No tears need be shed for the ICC Champions Trophy, a misnomer of a tournament conceived out of pure greed. Like most things with a solely monetary value, it is a worthless affair. Its postponement, though, illustrates one immutable fact: that cricket is squarely in the era of player power. Whether the players learn to exercise their newfound authority with a degree of responsibility and enlightenment will determine how calmly or otherwise the game moves forward.

Make no mistake, despite the red flag being waved by the administrators, this tournament was postponed because the players from South Africa, New Zealand, England and Australia didn't fancy going. Eventually West Indies threw their maroon caps into the ring as well, but as in most cricketing matters these days, sadly, they are a peripheral force. The main impetus came from the others.

When it comes to touring Pakistan, no team have been more narrow-minded than Australia, who, at the same time as showing unconditional love for India and the marketing opportunities it allows, have not toured Pakistan since 1998. Bombs in Jaipur and London carry a more lucrative blast. New Zealand remain spooked by the suicide bomb that went off close to their Karachi hotel six years ago. Likewise South Africa, since their most recent tour to Pakistan coincided with a suicide bomber's attempt on the life of Benazir Bhutto and the imposition of a state of emergency.

England's players have no doubt spent much of the summer chin-wagging with their opposite numbers from New Zealand and South Africa and listening to the scaremongering and horror stories. Apparently, when Haroon Lorgat, the ICC chief executive, sat down with the England players last week, he was taken aback by the vehemence of the negative sentiment. No player has been more publicly outspoken than Kevin Pietersen (before he took the captaincy, of course) and at present, given his strength of position, it would take a particularly strong-minded player to go against the captain's grain. No matter that England's last tour to Pakistan three years ago, as the war against terrorism was in full swing, passed off without a hitch.

Throughout the debate, the players' associations have been on the front foot. Barely a day goes by without some comment from Paul Marsh, Heath Mills or Sean Morris, the respective heads of the cricketers' unions in Australia, New Zealand and England. Then there is Fica, the Federation of International Cricketers' Associations - this curious organisation, self-appointed to bang the players' drum. Previously, Fica's main role was to give warning against the problems of player burn-out, but since the players have put any notions of burn-out to one side in the dash for Indian cash, Fica was suddenly looking a little useless. Security, this all-embracing notion that nothing can happen in life while there is even the slightest degree of risk, has filled the yawning gap nicely. Accordingly, the report of Reg Dickason, the security expert who travels with the England team and is close to the players and trusted by them, was given particular credence. No security expert ever played down risk.

No, the players' minds were closed. They didn't want to go to Pakistan and no amount of persuasion on behalf of the hosts - and no amount of armour-plated security - was going to change that.

That players have a strong voice and are no longer subservient to self-serving committee men is entirely a good thing. For too long, players filled vast stadiums, played for a pittance and then went and ran pubs or spent their remaining days flicking through scrapbooks. Now they are forcing the administrators' hands, not just picking and choosing their options, but agitating so that matches are arranged for their financial benefit only. Why else would the ECB hire out the national team to a Texan billionaire if not to appease players unable to share riches on offer elsewhere?

From the moment the Indian Premier League's (IPL) auction put a dollar value on talent, the players have recognised the power in their grasp. Money is power, because with money comes the freedom to pick and choose. But with power comes responsibility and, as yet, the players have not shown that they will use it wisely.

Before the IPL, the chief executive of Cricket Australia, James Sutherland, was forced to write to his players reminding them that they were under contract and unable to sign for another employer without prior agreement. Throughout the summer, the agents of England's top players have been merrily negotiating with IPL franchises at the same time as their clients are under central contract. Players cannot have it all ways: the money, pension benefits and security provided when injured, and the ability to be a free agent.

Recently, when the potential money-making of the Champions League forced a change in dates for the Australia-South Africa Test series, the players demurred. Suddenly this de facto Test Cricket Championship was squeezed into a three-match back-to-back Test series, with Sutherland quoted as saying: “We took feedback from the players that changes could be accommodated without compromising the series.” This was a time for the players to stand up for the integrity of Test cricket, as they so often say they will but never do.

The players have a wider responsibility to the game and, given the impotence of the ICC and the incompetence of many of the national governing bodies, the game desperately needs broad-minded players who are prepared to look beyond their wallets. One such responsibility is to ensure that Pakistan does not become a cricketing Cuba, blockaded by superpowers for no good reason other than personal whim, and that the game, by consequence, does not become torn apart down racial lines.

Certainly there are many other sweets in the candy shop that taste nicer than a tour to Pakistan, but that the players of four countries can effectively instigate a boycott of a country they don't fancy touring does not augur well. The cricketing world is small enough as it is.

Trescothick mastered art of keeping ball in mint condition

The revelation in Marcus Trescothick’s soon-to-be-published confessional that he used sweets to help to maintain a shine on the ball has caused quite a stir. For the flat-earthers who cling to the belief that cricket remains the purest, the noblest of games, cricketers suck sweets, the sugar from which finds its way on to the ball, which, in turn, is supposed to help it to swing. The evidence that it works is anecdotal only. Cricket may have its Laws, but things are rarely that simple, laws being open to an interpretation that will vary according to your standpoint. It is inevitable that players, administrators, umpires and spectators will view their application differently. On the field it is convention - that which is regarded as acceptable - that is as important as the law.

Trescothick was doing something that may have contravened the letter of the law, but he was doing something that was part of the game he knew.

The eagle-eyed among you, and those with good memories, may recall a Test match in which Trescothick actually dropped a pocketful of Murray Mints and was seen scrabbling around the outfield trying to pick them up. More recently, of course, we had jellybeans. Why did people think the England players had jellybeans in their pockets in the summer of 2007? In my own time, chewing gum was the thing, Juicy Fruit being the sugariest and best.

I’ve always thought of this little anecdote as an allegory for the largely unsuccessful era that I played in, but during one Lord’s Test in the 1990s, we ran out of chewing gum and the twelfth man was sent out for supplies. The naive young shaver popped down St John’s Wood High Street and returned with industrial quantities of Orbit, the sugar-free gum. Good for the teeth, but not for the ball.