Cricket supporters. What a rare and wonderful breed they are.

They come in many shapes and sizes. Most of them have only kind things to say to us and will lend their support through thick and thin. Then there is the odd exception, the Victor Meldrew type who always moans.

Consider please the following letter I received this morning:

"Rubbish Martin-Jenkins!! The first player not to be offered another contract should be you. What is your averages (sic) with bat and ball? Not much I should imagine! Your long run, with the usual 'club and ground' bowling action, is only medium pace. Second eleven, or preferably out altogether. Rubbish Martin-Jenkins!!"

This kind gentleman, who bravely withheld his address, thought it worth his while to write to me on the eve of what is potentially the greatest season in the history of Sussex County Cricket Club to point out my shortcomings.

I can only thank him for his honesty and admire him for his timing. With that big boost to my confidence and ego surely nothing can go wrong now!

Our win on Sunday should be a big boost to our confidence coming into this all-important last week.

We were outplayed in the Championship game by a strong Lancashire team but we still believe we have the tools to finish the job off this week.

While in Manchester, we were lucky enough to secure tickets to the England football match at Old Trafford. Although it wasn't the most exciting display of football it was a privilege to watch some great players at work.

Gerrard, Beckham and Owen stood out as being outstanding talents; the work they managed off the ball stood out and is something you can't always spot on the TV.

There were some not so glorious performances from some of the lesser players but England won the game (all that mattered on the night) with a competent and professional performance (no bookings or injuries) and I was satisfied.

In fact, I couldn't hide my excitement at watching England's finest. Not so with the people around me.

These people who call themselves 'fans' were ready to criticise the players at the drop of a hat. All it took was for one bad pass or miskick for the player to be branded 'useless', usually with a slightly more adult word shoved in front.

There was a dad with his young boy, who could not have been more than six, nearby who clearly thought it his duty to teach his son how to abuse the players. Before long the little guy was standing on his chair singing 'Beattie's rubbish' and 'stand up if you hate Tur-kee' (this last one is heading for the Christmas No. 1 spot).

The worst thing about it was that I found it to be contagious. Towards the end of the second half I found myself being frustrated with Beattie's lack of pace or Neville's touch and I had to restrain myself so as not to join in the heckles of 'rubbish'.

It made me realise that us cricketers get off relatively lightly. Would you like having 65,000 fellow countrymen booing their disapproval at your talents? Give me a piece of spiteful mail scribbled by an old duffer in a deckchair any day!