably fifth in line to captain WA, Cox captained Somerset before he got the job in Tasmania, and Di Venuto might struggle to hold down his state place this summer.

The craziest case of all is Lehmann, who will next month be named Yorkshire's captain ahead of Michael Vaughan -- a future England skipper in the making. The flawed logic is that Vaughan will rarely be available for Yorkshire next summer, yet he is certain to play much more domestic cricket than Ricky Ponting and Adam Gilchrist will over the next few months. Both were recently appointed captains of their respective states.

When Imran Khan played for NSW in 1984-85 he helped them win the Sheffield Shield and taught Geoff Lawson and Co a thing or two about reverse swing. But he was just a player: they never let him get in the way of Dirk Wellham's grand masterplan, thankfully ill-conceived, to be Australia's next captain. In recruiting Marsh, England pulled off a sensational coup, which will move their game forward by decades. But they seem determined to go further: to install so many Australians in positions of power that they eventually turn Poms into Aussies. It will never work. There is a lot to be said for aggressive, in-your-face, Australian-style English cricketers -- see WG Grace and Ian Botham -- but they are born, not made.

Instead, England should celebrate the quintessentially English jewels of their own system -- the Jack Russells and David Gowers -- and entice them to pass on their expertise, rather than dabbling in watercolours and being mocked on insipid TV comedy shows. Australia, meanwhile, might rue the day they let Rod Marsh go. His like don't come around too often.

Chris Ryan is managing editor of Wisden Cricket Monthly and a former Darwin correspondent of the Melbourne Age.

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