This is not a matter of dominance hierarchy, in which one man is more important or more powerful than another. It a question of whether or not a man by virtue of his office requires different treatment from other men. (You will please forgive the uninclusive language: man rather than human being, he rather than “he or she”. But the question of special treatment tends to be something more to do with the male world and, as such, increasingly outdated.)

Examples: army officers and priests. An army officer receives a commission and, as a result, has a special relationship with his sovereign. “We, reposing especial Trust and Confidence in your Loyalty, Courage and good Conduct, do by these Presents Constitute and Appoint you to be an officer.”

An officer is a special sort of person and non-officers are required to treat him as such. You must salute him, even if you can’t stand him because you salute the uniform, not the man. His office makes him special.

In the Roman Catholic Church, a priest is more than special. He is ordained before God and given the power to consecrate bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. To a religious person, this is the most remarkable thing on earth. However much you dislike or disapprove of any priest as an individual, he is nevertheless the holder of an awful office: a high priest after the order of Melchisadek.

The question of Darrell Hair and the ball-tampering comes down to the same issue. Does a sporting event depend for its feasibility on the absolute unquestioned authority of the match official and on the respect for his office, or is it possible to take a less circumscribed view?

Many people, especially those in cricket, have been concerned for years about the undermining of the authority of match officials. There have been reservations expressed about using such things as video technology, not because the technology is wrong but because they undermine the priestly authority of the umpire.

My colleague, Christopher Martin-Jenkins, is concerned that insufficient respect for the umpire is a recipe for anarchy. With both respect and affection, I am inclined to disagree. I think that if the umpire gets too much authority, there will be occasions when the authority is abused.

As, for example, at the Brit Oval a few weeks ago, when Hair, an umpire in a Test match between England and Pakistan, declared that Pakistan were guilty of ball-tampering and then, after they had expressed their dismay by returning to the field late, declared that the match had been forfeited, even though everyone except Hair was ready to carry on. The match foundered on the rock of the umpire’ s dignity. How much, then, do we think this dignity is worth?

The culture of slavish respect for umpires goes back to public-school principles. Here, cricket was a preparation for real life: the boys were required to learn that they were there to serve some greater cause, ie, the British Empire. But modern professional cricket exists not to teach but to enthral.

The umpire isn’t there to teach us about God and the Queen and Duty and Service, he is there to make the show work. This is what Hair conspicuously failed to do that fateful Sunday at the Oval.

As a result, the ICC has gone as far as it possibly can to support the rebellious Pakistan players at the expense of the authority of the umpire. It is an unprecedented situation, but the judgment is right. Hair’s guess about ball-tampering was kicked out, unproven and half-baked.

No, they said, the umpire’s word is not law. The umpire is not an embodiment of Authority. Hair is an ordinary man, not a man protected by the mystique of office who made a balls of things.

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