Tim Glover: Kirk or Mainwaring? Leaders of men have devil of a job

The art of captaincy

An ideal England cricket captain might have the autocratic ruthlessness of Douglas Jardine, the bearing of Peter May, the downright doggedness of Brian Close and the IQ of Mike Brearley. In the modern era, some of those qualities have disappeared, although Nasser Hussain was regarded as a hard man, the Alastair Campbell of Lord's without the spin.

Hussain cared passionately about the national cause and, according to the coach, Duncan Fletcher, would "do anything for the England team''. Unfortunately that included resigning the captaincy at a curious time, just as his successor, Michael Vaughan, was tucking into a bacon sandwich. Vaughan ran out of petrol on the drive from Birmingham to London, which suggests that his mind was elsewhere, or that he's not very good on miles per gallon or reading warning signs.

Nobody knows where Vaughan's journey will take him, although most observers believe he has the right temperament for what John Emburey describes as the "toughest job in English sport'', and is therefore a safe pair of hands or, at least, the safest pair available. For the time being, there seems to be a slightly uncomfortable co-existence between the old and the new captains.

As one of England's best batsmen, if not the best, Vaughan can inspire by example, providing his performance as an opener is not affected by his duties as captain, which, compared to most sports, are considerable, complex, and wide-ranging.

Leading the England football team is a different ball game entirely. Apart from slipping on an armband, preferably one designed by Paul Smith, David Beckham's responsibilities are minimal. Indeed, with team-mates obliged frequently to yell instructions to each other, does a football team need an armband at all? What input, tactically speaking, did Beckham have on his country last season?

Apart from one or two exceptions, Bobby Moore in 1966 for example, the captain's role is marginal. In football, of course, the manager is the boss, the guv'nor, the headmaster, the fall guy. If a team lose, nobody blames the captain. It is not he who is sacked. And when a club (Alex Ferguson) or a country (Alf Ramsey) are successful, it is the manager whom the Queen taps on the shoulder.

If in cricket it is the other way around, then professional rugby union lies somewhere in between. Martin Johnson is the largest captain England have ever had. He brings a huge physical presence to the table, which tends consequently to look like something out of a Wendy house.

When Fran Cotton, lantern-jawed and a Desperate Dan lookalike, managed the 1997 Lions tour to South Africa, he named Johnson as his captain so that, when the Springboks knocked on the dressing-room door, they would have to look up to a towering inferno and realise the size of the task. Or something to that effect. Anyway, it worked.

Ian McGeechan was the coach who plotted the strategy, with Johnson the enforcer in more ways than one. Before the kick-off and at half-time, McGeechan would have his say, but on the field, for the most part, Johnson would call the shots. At moments of crisis, it is his voice that would be heard in the ever more fashionable team huddle.

By their recent exploits in the southern hemisphere, Johnson, Clive Woodward, the manager-coach, and his assistant, Andy Robinson, have made England a very serious contender for the World Cup in Australia in 10 weeks' time.

The inaugural competition was won by New Zealand, with David Kirk lifting the Webb Ellis Cup. Then it was Australia's Nick Farr-Jones, followed by François Pienaar and, in 1999, John Eales. All were intelligent and outstanding.

In rugby, the position in which the captain plays is important. Captains Kirk and Farr-Jones were scrum-halves; Pienaar a back-row forward; Eales a lock; and all were ideally placed. Pienaar's Springboks had the incalculable support of another leader, with Nelson Mandela donning the No 6 jersey in Johannesburg. Somehow it seemed to fit. We are unlikely to see Tony Blair wearing Johnson's No 4 in Sydney in November.

Captaincy in professional golf is only really pertinent in the Ryder Cup. Tony Jacklin transformed the biennial massacre at the hands of the United States into an engrossing match with a masterstroke of psychology. The old Great Britain and Ireland, he argued, were beaten before they started. The Americans had country clubs, cocktails, cashmere, Cadillacs and cigars. We had the angling and allotments club, otherwise known as the Cod and Cabbage, a milk stout, cardigans, the Hillman Imp and Woodbines. They had Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus; we had Tom Haliburton and Harry Weetman.

When we travelled it was at the back of the plane, and the players had to buy headsets. For Jacklin, everything had to be first-class, and they flew on Concorde. The players no longer felt inferior. Clive Woodward has adopted a similar policy.

But Jacklin did not just get it right off the course. It is important to find the right pairings and, in the singles, the correct "batting order''. In the infamous match at Brookline in Massachusetts, Mark James got it horribly wrong. Bernhard Langer, who takes over the leadership for the match in America next year, will be no Captain Mainwaring. The German has said he will leave "no stone unturned'', and any player wishing to attend Bible class will be free to do so.

By contrast, the captaincy of the Davis Cup is a piece of cake, although the sight of David Lloyd vainly attempting to place a plastic Union Jack bowler hat on to the head of an embarrassed Tim Henman a few years ago did not augur well.

As seen in the Second Test, it is going to take Vaughan time to adjust. "The day didn't quite go to plan,'' he said, with subtle understatement, after England had been outplayed on the first day. Behind every great man is a sense of humour. It is another chapter in Vaughan's forthcoming book, although he has enough on his plate without the diversion of making the Christmas best-sellers' list. That he has the devil of a job is not in question, but what of his opposite number, Graeme Smith? South African cricket was on its knees after the Hansie Cronje affair. Like Vaughan, Smith is a young captain entrusted with his country's future and, like Vaughan, he has the extra responsibility of opening the batting. Thus far he has carried it impeccably.

It helped, of course, that Smith won the toss at Lord's and was totally vindicated when he chose to put England in. Vaughan said he would have batted, so it is as well the coin fell against him, otherwise his judgement would have immediately been questioned.

When the England innings finished, Vaughan was sitting on the balcony looking totally bemused. When Smith strode out to open South Africa's innings, he looked... well, threatening. Like Martin Johnson, he is a big man who leads from the front, by example, an impressive combination in a game which has a strong team ethic, yet also provides the stage for solo exploits.

Jardine and Johnson probably identified sport as a metaphor for war. From Bodyline to Brookline, it can be a battlefield, and all's fair in love and war. Vaughan, who is 28, will have to display a flashing blade, not only of willow, but of Sheffield steel. If he needs inspiration, there is always Henry V, who was only 28 when he led his yeomen at Agincourt.