Cricket: Richard Gillislooks back on the year of the chicken dance and wonders about the future of the game.

The St Patrick's Day win over Pakistan in Jamaica made headlines across the world and was the defining moment in the most extraordinary year in Irish cricket.

The momentum of their campaign began a few days before, in an equally exciting game against Zimbabwe, a match they came back to tie, having been outplayed all day. The first hour of the match, and of Ireland's World Cup campaign, was a disaster. Jeremy Bray and William Porterfield walked out to bat at Sabina under a gloomy sky. There was a slight delay before the first ball was bowled, cranking up the anxiety. An hour later Ireland were five down for not many and the fat lady was clearing her throat. Had Bray fallen, too, Ireland's year would probably have turned out very differently.

But Bray scored a brilliant hundred and Zimbabwe collapsed in the last two overs of the day to hand the game to Ireland.

For Bray, it was also a key moment. As he took the applause, the world's best bowlers were busy studying the tape of his innings. They noted the ferocity of his square cut and his liking for the short stuff. For the remainder of the tournament, and the year, he received little that was not pitched full on off stump. His average for the remaining eight games was 12.

Talking to him over breakfast the morning after the Zimbabwe game, I asked Bray what would determine his next move, whether he would continue to play in the north west for Eglinton or go back closer to his Wexford home. He replied by rubbing his finger and thumb together to suggest that he intended to make the most of his new profile.

Barely a month later and Bray was no longer playing for Ireland, having walked out over money, the topic that would come to define the second part of the year.

The day before the Pakistan game, I had lunch with Bob Woolmer at the poolside bar of the Pegasus Hotel. He was under pressure, having lost to West Indies in the first group game and had spent the morning fending off sniping criticism from Lahore, orchestrated, he said, by Javed Miandad and Imran Khan. Forty-eight hours later, Woolmer was found dead in his room and the same poolside bar was overrun by news crews chasing the biggest story of the World Cup.

On the Sunday morning, I asked Trent Johnston whether he thought Ireland's game against Pakistan had been fixed. His expression was of shock and disbelief, tinged with dread: he knew it wouldn't be the last time he'd be asked that question.

The month that followed offered Johnston and his squad a glimpse in to the life of sporting celebrity. In a tournament lacking stardust and dogged by negative headlines, the Ireland team were a rare good-news story. The world's media wanted to know about the chicken dance and the farmer who opened the bowling.

When the team got home they smiled with Bertie Ahern, taught Martin McGuinness how to grip a bat and flirted with Ruby Wax on the Late, Late Show. But within a few short weeks, Ireland's players found the comedown to be as painful as the rise had been exhilarating. The first game back at Stormont set the tone for the rest of the summer: thrashings by the counties in front of tiny crowds.

Like Vietnam vets they found the apathy of people at home hard to take. I met up with Johnston as he sat in the players' viewing area at The Oval for the FP match against Surrey. Outside, the rain was Biblical, the pitch was flooded and Jesse Ryder, the overseas signing, had not turned up.

Johnston was looking drawn and tired. He was contemplating his future and cricket's place in it. A few weeks later, he and the rest of the team refused to talk to the media in an attempt to bring their row with the ICU to a head. The sad irony was the media were not bothered; few of their new friends had kept their number.

When 2007 is recalled it will be, rightly, for the many wonderful, thrilling moments of the World Cup: Niall O'Brien's heroic knock against Pakistan; Boyd Rankin removing the off stump of England's Ed Joyce and Trent Johnston lying outstretched on the Sabina Park outfield in agony after taking a miracle catch, the ball still in his hands.

But memories don't pay the bills. The World Cup papered over the cracks but the reality is the ICU must attempt to put together some form of package that makes playing cricket possible for people with work and family commitments. Roger Whelan knocked out Sachin Tendulkar's off stump in June. By September he'd retired from the game aged 27. For a few lucky ones, there is the lure of a professional career in England. O'Brien and Rankin are in India making more money in two weeks than they made for the rest of the year. Eoin Morgan will return to Middlesex next year, William Porterfield has signed for Gloucestershire.

But how can Irish cricket survive the loss of its best players? The answer will hold the key to whether 2007 was a watershed in the development of the sport in Ireland, or merely a hugely enjoyable blip.

What we already knew . . .

The Irish love a winner. Witness the packed GAA clubs watching the World Cup.

What we learned . . .

With proper financial support and professional coaching, Ireland can beat the best in the world.

What might happen . . .

The hundreds of kids who were intrigued enough to sign up to training camps for first time this year will cite 2007 as the year they caught the cricket bug forever.