I am an alcoholic. At least I had to sign a form saying I was. Twice, actually. The first time was when England toured Pakistan during the 1996 World Cup, the second when we went to the same country five years later. To get a drink in the bar at the Pearl Continental in Peshawar (tragically obliterated on Tuesday by a bomb) I had to sign a form admitting to alcoholism. So did everyone else who wanted a drink. A team full of alcoholics. No wonder we were no good.

Am I alone in thinking that there is something deeply ambivalent about cricket's - sport's - attitude to alcohol? It is almost impossible to be part of the game, either as player or spectator, and not realise how central booze is to the whole thing. Even if you don't drink you can't escape it: you're either sitting in the stands fearful that some drunk is about to drop a stack of beer on your head, or you're in the dressing room feeling a bit like a virgin in a brothel.

Actually, in Andrew Symonds's case it is the other way round. He's the hooker in a team full of virgins; the drinker in a team full of people who don't drink. In the end it proved to be an impossible situation for him and his team. Eager to watch his favourite rugby league team last week, he broke the terms of his personal contract with Cricket Australia and was seen drinking in public - not drunk, just drinking in public - and was summarily dismissed. It will prove to be the last in a long list of misdemeanours as an Australia cricketer because Symonds's international career is all but over.

There was a poignant photograph of Symonds in The Times on Tuesday, baggy-eyed and empty glass in hand, watching rugby back home in Queensland. It wasn't a pretty picture and the puffiness around the eyes might have suggested that he was on another bender; more likely it reflected a man coming to terms with the fact that his life as an international sportsman is over, brought to a shuddering halt by a number of drinking-related indiscretions over the years, the latest of which would have been the mildest of all.

Reflecting on his client's fall from grace, Symonds's manager said: “He did tell me that he needs to surround himself with people he can relate to.” Drinkers, in other words. Jimmy Maher, a team-mate from Queensland, put the matter another way: “It's no surprise he did well in the Indian Premier League under the stewardship of Darren Lehmann and Adam Gilchrist. These are guys who work on the adage that you train hard and play hard and enjoy yourself. Now, when he mentions having a beer, some of the new generation look at him like he's from another planet.”

It is true that Symonds has, for some time, been on the kind of slippery slope that Paul McGrath (and countless others, such as Tony Adams) described in his memoir of his time as a professional footballer, when booze became not just an enabler of good times but an emasculator of everything else. At Manchester United during Ron Atkinson's time as manager in the 1980s, beer was as much a part of life as pasta is now. “Drink offered escapism,” McGrath wrote, “and in no time I became an expert at escaping everything around me.”

Cricket Australia will argue, then, that sending Symonds home is in his best long-term interests and it is good to know that it will continue to help him through his troubles. Certainly it can be argued, despite Australia missing Symonds so badly on the field in the past week, that it was in the long-term interests of the team. But wouldn't Symonds be right to be just a little confused at this moral outrage from an organisation that shows such an enthusiasm for alcohol in its commercial arrangements, and a sport that cannot rid itself of its addiction? Symonds is out of step with his team, but not the game.

In the days after his shaming there were reminders everywhere that cricket and booze are inseparable. Ricky Ponting, who raised his finger so promptly and dismissed Symonds from his presence, is a reformed drinker. A decade ago he was photographed with a shiner after a one-day international in Sydney and a night on the tiles in a 24-hour boozer called the Bourbon and Beefsteak. It wasn't his first lapse and to his great credit he admitted to an alcohol problem and hasn't let himself down in public since. Like the born-again Christian, Ponting is a touch evangelical for Symonds's tastes.

A few days after Symonds was sent home, David Boon - looking ever more like a “keg on legs” - waddled out at Trent Bridge to do the ceremonials before the opening ball of the India-Bangladesh game. Boon was a fine cricketer but is probably remembered just as fondly for his staggering feat of altitude drinking before competing in the 1989 Ashes - a feat that he has exploited amply in his retirement. Boon went through 52 cans of lager on the flight over, beating the 44-can record set by Rodney Marsh, who in turn had breezed past the 42-can record set by Doug Walters. Who said that modern sportsmen aren't better than their predecessors?

Next time you happen to be in an international ground, watch out for the Marston's Pedigree adverts. There's Hoggy, Vaughny, Belly and little Timmy Ambrose clutching their favourite tipple. They have no choice because Marston's is the official beer of the England team - as Tetley's was for many years in the 1990s - and has recently renewed its association for three more years. “Cricket and cask beer is the perfect match,” the marketing director of Marston's said. John Perera, the ECB's commercial director, said: “In the last three years Marston's has been a shining example of how a commercial partnership can work to exploit a sporting association.” One more contract for the road, then.

Cricket Australia is itself not immune from taking top dollar from brewers. It boasts Victoria Bitter, a classic Australian lager (fizzy, tasteless), as a commercial partner, as well as Johnnie Walker, and Wolf Blass is the official wine supplier to the Australia cricket team and Cricket Australia.

By the way, did you notice what Ponting was wearing on his head at the press conference when Symonds was expelled? You got it - a VB cap. VB will be adorning the Australia shirts throughout the rest of the World Twenty20 (oops, nearly forgot, they are out of this one already), the Ashes and the one-day series to follow.

Cricket and booze, booze and cricket - a long-established partnership and, for the most part, an enjoyable one. From the moment a young player is introduced to cricket it is made clear that alcohol is part and parcel of the game. Scored a fifty for your club side on Saturday, did you? No doubt the cap was sent round for donations from the crowd. Hope you bought a “jug” at the bar out of the proceeds.

My favourite cricketing memory is of a long night in the Worcestershire dressing room after a memorable cup semi-final victory for Lancashire. We weren't drinking lemonade. Victories celebrated, sorrows drowned in defeat. Win or lose, let's sup some booze!

Spectators drink it and cricket organisations promote it. Most players enjoy it, too, and for many this forms part of their legend when their careers are done.

“Did you see Fred? Couldn't talk at Trafalgar Square, could he? Did you see his eyes? P***-holes in the snow. Been on it all night. Thought he was going to drop his daughter off the top of that bus, he was so smashed. Had to have a leak in the rose bushes in Tony Blair's garden. What a legend!”

Just be careful when and where you do it.

“Have you seen what Fred's done now? Got a big match coming up and he's gone and got shedded. Can you believe it? Drinking all night till 4 in the morning and then fell off a pedalo. Unprofessional, that's what he is. What a disgrace.” Symonds has gone, but not the hypocrisy.