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The Greatest Game
Cricket is undergoing its most radical upheaval since the "Packer Revolution" of the late 1970s. Twenty20 and the Indian Premier League, seen as a short cut to riches by both players and administrators, threaten the future of Test cricket; the County Championship, the traditional—but increasingly moribund—nursery for England's Test players, struggles to reinvent itself; technology is eroding the authority of umpires. The age-old weave of the game is being slowly unpicked and rearranged for the modern, global age. 2009 may even be the last summer of cricket as we know it. Against this backdrop Duncan Hamilton embarks on an elegiac odyssey in which he aims to capture the spirit and atmosphere of English cricket before its character is irrevocably altered. The stopping-points of his journey—and the framework on which he hangs his thoughts and observations—are 14 significant cricket matches played over the course of the 2009 from an Ashes Test match to a game of village cricket, from a brash Twenty20 encounter attended by thousands to a sleepy county game watched by five pensioners and a dog. He not only explores such issues as the future of the County Championship and the financial pressures faced by the wider game, but also creates vivid sketches of players, umpires, administrators, and the people who pay (and even suffer) to watch cricket. Combining reportage, anecdote, biography, history and personal recollection, The Greatest Game is an honest and passionate reflection on cricket's past, present, and future. A memorable and acutely observed portrait of one summer of cricket from an award-winning sports writer who has watched—and loved—cricket since he was a boy, it is essential reading for anyone who cares about the English game.
- GenresSportsNonfiction
377 pages, Hardcover
First published July 1, 2010
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
October 14, 2012
I'm a bit of a sucker for cricket season diaries, and this is very definitely one of the better ones I've read. Duncan Hamilton writes like a dream, has a self-analytical streak which tempers some of the more trenchant passages, and, in his portrait of a 57-ball hundred by the late Tom Maynard, has produced probably the finest couple of pages of cricket writing of the whole year.
But 4/5 perhaps misrepresents my review: if there was an option to give half marks, I'd give this book 3.5 rather than 4. My problem is that Hamilton is one of those chaps who hates any kind of change, until he sees that change in action and then becomes a convert: the sort of person who can't stand courgettes, but will happily eat courgette stew as long as he isn't told what's in it. For example, Twenty20 is apparently the height of evil; but somehow Angelo Mathews' catch during a Twenty20 game is one of the best things he's ever seen. While it's possible to deprecate an entire format and at the same time admire individual events within it, this passage and others like it make me feel like Hamilton is generalising on the one hand, and providing convincing counterexamples to his generalisations on the other: in other words, arguing with himself, and losing the argument.
Hamilton admits that the issues he discusses are perennials. He cites debates from 1906 which echo, verbatim, the concerns he expresses in 2009: but, disappointingly, he makes no attempt to moderate his own opinion after making these insights. And on the odd occasion, the nostalgic streak in Hamilton's writing degenerates into hyperbole, with one denunciatory passage going totally overboard in its pessimistic assessment of modern crowd behaviour at Test matches, as if one or two obnoxious drunks suddenly turn Edgbaston into the 59th circle of hell. The sepia tint to this book is sometimes a sickly one.
Nevertheless, Hamilton paints as good a pen picture of individual cricketers and individual matches as anyone, and has the rare ability - and here I do admit that I'm lifting from the blurb at the back of the book, but only because I agree with it - to absorb the reader completely even when he's recounting matches played between teams of complete strangers. Richard Vigars' disappointment at losing the village cricket cup final will stay with me forever. More than that, the book is worth the purchase price for the Maynard piece alone: an exquisite, moving vignette which may well be, in years to come, the best single written reminder we have of what a sublime talent the game has lost.
But 4/5 perhaps misrepresents my review: if there was an option to give half marks, I'd give this book 3.5 rather than 4. My problem is that Hamilton is one of those chaps who hates any kind of change, until he sees that change in action and then becomes a convert: the sort of person who can't stand courgettes, but will happily eat courgette stew as long as he isn't told what's in it. For example, Twenty20 is apparently the height of evil; but somehow Angelo Mathews' catch during a Twenty20 game is one of the best things he's ever seen. While it's possible to deprecate an entire format and at the same time admire individual events within it, this passage and others like it make me feel like Hamilton is generalising on the one hand, and providing convincing counterexamples to his generalisations on the other: in other words, arguing with himself, and losing the argument.
