Archie Henderson: We should have seen this coming. Ever since the King commission that investigated Hansie Cronje's match-fixing was closed down with indecent haste almost 10 years ago, it's been only a matter of time before more crooks were caught out at the crease.

Ronnie Flanagan, the former Northern Ireland police chief who succeeded Paul Condon as head of cricket's anti-corruption unit, can protest as much as he likes, the authorities took their eye off the ball. Or the no-ball in this case.

Some of the Hansie history bears retelling.

The commission headed by Judge Sharky King in Cape Town was the best effort so far at getting to the bottom of corruption in world cricket. In the end, however, the judge's efforts were stymied just when it looked as if his investigators were about to make a breakthrough.

King never had it all his own way. His commission's terms of reference were heavily circumscribed so that he could investigate only a small part of what was a worldwide racket. Thabo Mbeki's government, through its Department of Sport, then under Ngconde Balfour, appeared interested only in finding a convenient scapegoat.

There was also some uncertainty about how far they could go. When Cronje's lawyer shouted "boo" at the commission, threatening to bring an interdict against it for violating the disgraced captain's constitutional rights, all those involved took fright. The judge declared his hands were tied, the government showed little interest in continuing funding it and world cricket seemed relieved to see it all go away so that it could continue to make money out of the game.

Of course, there was much indignation, huffing and puffing about never allowing this sort of thing to happen again, but many questions remained unanswered.

Cronje got a life ban, although not from beach cricket as South African cricket boss Percy Sonn had wanted, while the rest who were implicated with him got slaps on the wrist. Herschelle Gibbs shrugged his shoulders, showing little remorse, and was back again after six months, although he delayed any return to India for much longer.

The most devious of them all, Indian captain Mohammad Azharuddin, ended up as a member of Delhi's Parliament, where he sits today as a member of the ruling Congress Party.

With the demise of the King commission, a golden chance was lost to pursue the leads it produced.

The Indian government baulked at helping South African investigators and the anti-corruption unit set up by the International Cricket Conference has proved useless at anticipating and nipping in the bud the latest case involving the Pakistanis.

If the entire cricket-watching public seems to have been smelling rats all over the place, why the anosmia from the ICC?

There have been some dodgy results since the King commission, but we don't know if these were ever properly investigated. If News of the World, with a simple sting operation, could expose the latest scandal, why not the ICC's gumshoes? Was it just complacency, or incompetence?

It seems obvious now that the Pakistan team was vulnerable. Barred from playing at home because of the "security situation", the players are also products of a national culture where "corruption is the norm", according to Irfan Hussain, writing in the Pakistani newspaper Dawn.

They earn a pittance compared to their current opponents, the England players.

When Mohammad Amir, the naive 18-year-old who has apparently fallen victim to bribery, can earn four times his monthly wage with one man-of-the-match award in England, it should have been clear to the ICC that the Pakistan cricket team, for all its obvious talent on the field, was easy pickings for criminals wanting to fix games.

A more original theory comes from the astute Simon Kuper. Writing in the Financial Times at the weekend, he says that sportsmen taking bribes is a form of industrial action.

In our current situation with the public servants strike, it might seem a stretch, but consider this: British sports economist Stefan Szymanski says that in cricket every employer is a monopolist.

The Pakistani players have nowhere to go, especially when they are barred from playing in the lucrative Indian Premier League on spurious political grounds.

So, for Salman Butt and the rest of them, taking a bribe is like going out on strike. It is also a perfect cricket metaphor.