"HELLO! Is that Mr Bramwell? You do not know me.
"But I know that you are playing in the Ramsbottom Cup final on Sunday," said the muffled voice of a stranger.
The murky world of match-fixing was something I had previously only read about.
But, all of a sudden in the middle of a humdrum Wednesday afternoon, I found myself slap bang in the thick of this epidemic industry.
"I have a client in the East who wants you to rig the game against Ribblesdale Wanderers. It could make you a very rich man," he continued.
My initial reaction was one of revulsion.
How could I betray the friends and team-mates that I had shared agony and ecstasy with throughout the summer's campaign?
How could I fly in the face of the very principles of sporting honour and decency that, even at Cherry Tree, cricket has always stood for?
But hang on a minute. I haven't had a bowl for three months. I've been demoted from my usual position at cover to third man at both ends. And Andreas has sneaked above me in the batting order to number 11.
Exactly where do my loyalties lie? And, after all, I'll be able to buy everyone a beer with my illegal earnings.
"It's a deal. Leave a bundle of used notes behind the sightscreen at the Pendle Hill end," I instructed.
I was true to my word. With our side struggling on 94-9, I kept my side of the bargain and scored less than three, elaborately missing a straight half-volley.
Then, with Ribblesdale faltering on 93-4, with just 14 overs remaining, I presented their batsman with a rank long hop, which he dispatched into the dairy for six. I hadn't wanted to take any chances.
The money was duly delivered. It was the easiest £20 quid I had ever earned and no-one was ever the wiser.
In fact, it almost looked as though I had been playing my natural game.
So the whole experience got me thinking.
Maybe some cricketers accept these payments all the time and continue to play their game to the best of their ability. Call me naive, call me stupid. But I still cannot believe that the best cricketers in the world would betray their country for a few grand.
I actually think there's an equally devious and widespread practice at work.
And that's to fleece the black market bookmakers who mistakenly believe that the players' services have been bought.
What could be easier than to say that a player will score less than 20, when the law of averages state that there is a fair chance that it will happen in a one-day game anyway?
What could be easier than for Shane Warne and Mark Waugh to line their pockets for providing some harmless and misleading information about the pitch conditions?
It's not as though the bookie is going to come back and sue you when it doesn't happen, and there are a multitude of excuses that can be used when the script is not followed.
Has anyone properly investigated exactly how the Hansie Cronje 'tapes' came into the possession of the Indian police? The current theory that they were found by accident is absurd.
Isn't it just possible that some aggrieved bookmakers, realising that their payrolled match fixers were failing to deliver the goods, fancied a bit of revenge?
There's no doubt that Hansie Cronje has been thick, in a similar way that Lawrence Dallaglio was when he tried to be too clever for his own good.
But a cheat? It's just not cricket.
Neil Bramwell is the Sports Editor
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