Hamilton admits that the issues he discusses are perennials. He cites debates from 1906 which echo, verbatim, the concerns he expresses in 2009: but, disappointingly, he makes no attempt to moderate his own opinion after making these insights. And on the odd occasion, the nostalgic streak in Hamilton's writing degenerates into hyperbole, with one denunciatory passage going totally overboard in its pessimistic assessment of modern crowd behaviour at Test matches, as if one or two obnoxious drunks suddenly turn Edgbaston into the 59th circle of hell. The sepia tint to this book is sometimes a sickly one.
Nevertheless, Hamilton paints as good a pen picture of individual cricketers and individual matches as anyone, and has the rare ability - and here I do admit that I'm lifting from the blurb at the back of the book, but only because I agree with it - to absorb the reader completely even when he's recounting matches played between teams of complete strangers. Richard Vigars' disappointment at losing the village cricket cup final will stay with me forever. More than that, the book is worth the purchase price for the Maynard piece alone: an exquisite, moving vignette which may well be, in years to come, the best single written reminder we have of what a sublime talent the game has lost.
April 27, 2020
Like any love affair, my love affair with cricket has its ups-and-downs. But whatever the downs (sledging, booming muzak accompanying every wicket or boundary, the WWF-isation of Twenty20 competitions) I always like to keep up-to-date with the scores. If it's on TV I'll usually watch; live is good but I'm as happy with the highlights on Channel 5 and live radio coverage on TMS. I still go to the odd game, if I can, whether it's village cricket, Test Match or odious ODI. But what I really like is the County Championship. The slow, relaxed (almost narcoleptic) pace of early championship games is about as relaxing and perfect (on a warm, spring day) as sport gets. For me, anyway. So I'm missing it, somewhat, this year, for obvious reasons. And instead of following it, I've been reading about it. Having heard the wonderful Radio Four adaptation of Duncan Hamilton's biography of Neville Cardus last year (and enjoyed it immensely) I thought I'd search out another of Hamilton's books on cricket. And I'm at a loss to know why it's taken me so long. If this isn't the best, most lyrical, poetical and wonderful cricket writing available today then I don't know what is. It's clear Hamilton has taken a leaf out of Cardus's book, perhaps quite literally. The debt is acknowledged early on, but the book is less derived than inspired by the great vein of cricket writing Cardus began. Quite honestly, it's a damn good book whatever it's about although you have to like cricket, I suppose, to get the most out of the prose. Each chapter is ostensibly about a match Hamilton attends in the summer of 2009 but, taking the advice given to Cardus when first sent to Old Trafford by the Manchester Guardian, Hamilton eschews dry statistics (though there is a scorecard included for the nerds!) and gives a flavour of each game, a gem of writing that brings a moment of the game to life so vividly you could almost have been there. Indeed, I was at some of the games described, notably at Scarborough watching the ex-captain of England, Michael Vaughan, being sent to field at third man at each end by the (then) captain of Yorkshire. How are the mighty fallen... If you're missing cricket, read this book. You won't regret it. And rain will never stop play!
August 4, 2019
A wonderfully clear-eyed view of the state of cricket during the 2009 season, but tinged with just enough nostalgia and sentiment to convey the essential truths about this most beautiful of games. Duncan Hamilton has written a marvellous book that should be read by everyone who loves cricket.
November 7, 2013
More than a cricket book. This is a poetic and powerful pondering of life, the British isles, the passage of time and much more. Quite simply, the best sports book, and one of the best non-fiction books, I've ever read.
Perfect in every way.
Perfect in every way.
April 30, 2024
I preferred this to Hamilton's similar book about football, as he attended mostly county cricket matches but also took in some amateur matches and international cricket. In the most part he avoided reporting on the matches themselves, instead voicing his opinions on the state of the game and his surroundings as he toured the country.
