Michael Holding remembers the first time he realised how important West Indies cricket was to West Indians. It was 1976 at the Oval - a venue he was to grace that summer with one of the most magnificent fast-bowling displays of all time - although this match was simply a warm-up game against Surrey for the Tests to come. Just a warm-up, but still well supported, as any match was at the Oval when West Indies were in town.

There were just three hours left in the game when Alvin Kallicharran and Roy Fredericks began their second innings. The target was an unlikely 239 and Clive Lloyd, the captain, instructed his batsmen to play out time and get some useful batting practice before the internationals. The game finished tamely, but not before the West Indies supporters in the ground had registered their disgust. “We were booed and heckled out of there, they wanted us to win so much,” Holding said.

Viv Richards remembers the first time he realised how important cricket was to his people. He was 17 and playing for Antigua against St Lucia at the Recreation Ground in St John's. He was given out, caught at short square leg, off a wily leg spinner, a decision he disputed by standing his ground. Richards's displeasure prompted a riot among the Antigua supporters in the ground - a riot that continued until Richards was reinstated - so closely did they associate his fortunes with theirs.

“No other figure in the history of Antigua has enjoyed that symbiotic relationship between individual and community,” Tim Hector, the Antiguan politician, said. Whenever Richards walked to the crease thereafter, he remembered those who walked with him. Richards, Holding and legions of other West Indies cricketers of the pre and post-independence era could remember countless other examples of how much cricket mattered to West Indians.

A flavour of this relationship between West Indian cricketers and their community can be seen on Sunday, June 7, when BBC Two shows the second programme in a four-part series called Empire of Cricket.

The series, which begins on Sunday, focusing initially on England, is worth watching for the archive footage alone (and, in the case of the programme on the Caribbean, for the calypso soundtrack). If the present West Indies team are so minded they may find it instructive to tune in and reflect on what they represent.

It is all there, the thread running through from the grainy monochrome footage of Learie Constantine to the feline grace of Garry Sobers to the supercharged professionalism of Lloyd's twin blackwash outfits.

West Indies' present tour to England fizzled out at Edgbaston on Tuesday and the scenes were far removed from the BBC's archive footage of past tours. There was no glory to be had and there were not that many West Indies supporters in the ground, although there were a few, given the large numbers who live in and around Birmingham. Not many of them voiced their displeasure, though; perhaps they have become immune to failure or maybe they have just taken their cue from the players, whose indifference from the start to the finish of this tour was palpable.

There have been bad early-season series before, but none, perhaps, in which a touring team seemed so utterly devoid of a sense of duty. Can we talk of duty in this day and age? I think we can - but it is a wholly different kind of duty from that which Holding, Lloyd and Richards talk of in the BBC series, when they say openly that they were motivated to do well on the field so that black men newly arrived in England and struggling could walk around with a greater sense of self-worth. They were, as the programme says, “political cricketers”.

No, it is a different time now and the present generation of cricketers cannot necessarily be expected to know of, and understand, past struggles and why, as Holding says in the programme, “there was a special kind of pride at stake”.

But, if today's players are not political cricketers, then they are, without doubt, professional cricketers - at least in the sense that they are well paid. For this tour, the West Indies team received about $1.5million (about £934,000 - a sevenfold increase on a normal fee because this tour was imposed on them). They also received about $14,000 per scheduled day's play (there were 22 of them) from their sponsor, Digicel. Not an insignificant amount and one - surely - that demands something in return.

It is a strange word, professionalism, implying as it does all kinds of meanings. Professional foul, for example, suggests the worst kind of cynicism. Mostly, though, we understand “professional” to involve some kind of contract between those paid to perform and those paying to watch. That those paid will do their utmost to be in the best possible shape, technically, mentally and physically, every time they perform.

If playing for your country, state or club brings added motivation for other reasons, such as national pride, a sense of corporate spirit, mateship or whatever, then that is a bonus. “Professionalism” for a professional sportsman is a minimum requirement.

To watch West Indies this tour has been to watch a team who have given the impression of going through the motions. Practice sessions have been utterly lethargic. On Tuesday, the fielding practice, if it could be called that, was pathetic. They were merely marking time; it would have done just as much good having a cup of tea in the dressing room.

Ian Bishop was moved to say that in days gone by, young, aspiring West Indian cricketers would turn up at the Queen's Park Oval in Trinidad just to watch the great West Indies teams practise. This summer, more than one young English cricketer has remarked how shoddy West Indies' practice sessions have been. So in practice, so in the matches: six catches were put down between tea and stumps on the first day at Lord's and things did not improve much thereafter. Only Bangladesh have a worse percentage of dropped catches over the past decade.

But if the captain does not care, why should the players? Chris Gayle deserves some sympathy for the way this tour was foisted upon his team when he and others had prior arrangements, but that is where the sympathy should stop. Captaincy, in no small measure, is about sacrificing yourself for something bigger and leading by example.

How much has Gayle given of himself this tour? When he delivered some half-baked truths two days before the Test at the Riverside, did he stop and think of the effect his indifference to the longer format of the game would have on his team? Reflecting on his side's chances in the World Twenty20 on Tuesday, he quipped that the games would be a bit shorter, so maybe his side would be able to concentrate better. It summed up his attitude.

There are myriad other problems with West Indies cricket. When the West Indies Cricket Board feels obliged to appoint four heavies from industry to deal with the West Indies Players Association's demands during negotiations for a new Memorandum of Understanding, you know things are bad.

But it starts and ends with the captain and the players. Nobody should expect the present lot to measure up to the great players of the past in terms of performance because that level of ability simply does not exist in the present West Indies dressing room.

Everybody, though, should expect basic standards of professionalism. A commitment to excellence in everything you do, as Steve Waugh used to say. Can West Indies look at themselves this week, as they reflect on a truly awful tour, and say that they gave everything of themselves during the past month?

No doubt those who supported their team through the bitter early-season conditions feel let down. But the special bond that used to exist between West Indies players and supporters, one that is clearly expressed in Empire of Cricket, no longer exists.

West Indies players play for themselves now more than they ever did, and they let themselves down. Badly.