A fresh voice to an ancient debate

Rob Smyth's gift for heartfelt and irreverent writing has mobilised the Guardian's over-by-over reports into a cult phenomenon. Though the spirit of cricket might seem an awfully earnest topic for him to take on, he manages to bring the same knowledge, humour and unmistakably contemporary voice to one of the game's most traditional subjects.

It's been less than a year since Michael Atherton, writing in the Times, launched the last round of navel-gazing on the topic, when he mischievously declared that the spirit of cricket is "nothing more than a remarkably successful marketing strategy" whose inscription as the preamble to the MCC's laws was "a lot of well-meaning guff." Atherton ultimately concluded the whole issue was a matter of interpretation.

In this book Smyth does exactly that - collecting and commenting on the thoughts of players, writers and supporters, past and present - in an effort to capture what the spirit of the game means to those who cherish it most. Along the way, we hear tales from Richie Benaud's family dinner table, through to a gushing Sam Mendes recalling the time he faced Bishan Bedi in a charity match.

If it is unclear why exactly Smyth was moved to write the book, it does come at an important time. Twenty20 cash is rocketing the game along an unknown path, and all too often agonising over cricket's supposed spirit is a cloaked way to champion conservatism and yearn for a time that never existed.

Smyth, though rightfully critical of the cack-handed commercialism that stalks the game, manages to resist this. Instead, he delves into a deep well of sources from old newspapers, journals and Wisden Almanacks to deliver a sweeping historical picture that is, more than anything, a passionate manifesto for everything that makes cricket a great sport.

"The aim of this book," he declares, "is not so much to define the spirit of cricket as to celebrate the myriad things that make it at least a unique sport and at best a superior one." Lovingly, and at times brilliantly, Smyth and his contributors do exactly that.

It makes for a warming read, littered with the wit and knowledge that make Smyth such a magnetic writer. There are few authors who could convincingly liken the arrival of a young player on the global stage, like Ben Hollioake's startling ODI debut against Australia, to the throes of love: "Frequently the reality does not live up to the fantasy of the breakthrough performance… yet, like the joyous first weeks of an ultimately doomed relationship, the memories burn bright."

As we're guided through many of the episodes that have come to define the game - Andy Flower and Henry Olonga's black-armband protest, Ireland's dismantling of a 1969 West Indies team for 25, Freddie and Brett Lee's Edgbaston handshake - the only wish is that it all lasted longer. Too often a story is introduced only to be whipped away moments later. The result is a longing for more Smyth, free to develop and digress on all the emotions that make the game what it is.

The Spirit of Cricket
by Rob Smyth
Elliott & Thompson Limited, pp284, ₤12.99