Hamilton wrote this in the early days of the IPL, when he expected first class cricket would be sacrificed to accomodate the shorter game. The change has happened more gradually than he predicted, but there are fewer 4-day matches each season and 15 years on from his book, a tipping point is being reached where the best white ball players can opt not to be picked for the domestic club or country. The demise was exaggerated, but not too greatly.
He is honest too about the longer format, and doesn't pretend it is perfect, with its duller periods and sparse crowds. As he says himself, the things he likes about it are impossible to sustain a wider interest. Few other forms of entertainment warrant a book or crossword to pass the time during the event itself. I liked his more reflective sections, although I'd be interested to see whether he has mellowed regarding T20 cricket and the IPL, however much I agree with his complaints about the commentators.
Unlike those commentators, he offers an honest and heartfelt assessment of the game, without really quite conveying what he likes about it beyond nostalgia. The largest respect seems to be paid to Dominic Cork, as a kind of lifetime achievement award rather than appreciating his performance in the moment. However he is keen to include literary references and quotes and I'd have preferred fewer of these interludes, which I felt broke up the descriptions too much, although his passages on the skies above had a bit too much repetition too.
I liked this enough to reserve his later book on a similar theme, but I liked his thoughts more than his writing, which flirted too much with literature. He stayed clear of cliche for the most part however, which is not all that common in cricket - is there an independent journalist that offers a view other than "I don't like the Hundred, but you have to admit it has been brilliant for the women's game?"
Hamilton wrote this in the early days of the IPL, when he expected first class cricket would be sacrificed to accomodate the shorter game. The change has happened more gradually than he predicted, but there are fewer 4-day matches each season and 15 years on from his book, a tipping point is being reached where the best white ball players can opt not to be picked for the domestic club or country. The demise was exaggerated, but not too greatly.
He is honest too about the longer format, and doesn't pretend it is perfect, with its duller periods and sparse crowds. As he says himself, the things he likes about it are impossible to sustain a wider interest. Few other forms of entertainment warrant a book or crossword to pass the time during the event itself. I liked his more reflective sections, although I'd be interested to see whether he has mellowed regarding T20 cricket and the IPL, however much I agree with his complaints about the commentators.
Unlike those commentators, he offers an honest and heartfelt assessment of the game, without really quite conveying what he likes about it beyond nostalgia. The largest respect seems to be paid to Dominic Cork, as a kind of lifetime achievement award rather than appreciating his performance in the moment. However he is keen to include literary references and quotes and I'd have preferred fewer of these interludes, which I felt broke up the descriptions too much, although his passages on the skies above had a bit too much repetition too.
I liked this enough to reserve his later book on a similar theme, but I liked his thoughts more than his writing, which flirted too much with literature. He stayed clear of cliche for the most part however, which is not all that common in cricket - is there an independent journalist that offers a view other than "I don't like the Hundred, but you have to admit it has been brilliant for the women's game?"
August 17, 2020
A touching and readable account of the 2009 cricket season. It begins with the author explaining his relationship with his grandfather, and how that fuelled his love of cricket.
His style of prose is very readable, and makes one feel as if one were at the heart of the action. There were some extremely interesting parts on the history of cricket and the characters who populate that story such as Harold Larwood, Edmund Peate and Don Bradman.
At times the author seems somewhat resistant to any change in the cricket world, but are any of us truly open to change at first?
An enthralling season diary of the 2009 cricket season, guaranteed to entertain any fan of the game.
His style of prose is very readable, and makes one feel as if one were at the heart of the action. There were some extremely interesting parts on the history of cricket and the characters who populate that story such as Harold Larwood, Edmund Peate and Don Bradman.
At times the author seems somewhat resistant to any change in the cricket world, but are any of us truly open to change at first?
An enthralling season diary of the 2009 cricket season, guaranteed to entertain any fan of the game.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 26, 2020
Duncan Hamilton's books have won many awards, and rightly so. This book is about the 2009 cricket season, but is actually set in the golden age of the sport. When this actually took place will depend on you, the reader. Cricket (and baseball, for me) naturally lend themselves to nostalgia in a way that football or rugby, for example, don't. Hamilton's evocation of the game's history and spirit resonate deeply, and like his emotional farewell to his grandfather after the last game of their last season together, it's a hard book to say goodbye to.
