I hate to see the Australians lose. It really upsets me when an Australia team are beaten at anything, especially cricket. It's even worse when they lose a match they really should have won, or at least saved. But Australia lost to South Africa in Perth yesterday, conceding the second-highest run chase in history as Graeme Smith and his boys hunted down 414, losing only four wickets as they did so.

I am cast down for several reasons. The first is that it was, well, South Africa they lost to. With Australia v South Africa, who the hell are you supposed to cheer for? “Come on, Satan!” Or do you say: “No, no, sock it to 'em, Beelzebub?”

Now we can wonder, yet again, if Australia are in terminal decline. But let's not. It's like saying: “Fergie's really blown it this time.” And as with Sir Alex Ferguson, we're all going to miss the moment when it comes because we have wrongly expected it - wish being father to thought - too many times.

Should we rejoice that apart from Mitchell Johnson, Australia's bowlers took only three wickets in the match? Shall we giggle because Jason Krejza has conceded more than 100 runs on each of the four occasions he has bowled in Test matches? Shall we start rubbing our hands and saying: “The Ashes summer is coming up and the Aussies are falling apart”?

No. Let's do nothing of the kind. England have lost many an Ashes series by overestimating the Aussies; they have also lost a few by going in the opposite direction. Let us simply note the result and nod. Let us refrain from sending off gloating texts and e-mails to the southern hemisphere. Let us remember that every talent Australia possess will be doubled when they are in England. So hear this, Australia: we are not gloating, all right? Just noting.

Four years ago, as the Ashes summer approached, we were all praying for one thing, and it wasn't victory. It was a contest. Cut and thrust, ebb and flow, blow and counter-blow. If only we could get that, we'd be happy. We got that, all right, so let's go for the same prayer.

Any suggestion that we take any pleasure in this massive national humiliation for Australia is to be rejected out of hand. I'm sure Australia tried their hardest and did their best. And, well, let's just say that summer is coming. A contest, just a contest, all right?

Romance preferred to track records

It's been the theme of the autumn: the plight of people appointed to top jobs because, well, we like the cut of his jib. He's got good vibes. He's the sort of bloke we like to be associated with.

Does this sort of appointment get made in any other walk of life? Are people given jobs with million-quid salaries just because they look the part? What's on his CV? Absolutely nothing whatsoever. Well, let's have a look at his portfolio, then. No need to bother, it's empty. But let's give him the job anyway, because he's got a lucky face. That's the way it works in sport.

The agenda has been dominated by people appointed to high-level management jobs because they're good blokes. Martin Johnson has endured an autumn from hell as England rugby union team manager, Tony Adams is flailing about as Portsmouth manager, Paul Ince and Roy Keane have left Blackburn Rovers and Sunderland respectively. We are considered a stodgy and cautious nation, yet we take startling gambles on untried talent as a matter of routine. It doesn't happen in Italian football or Australian cricket, but we English are suckers for it.

That's because we are hopelessly romantic about leadership. All four were outstanding leaders on the pitch and so we make an utterly illogical next step: that this leadership must transfer to a completely different set of skills and circumstances. Australians think we are mad, the way we go on and on about cricket captaincy. Italians insist on a track record of achievement at lower levels before you get your hands on a big club. But we English believe that if you have the quality of leadership, you can do anything.

In an egalitarian system we are trying to create a new feudalism: seeking out natural aristocrats and expecting them to govern us, or at least our sport, with wisdom, compassion and victory.

I hope Johnson and Adams can extricate themselves from the mire, because, as it happens, I like the cut of their respective jibs. The English myth of natural leadership continues despite their struggles. John Terry, Michael Owen, Frank Lampard, Steven Gerrard: who will be the next appointed far beyond his capabilities?

Do not despair for Ronnie O'Sullivan

As the Maplin UK Championship concluded last night, so snooker tries to cope with the fact that all tournaments fall a bit flat when Ronnie O'Sullivan goes out. Every time O'Sullivan's life-work is considered, he is regarded as an underachiever, despite his three World Championships. With his talent, the argument goes, he should have put every record in the game beyond reach.

Me, I think it is astonishing that he has achieved as much as he has. The idea that he could have done more is nonsense: it comes down to a statement that had he had the same talent and yet been somebody else, he would have won more. Sport doesn't work like that.

O'Sullivan's talent is an aspect of his neuroses. His unstable personality is the bedrock of his genius. Without his problematic and complex nature, he would not be able to create his shots, frames, matches and occasionally championships of beauty and perfection.

Carl Jung said it was his duty as a psychologist to help men of genius to keep their neuroses. That O'Sullivan has won so much, despite lacking all vestige of the essential talent for having talent, is a testament to his skills, his artistry and, above all, his never-considered strength of personality. To have taken a complex talent and a frail nature so far has been nothing less than remarkable.

Sam Davies a star of the Vendée Globe

The Vendée Globe single-handed round-the-world yacht race has something most sporting events lack: the threat of death in every yard of the untold miles.

I love the way that, in the blink of an eye, competitors who are doing everything they can to beat the other bastards suddenly change tack - or splice the mainbrace or whatever - and charge off to help a stricken rival, never mind how many hours and days it costs them.

So Sam Davies, on Roxy, smashed herself up a bit and knocked herself out and then, groggily recovering, heard that Yann Eliès had bust his leg - so off she went to rescue him. The Australian Navy got there first, so Davies turned back and simply started racing again. She's top Brit in the race. It's stirring stuff, but then you wouldn't expect anything else from a Times columnist.

Good deeds better in private

Every time I turn on Sky Sports News, the sad duty of a sports writer, I see footballers visiting teenage cancer victims. Now, I am all in favour of good deeds and cheer for all players who step outside their bubbles of conceit - but a good deed becomes less of a good deed if you boast about it. It has less value, less meaning, less point. It becomes a mere aspect of commercialism. Go to the hospitals, by all means, and do your bit of good. But leave the cameras behind or be a hypocrite.