Watching Tim Henman at Wimbledon has to be one of the more painful sport-watching experiences.

But even that was surpassed by watching Mark Robinson stave off defeat against Yorkshire at Arundel on Saturday.

Ever since childhood, when my mum's attempts at stopping me biting my nails failed, I have been a renowned cuticle chomper and I now have some rather raw finger ends to show for Robbo's troubles.

The cricket at Arundel and the tennis at Wimbledon showed, in their different ways, what an effect the crowd has on the atmosphere of the match. At SWI9 the audience is almost absurdly partisan. The fervour is never greater than when Henman or Rusedski play a magnificent winner, but a double fault or missed smash by the opponent is equally cheered.

This must have an adverse effect on the opponent's play, as the tennis crowd is up so close and personal. The player will be able to hear almost every whisper from the crowd and feel the resentment.

Henman admitted in his post-match interview, after his five-set game against Kratochvil, that the crowd had got him through the last two sets when he was suffering from an upset stomach. The tennis fan, starved of live tennis to watch in England, whips into a patriotic frenzy for those two weeks in the summer when Henman edges his way ever closer to the Wimbledon title.

By contrast, the cricket spectator, particularly in Sussex, tends to be a gentler, more refined species. Cricket is a game that lasts all day and so you don't need to shout about it. You couldn't anyway, you'd go hoarse after a few hours. So a gentle clap here and there, or maybe even a cry of "shot" or "bowled", may be in order. Otherwise, it's just a question of sitting back and enjoying the sunshine, a pint, a crossword and, as Paul Havel once put it, "the sound of bat on willow".

It is a moot point as to whether there is such a thing as home advantage in county cricket. I can think of very few instances when an intimidating group of supporters have affected mine or the team's performance.

One such incident was at Guildford in 1996 in what would have been one of my first Sunday League games. Sussex were defending a large score, thanks to a brilliant hundred from Martin Speight.

I don't know whether it was my unconvincing batting display (caught behind for a golden duck), or the fact that I had a double-barrelled name that barely fitted across my less-than broad shoulders, but when I was sent to patrol the boundary in front of a group of Surrey supporters in the beer tent, I was subjected to the most vitriolic abuse I have ever heard.

It didn't have once ounce of humour or subtlety but was simply a group of louts, sour that their team was being beaten, intending to put me off my game. Well it worked. I bowled only one average over before being taken from the attack and took no further part in the game. I knew then what footballers have to go through every Saturday.

Thank goodness it was a rare incident and one that has not been repeated. The closest I've come to seeing the like of it again is whenever we play Glamorgan in a one-day game. They can always be guaranteed to provide some boisterous support and when we played them at Swansea last year the sun and the beer had taken their effect.

This time it was Mark Davis's turn to field in front of the bar area. A South African with the name Davis playing for Sussex in Wales? Well the words red rag and bull spring to mind and this combination provided them with ample ammunition. But at least most of their ranting was witty. In general, cricket fields are too big for the crowd to have much effect on the player's concentration. As for Arundel, not even a full house at Twickenham would have made any difference to Robbo's concentration. He was never going to let his old county defeat his new one, maybe that's what they mean when they say Yorkshire men are tight.