January 31, 2022
Recently I was in a 2nd hand book shop in Castlemaine, Victoria, I asked the owner where the Sports books were, when she asked which sports I said Rugby, AFL, Cricket and so on. She mentioned there are many Cricket books as "every cricketer thinks he has a book in him.... That being said this is a great book and actually helped me come to terms with the boorish antics of the Aussie fans at the 3rd day of the Boxing Day test 2021 (essentially detailing the Barmy Army in almost the same terms in 2009). This book is a pleasure to read.
April 11, 2024
A warm tale from Duncan Hamilton describing his experience right from start of the cricket to the very last moment of him leaving the ground after season is finished. Duncan has beautifully delved into some games taking us through the feeling of a spectator watching a game with a little chattiness around him. A nice easy read for English cricket ground lovers.
June 17, 2017
Nostalgia, cricket, memories of one's Grandad, cups of tea on sparsely populated county grounds. What's not to enjoy?
October 18, 2020
Decent book about the 2009 cricket season
January 23, 2024
The quality of the writing and the passion he shows, not only for cricket but its wider social context, elevates the book to a high level.
February 10, 2024
Superb book. Writing from Duncan is once again brilliant and really encapsulates the feel of attending cricket matches of varying levels
April 22, 2011
A tearful lament to the decline of county cricket, and the unstoppable asecndancy of bombastic T20. Beautifully written and highly recommended to die-hard county fans, though those indifferent to cricket will obviously find little of interest here, and younger fans raised in the T20 era may find the views expressed here smack of the fuddy-duddy.
July 16, 2016
When Duncan Hamilton started writing books, sports' bookshelves got better.
April 9, 2015
Very interesting update in the current state of cricket. A very good read
September 13, 2017
I’ve never read a book that so shamelessly and self indulgently wallows in more sentimental, wistful nostalgia, and for any cricket fan it is for the most part an absolute pleasure to read. The Author admits from the outset that he is a cricket purist, looking upon Twenty20 with the sort of contempt that would be held by a professional basketball player for netball. And I agree, Twenty20 is cricket for a generation diagnosed with attention deficit disorder, and have been force fed Ritalin. Twenty20 is a format of cricket that doesn’t interfere with you playing Cookie Jam. In short, I don’t like Twenty20.
The author is however a far more reasonable, and balanced man than myself, this is probably why he writes books and I write shit on the internet, but each of us have our cross to bear. Hamilton points out that cricket is a game that has always been evolving, and as such the newest format of the game, Tweny20 just fits in perfectly with its history.
Hamilton spends a summer travelling around England and Wales, looking at all levels of cricket, from village cricket, the Lancashire League, the County Championship, all the way up to a day at an Ashes Test match, and at every opportunity successfully capturing all the reasons why there is so much more to cricket than a bat, and a ball, taking wickets, or scoring runs. As Lord Harris once wrote:
“You would do well to love it. It is more free from anything sordid, anything dishonourable, than any game in the world. To play it keenly, honourably, generously, self-sacrificing is a moral lesson in itself … protect it from anything that would sully it, so that it may grow in favour with all men.”
The author is however a far more reasonable, and balanced man than myself, this is probably why he writes books and I write shit on the internet, but each of us have our cross to bear. Hamilton points out that cricket is a game that has always been evolving, and as such the newest format of the game, Tweny20 just fits in perfectly with its history.
Hamilton spends a summer travelling around England and Wales, looking at all levels of cricket, from village cricket, the Lancashire League, the County Championship, all the way up to a day at an Ashes Test match, and at every opportunity successfully capturing all the reasons why there is so much more to cricket than a bat, and a ball, taking wickets, or scoring runs. As Lord Harris once wrote:
“You would do well to love it. It is more free from anything sordid, anything dishonourable, than any game in the world. To play it keenly, honourably, generously, self-sacrificing is a moral lesson in itself … protect it from anything that would sully it, so that it may grow in favour with all men.”
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews