Now that the cricket is out of the way, on to a pastime that we tend to be past masters at in Bermuda — the blame game.

There will inevitably be one high-profile target, but he shall remain unnamed here for the time being because:

1, There is plenty of blame to go around; 2, I have yet to be convinced that this individual has reached scapegoat status for any reason other than he fails to meet the criteria in two sensitive areas.

What is unmistakable is that senior cricket in Bermuda is in a parlous state. Those who are passionate about the health of the game will be angry and they have every right to be. We have been exposed as god-awful at our national sport. That has to cut to the core.

No one involved in cricket can be immune from criticism: from those who run the Bermuda Cricket Board, to the clubs who produce the players, to us in the media and commentators’ booths who promote average cricketers beyond their station, to a fanbase that to a large degree is intellectually challenged over the nuances of the gentleman’s game and finally to Cup Match and the peculiar myth that the cricket seen at Wellington Oval or Somerset Cricket Club over 48 hours in the dog days of summer is of the highest order, regardless the generation.

Clay Smith wore his emotions on his sleeves as a player and has done likewise occasionally as a columnist. But he, too, fits the profile of the aforementioned benefit-of-the-doubters in the match report on this page, who have been turned and who will be on the warpath. His thoughts in these pages make for compelling reading.

After Bermuda were beaten by Uganda on Wednesday, I was incandescent with rage; not with those in Malaysia, but the many who purport to be cricketers who were left behind for any number of reasons. A good many of these were featured in the Not In Malaysia XI that Clay Smith publicised last week, with the help of his venerable brother Wendell.

Even though the sport we play is amateur in status, as it is throughout the world outside the Premier League of international cricket, having a history of turning your back on your country in a time of need informs that the same may be repeated the moment the reintegrated does not get his way.

So, as far as I am concerned, those who said “Thanks, but no thanks” are not to be touched with a barge pole. We move forward with those left standing from the Malaysia tour, providing the scars from this experience are not lasting, plus the best of the youngsters coming through the Academy system.

It is to be hoped that Terryn Fray can come again, while Christian Burgess, Jordan DeSilva, Kamau Leverock and Delray Rawlins showed enough to suggest that they have in it them to rise above this mess. That four of them, as well as Tre Manders, are based off Island has to be considered a bonus because the stench of disinterest on it is palpable.

Meanwhile, there needs to be hard questions asked of the clubs because it is their primary role, as it is in any country, to provide fit and proper persons for the national programme.

Right at the top of the offenders’ tree are St David’s, the two-times defending champions, whose only contribution to Malaysia was a fortysomething off spinner.

Where was George O’Brien, he of the eight-wicket haul from Cup Match? Where was OJ Pitcher, the batsman whose tale after his first-innings century was one of the most heartfelt over the two days? Why did Fiqre Crockwell pull out of the team at the last minute? Why? Why? Why?

These are meant to be the champions of Bermuda, coached by one of the Island’s most respected former cricketers, Wendell Smith again, but their disturbing attitudes to national service are fundamental to what ails our cricket.

From truant cricketers on one side of the Island to cricketers being shot at on the other. Shot at! Are you kidding me?

This is the poisonous atmosphere in which the BCB must attempt to do a job for Bermuda cricket while deflecting whatever criticism that inevitably comes its way.

The Board is not brave enough to get rid of them all — the wasters, the social deviants and even the clubs who give them a safe haven of sorts — but, other than sending the best young players to an Academy overseas where they can be secluded from the psychological influence of peers who have no real love for the game and could not care less whether Bermuda are in the World Cricket League Championship or WCL Division Six, such an act of desperation might be the greatest love of all.

The late Whitney Houston in all likelihood knew very little about cricket, but she understood passion and, were she with us, she might empathise with those such as myself who feel a real sense of foreboding.

“I want my cricket back and am prepared to throw my toys out of the pram to get it.”

That is the cry that should be ringing through the halls of the clubs and the Board if they are genuine about resurrecting a sport that is being dragged through the doldrums by a lost generation.

If that means suspending senior cricket for a season or two — a Noah’s Ark moment, if you will — so be it. But we need rid of the malcontents and it has to happen soon before it is truly too late.

Cup Match can continue undisturbed; it is not as if the domestic season is used as a meaningful guide for selection at any rate.

Who is with me?