Welcome to fandom hell

Things simply cannot get any worse for a Pakistan cricket fan - except maybe if mum and dad called to say, "Child, it's time for the truth. You were adopted. Your biological father is actually a man from Punjab called Ijaz Butt. We believe he was a cricketer many moons ago. Though not very good. But he's on TV a lot!"

That apart, each of us has reached the nadir. For the past few years we have stared into the abyss of cricketing faith. The stare has intensified with every new scandal and crushing disappointment. Now it's beyond a stare. The abyss finally said "What're ya lookin at?" and we said "Nuffin" and it said "What'id you say?" and we said, "You 'erd me, I said I'm lookin' at nuffin!" and now we're locked in a full-on body brawl. For the record, the abyss isn't half as tough as it looks.

But it's still a horrible place to be, down here in fandom hell. Every Pakistan supporter is screening reruns in their heads, wondering if that "reckless" shot was actually perfectly executed, if the "indiscipline" of the bowlers was in actual fact part of a perfect plan. Every one of us is replaying those countless times we woke up at 4am to catch the first session on the other side of the world, with a spouse or a pet or just our better self grumbling their bafflement, wondering if it was all a waste: the time, the energy, the belief, the 300 quid invested in the espresso machine. Are we all fools? Was it all fake? Have we been locked in a Matrix? The bright colours of the Neo Sports channel all of a sudden take on a sinister complexion.

There is also embarrassment. Countless times we have defended our team, citing post-colonial hang-ups, incomprehension of our genius, envy of our guile, special cases of poverty and miseducation, and how Darrell Hair must have had a childhood of neglect, as reasons for our frequent and intimate relations with cricket's old mistress: controversy. "It's not what it looks like," we'd say, and amazingly we'd often be given - and always give ourselves - the benefit of the doubt. We'd be caught with our pants down and yet we'd have no shame.

Sometimes we did nothing wrong. Other times we were plumb in front and were let off. The fact is, we should have walked and addressed our failings, like a batsman gets to grips with a technical flaw through long sessions in the nets. But we didn't, and now the world of Pakistan cricket stinks on ice. It's become such a rotten place that Ian Botham wouldn't even send his mother-in-law there these days.

Some have given up on the green team forever. One acquaintance is secretly delighted, claiming he will use the time he would have squandered on cricket to learn Russian and read Pushkin in the original, his lifelong ambition. More likely, he will now fill the long Sunday afternoons downing Russian vodka, mumbling "no-ball" and miming the umpire's signal to himself in bitter solitude: it is true when they say the personal cost of this tragedy goes beyond those directly involved. Another friend, previously a Pakistan cricket fanatic, has gone and traced distant family origins in a bid to reinvent himself. It turns out he can claim lineage from Uttar Pradesh, a state in north India, and also from some remote part of what is now Afghanistan. After no deliberation at all, he has decided to support India.

Most of us, however, cannot jump ship, though we're not sure where we're sailing to, either. Not with this band of pirates. Not when we ourselves are part of a system of piracy, of take what you can and make excuses later (if you're caught). I have heard calls for a revolution.

Our country's government and society might be beyond our control, but we can take charge of the cricket board. Storm the PCB! Heads must roll and butts be kicked, they say. We no longer have the luxury to be a tolerated laughing stock. We no longer have the luxury to sit on our butts. Indeed, we no longer have the luxury to make Butt jokes - that's how serious this is, they say. It's life or death for Pakistan cricket. It's now or never.

One is unconvinced by the apocalyptic rhetoric. One is unconvinced by the Pakistan captain's semi-denials of the allegations. One is unconvinced by what one has seen of Pakistan cricket this summer, this year, this decade, this era. One is unconvinced by Alistair Cook's front-foot stokeplay going into the Ashes but that's another matter and I seem to have gone off point. The idea is that one's confidence in the truth of cricket has been shattered, and every fan has been left utterly confused. If only we were using the UDRS: now that would clear everything up, wouldn't it, for this is a simple game, is it not? If you're out, you're out, and if you're in, you're in, and if you cross the line... it's time for a change.