Kent vs Lancashire at Canterbury by Albert Chevallier Tayler

It has long been held that football is England’s national game. One in five adults play, while Premier League turnstiles turned almost 14 million times last year, with Championship turnstiles turned over another 9.5 million times. Meanwhile, the sport dominates the back pages of every newspaper, with every new national captain and manager heralding a fresh wave of debate throughout the pubs of the land. The year 1966 is as recognisable in the nation’s cultural consciousness as 1066. Thus it seems natural for football to hold such an esteemed role.

Yet, and I say this as a Fulham season ticket holder and long-time devotee of the game, it should not be promoted as England’s national game. This is not a denunciation of the sport, merely an acceptance that football has long ceased to be English. It has outgrown the ability to reflect a single nation and must be considered the global game.

This is most evident in England’s growing irrelevance to the game across the world. Even at the beginning, it was Scotland who first developed the game with the introduction of the passing game. Then, while claiming to be dominant in the 1930s, England shied away from the rest of the world, refusing to participate in any of the first three World Cups. Even the World Cup win of 1966 is less impressive than it seems, as it was aided greatly by home advantage (5 of the 8 countries to win a World Cup won their first at home, while Germany won their second World Cup at home). English football has been playing catch-up to a host of international styles, from Pele’s Brazil, to Cruyff’s Holland, to Messi’s Barcelona: the celebrated Premier League holds renown for its ability to throw cash around rather than cultivate a trend-setting identity on the pitch (indeed, if anything, the Premier League has seen a reduction in the physicality that is its most notable feature), while the national team have failed to achieve notable positive results since 1990. Perhaps, however, it’s greatest failing as England’s national game is its inability to profoundly influence wider English culture or embody elements of English ideals.

For a sport that has managed this we must look at cricket. Few sports exist outside of themselves as much as cricket. Indeed it better embodies England, her past, her ideals, and her culture than any other.

Cricket’s history of being brought around the globe by the Empire ties it to that part of history. All nations who play it play against the old colonial master. For many of the nations defeating England is as much about overcoming their opponents as it is about overcoming their past. Those who doubt this need only watch the excellent 2010 documentary Fire in Babylon to see the cultural and psychological importance it held in the West Indies. Yet for England it is about celebrating the good that it was able to do in those years, the spread of her ideals, her culture, and maintaining a bond that shows the battles to come will only take place on the field of play. It is England who gives the game its international meaning.

Andrew Flintoff consoles Brett Lee immediately after England secured one of the closest wins in Test history

Football is a gentleman’s game played by thugs. Rugby is a thug’s game played by gentlemen. Cricket is simply the gentleman’s game. Such is evident whenever something is described as “just not cricket”. The spirit that it is seen to embody is a critical element of the sport. Few sports face historic examples of ungentlemanly conduct with such anger. The Bodyline series and the underarm incident are some of the most infamous and swiftly led to such acts being outlawed. More recently, the game has left decisions up to the players, from mankading to morally dubious run-outs. In being given the free will to make these choices, the game allows the individual to express themselves and realise what they consider important. While there is a growing body that sees the Spirit of Cricket as being parochial, it is this ideal that winning is not the only goal that allows cricket to exist beyond its boundaries. Moments of greatness and magnanimity are appreciated by all. In accentuating the human element, they celebrate the progress of the individual as a person, not merely as a sportsperson.

Cricket’s cultural impact is tied to the aspects of the game that give it its soul. The length of a game, the fight of two versus eleven, those distinctive sounds, the sporting spirit that it invokes, and the meditative experience of the game. These elements draw and inspire writers, poets, and artists. From Pinter’s poem on the nostalgia and evocation of memory (“I saw Len Hutton in his prime/Another time,/Another time.”) to that perfect encapsulation of Victorian attitudes towards patriotic duty in Vitai Lampada (“Play up! play up! and play the game!”), cricket has inspired much outside of itself. Few other sports manage this in and of themselves, requiring the sport to be used as a common bond rather than have the sport’s interactions with its circumstances inspire the individual. It is rare that a match report for any other sport would be able to achieve a similar tone to this piece — or indeed any of Paul Edwards’ writing.

New Road, Worcester with Worcester Cathedral in the background

It is the meditative element of the game that has allowed for this. Football inspires less as there is less time to sit back and think. Not only is each game shorter, but there are sustained periods of excitement, a varied rhythm, a free-flowing nature and energy that focus the mind on the game. In doing so, the game is seen in isolation as there is little time to consider how it connects to the wider world. In contrast, cricket has a discernible rhythm, the excitement tends to come in moments, and its default setting is one of patience. The mind is encouraged to wander and connect the events on the pitch with those around it. Grounds play a key part of this. While football stadiums are enclosed with the only sights being the pitch and the stands, cricket grounds tend to be considerably more open, incorporating the surrounding landscape into the experience. Thus, cricket in England is played not in a stadium, but in a town, beneath a church tower, by a river, under rolling hills, next to flats, with a people.

What is labeled as a nation’s symbol means little in practice, but it acts as a statement about what the nation aspires to be and what it holds dear. The lion is not our national animal through its abundance in our countryside and daily lives, but rather because of what it symbolises: strength, bravery, and nobility. Cricket may not be played or watched as much as football, but, in upholding and championing its ideals, it can help us make a firm statement to both our citizens and the world about the sort of nation that we wish to be.