I read Cricket’s Greatest Rivalry: A History of The Ashes in 12 Matches in early 2020—just before the world fell into lockdown and just when we still believed Test cricket was an eternal constant.
For someone who grew up in India, where cricket isn’t just a sport but a national bloodstream, reading about The Ashes felt like peeking into another nation’s sacred ritual—familiar yet different, respectful yet ruthless.
Sam Pilger’s book doesn’t just recount twelve iconic matches—it curates an emotional and historical timeline of England and Australia’s oldest cricketing feud. From the legendary fire of Bodyline in 1932–33 to the miracle of Headingley in 2019, each chapter is a stage in a drama where cricketing legacy is on the line, but the dignity of the game is never lost.
For an Indian, rivalry means something else altogether. We think of 16-1 at Centurion. Of Sachin’s six in Chennai. Of Dhoni lifting Afridi over extra cover.
The India–Pakistan rivalry is not just about the sport—it is war in white flannels. Steeped in partition, pain, politics, and unhealed wounds, India–Pakistan cricket carries geopolitical resonance. The atmosphere is militarised, the fans tribal, the players avatars of national pride. Every boundary is a bullet. Every wicket a vindication. Every handshake across the aisle—rare, risky, and often under diplomatic scrutiny.
In contrast, the Ashes, as this book lovingly reveals, is a rivalry of memory and honour. It began with satire—the infamous obituary of English cricket in The Sporting Times in 1882—and grew into a saga of mutual admiration layered over competitive fire.
Pilger expertly captures how the Ashes is both tradition and theatre. The pace quartet of Lillee and Thomson. The stoic grace of Boycott. The fire of Flintoff, the resilience of Ponting, the raw genius of Ben Stokes. It is cricket played hard but mostly fair.
What struck me most during this read was how context shapes rivalry. India–Pakistan is historical trauma played out with pads and gloves. Ashes, on the other hand, is colonial banter that evolved into sportsmanship with teeth. When England and Australia duel, the air is thick with heritage, not hatred. There’s fire, but no fog of war.
Pilger’s writing is crisp, evocative, and well-paced—much like a good Test match on day three. He isn’t just rehashing scorecards. He’s unpacking legacy. He makes each of the twelve matches feel like a standalone story, yet threads them into a continuous emotional arc.
Comparatively, if The Ashes is a gentleman's boxing match in a vintage ring, then India–Pakistan is a duel with history as the referee and memory as the scorekeeper. This book reminded me that not all rivalries are born alike—some come from bloodlines, some from borderlines.
In the end, Cricket’s Greatest Rivalry is a tribute to the kind of cricket that made the game what it is—resilient, respectful, and radiating tradition.
Now, if only we could get a book that placed both rivalries side by side. Or better yet— if the God of Cricket himself writes it.