Cronje's sins were tip of the iceberg

THE irony was not lost on the cricket world. On the 10th anniversary of the death of Hansie Cronje last week, English cricket authorities hired seven staff to try to stamp out match fixing.

Hansie Cronje

THE irony was not lost on the cricket world. On the 10th anniversary of the death of Hansie Cronje last week, English cricket authorities hired seven staff to try to stamp out match fixing.

Not one or two ... seven. The message was simple. The curse of match fixing is still out there and it's far bigger than we think.

In the decade since Cronje's death in a plane crash, cricket has continually puffed its chest out about how it tackles match-fixing - but has never come close to winning the war.

This issue gets me madder than anything that's happened in cricket for 30 years.

I hate the fact that while cheats are prospering, we are being led to believe the issue is under control.

Corruption is out there on a monthly basis - in the Indian Premier League, in Test matches, in those meaningless 50-over games.

Normally it takes a newspaper such as the former the News of the World, or the Indian TV station that set up some IPL players earlier this month, to expose things because the International Cricket Council's corruption team have been about as useful as Mr Magoo in a game of hide and seek.

I know an Indian man who was connected with the Indian cricket team some years ago and became so frustrated with corruption he organised a private meeting with police.

He told them he thought some of the biggest names in the game were involved but they barely raised an eyebrow.

"We know, we know," they said. "But in our world there are bigger crimes. We know where the big bookies are in Delhi. They live in high-rise apartment blocks and they change addresses every few months. But if we start busting people for betting on cricket ... who cares? It is hard enough for us to stay on top of major crimes."

Cricket betting is illegal in India but the gambling laws are so lax offenders sometimes get away by paying a fine as paltry as 200 rupees (about $4).

Talk about a stinging deterrent.

The anniversary of Cronje's death is a poignant moment for many who knew him. He was such an interesting character whose life had charisma, corruption, God and greed in equal measures.

For many years he fooled everyone and no one got him more wrong than I did.

A couple of months before his match-fixing crimes were unearthed, I called him "the sort of straight-laced character whose idea of a big night out was going to bed without his pyjama top on".

Not one of my finest moments but one which led me to becoming obsessed about getting to the bottom of his personality to the point of once knocking on the door of his home in George, southeastern South Africa, two years before he died.

I found him hard to read because his life and personality were full of extreme contrasts.

He would go through restaurant bills like a tax accountant and if he found an extra garlic bread accidentally billed to his table, would blow up deluxe. Then, embarrassed and remorseful, shout all of his teammates to dinner the following night.

He would go to church on Sunday seeking forgiveness for his sins and promise to repent yet, in the year after he was caught for match fixing, his mother said to him: "Hansie, if you tell me one more lie you are no longer my son."

He would tell himself he would never drink on tour and there'd be weeks where he would be so anti-alcohol you'd swear a rum 'n' raisin ice cream would not pass his lips.

But suddenly his resolve would melt and he would binge drink for hours alone in his room, curse himself the next morning and head out alone on a 10km run at a deliberately fast pace to release the pressure on his guilty conscience.

Guilt played a major part in his life.

His one great weakness was a love of money ... not just having it but seeing it and, quite bizarrely, even touching it. Bookmakers who corrupted him said the expression on his face would change whenever they reached into a bag and produced wads of untraceable cash. It was like floating a fly in front of a salmon. He would grab the money and flick it back and forth like a bank teller.

"I love money ... it's the key to everything," he would say to teammates and even though he would deliver it with a smile, they knew he meant it. Cronje was born into a loving Afrikaans family as the son of Ewie, a well-known South African cricketer and commentator who was a sportsmaster at Grey College in Bloemfontein.

Ewie is famed for telling his students: "When you leave, I want to read about you on the back page but not the front."

It's just tragic his son could not follow his advice.