THE year 1969 was a pretty momentous year, all in all.

The Pelican Crossing was invented.

Neil Armstrong became the first man to set foot on the moon.

And my inguinal hernia was finally operated on after three years of infantile agony.

Oh yes, as we all now know, this was the last time England beat the West Indies in a Test series.

So let's all lord it in the Long Room and gala at the Grace Gates -- English Cricket is alive and kicking.

Gibberish.

The truth of the matter is that our nation's cricketers are, at best, middle of the road, this was no more a giant leap for cricketing kind than Nasser Hussain's shuffling footwork, and our game still needs major surgery. Granted, there is a new refreshing, fighting spirit amongst Hussain's troops which has been lamentably absent in the post-Botham era.

The captain himself must take virtually all of the credit for that, although English football might learn a lesson by appointing a technically qualified coach from overseas if no suitable homegrown equivalents are available.

Central contracts, however much pathetic whining they have produced at county level, have also played a part. But, before the celebrations lose any kind of context, it has to be said that the West Indies were about as menacing as a nanny goat minutes before it becomes goat curry.

This was a side caught in a generation gap with Curtley and Courtney courteously bowling out and the likes of Ramnaresh Sarwen and Mahendra Nagamootoo still barely out of Kwik Cricket.

That is more than can be said for England because there is, at best, only another couple of good years left in this side. The next three series will show us exactly how far we have come in true world terms.

And no-one is telling me that the same batsmen who used to despatch Andy Caddick and Dominic Cork to all parts, and the same bowlers who used to make mincemeat out of Graeme Hick and Nasser Hussain, will be quaking in their boots.

There is no sign of a lasting youthful rejuvenation and, while this Big Brother of an ECB hierarchy watches over our flock, there's more chance of a Chinese rower passing yellow urine than us beating the Aussies by 2069.

Neil Bramwell is the Sports Editor