We assume that English cricket, at least the distinctive and often maligned Twenty20 variety, is still doing its best to obliterate the memory of that cringing four-wicket defeat last week against the Netherlands part-timers.

It is hard to imagine a worse spectacle at Lord's. The blazers patrolling the Long Room would understandably have turned away, as if it wasn't happening. Nor should it have been, after that 102-run stand by Ravi Bopara and Luke Wright. After that, the wretched self-destructive shots multiplied. The visitors won off the final ball – and few would have wanted to deny them their fleeting moment of Dutch impudence.

Cricket has careered off course in recent years. It is impossible to keep track of the offbeat fixture lists or, it seems, the shock results – rather in the spirit of one of those non-league football clubs proudly buying a new strip and taking on a glamorous adversary in the FA Cup.

It isn't to everyone's taste, though some of us who express reservations are dubbed as blinkered dinosaurs, cussedly refusing to accept it is what the public want.

Whatever the suspect standard, the Dutch like their cricket. They are great enthusiasts in the field. Roland Lefebvre, the piano-playing physio, made the point during his time with Somerset. No bowler, at just over medium-pace, was harder to score off. He was a fine one-day player and maybe the county should have retained him longer instead of letting him go to Glamorgan

The Netherlands win reminds some of us of what happened in 1989 when an England side, one theoretically full of promise with players like Alex Stewart, Nasser Hussain and Derek Pringle, flew to Amsterdam. Micky Stewart and Peter Lush were the management team. They had several duties. One was to monitor the style and thinking of new skipper Peter Roebuck.

Roebuck had an outstanding record as a Somerset CCC batsman. There may have been an inclination to be too cautious and one-paced. But his statistics and his repertoire of correct strokes were to be much envied. Less talented batsmen were finding their way into the Test side.

In addition there was the question of his leadership qualities. Reasoned voices could even be heard advocating him as a valid candidate for the England captaincy.

His appointment as skipper for the Holland visit caused a few raised eyebrows. It also offered a genuine opportunity for assessment. Do we conclude that he failed the test? And on what was he judged?

The England party flew to Amsterdam on the morning of the match. They may have been stiff and there was limited time for pre-match exercise. Perhaps it was seen as an easy fixture, suitable primarily for giving potential Test players a public airing.

In fact, this vaunted England side lost by three runs. Back in this country there were polite – and not so polite – coughs of embarrassment

One or two excuses were offered. England had the worse of the light. They weren't versed in the peculiarities of a bouncy matting wicket. They didn't get the timing right in that 40-over match.

We don't know what kind of a report on Roebuck's captaincy was submitted back at Lord's. Certainly the result didn't help him. Was his dressing room influence, by his own more imaginative standards, apt to be self-conscious and even inhibited?

He was out for 19 but the following day, in a match of 55 overs, he made 60 and his side, after a few pointed words from the managers, won by 98 runs. But the international summons didn't come again.

Roebuck remains one of the real riddles of Somerset cricket. Was he too cerebral, too cold? Did he lack an amiable, easy-going dressing room persona to counter his more serious side ?

The Year Books remind us of his worth. He scored 16,218 first-class runs. Most of his 31 hundreds were testimonies to graft, single-minded application and merit. He probably deserved more in terms of recognition. He was only 13 when he first played for Somerset 2nd XI. His team-mates dubbed him Rupert or The Professor. But his popularity lessened, especially over the internecine chapter that covered the departure of Viv Richards and Joel Garner.

Then he went himself from choice, when there was still cricket in him. These days, with that fluent touch, he only writes about the game he once loved. That sizzling definitive autobiography is overdue.