SUCH is the dizzying, dazzling pace of modern sport that no event is free from the blur of change. Amid all the frenzy, fervour and flummery there used to be the enduring standby of cricket. Not any more.

The game of willow, leather and flannels – even they sound so dated and quaint – is being swallowed up by a ravenous bish-bashbosh beast.

The switch-hitting turnaround is not solely down to the advent of Twenty20 cricket, the stripped down to the logo-emblazoned clothing version of it will be all might on the night, all dare on the square, all nick it at the wicket.

It’s the very culture of cricket that is mutating into something that is taking a great deal of getting used to.

Just take this week as an example.

First, there was the dignified exit of Sachin Tendulkar, India’s legendary batsman, who, at last, called a halt to his exemplary career after amassing more runs than you could shake a bat at.

As he looked back fondly on almost 25 years as a player who graced the world’s squares, Tendulkar said of cricket in an interview with the BBC: “Those 22 yards have given me everything in my life. Whatever I have today is because I spent time between those 22 yards. It is like a temple for me.

“Any time I go to bat I touch the bat and take the blessings. I just thank cricket for everything I have in life.”

But barely had the “little master’s”

departure from playing been signalled when the game’s spotlight whirred swiftly from the sub- Continent to Australia and the first Test of 2013’s second Ashes series.

For ST now read KP – at least that seems to be the principal component of the latest instalment of cricket’s oldest international rivalry.

Here he was, Kevin Pietersen, owner of aforementioned initials, which increasingly appear to stand for key performer, kingpin presence, or kenspeckle pain depending on your standpoint.

This week as part of the build-up to the current first duel at Brisbane’s historic Gabba, Pietersen gave a televised interview as to how as a young import from his native South Africa to deepest Nottinghamshire, he had to withstand cruel taunts and jibes, even songs, to establish himself and even excel beyond his English contemporaries.

His recall of those tender years, ironically, echo what he termed to be “banter” when disrespecting, even betraying former England captain Andrew Strauss during last year’s home series against South Africa.

There is absolutely no escaping that at his best Pietersen is a batsman even the most potent attack would struggle to contain, let alone tame. You don’t get to 100 Test appearances – an achievement he is currently accomplishing – if you are a mediocre player.

It is also true that not all teams get on like bosom buddies. Often jealousies, arguments and simmering detestation are subsumed for the good of the team. I just get the feeling that KP rhymes with hey me, an example of self-worth and self-esteem fuelled further by social networking. He is the ideal sportsman for the Twitter age.

In the desire to stuff the Aussies in their own baying arenas of hostility, I’d like just one thing better than KP to provide five match-winning innings. That would be for Alastair Cook, Jonathan Trott, Ian Bell – even the Tykes’ trio of Joe Root, Jonathan Bairstow and Gary Ballance (that’s so hard for a Lancastrian to write) – to produce such decisive knocks with KP then missing out.

However, given the news we all woke up to yesterday – England’s calamitous batting collapse that looks destined to already hijack the first Test away from them – the chance of a nap hand of winning innings borders on the miraculous The Pietermaritzburg-born batsman is too often overburdened with the baggage of self-acclaim, which is certainly a sharp contrast to the career of Tendulkar.

The game’s most prolific batsman has always let his bat speak for him. Public utterances have been less frequent than the political speeches of Marcel Marceau.

Tendulkar’s statements have often been confined to smiting fours and sixes while compiling a record number of runs. And so eloquent have those endeavours been with no need to tweet, to bleat, to repeat, to be indiscreet.

In a way though the media is as much to blame for the myth of KayPee. He has been the ideal figure for the insatiable every-second demand for even the most trite minutiae of sleb-world. Perhaps we get what we deserve.