The titans who shaped Test cricket

Cricket histories are a dangerous genre both for writers and readers. They can be incredibly boring, the dullest of all probably being John Major’s weighty tome, which said everything you knew it would say as drearily as you feared. So Tim Wigmore, a young shaver who writes on cricket for the Daily Telegraph, has entered hazardous territory. Speaking as a proud cricket badger, who even has a book by Merv Hughes on his shelf (Dear Merv, 2001), I will admit that I have read rather too many cricket histories, and I swore that it would be a cold day in hell (or possibly at the county ground in Derby) before I would willingly start another. But Wigmore has written a splendid, comprehensive book full of good stories and droll asides. It dips a little in the middle when Shoaib Mohammad starts batting, and keeps on batting, but what book of 578 pages does not? (Shoaib, who retired in 1995, is still batting in his dreams and my nightmares, and has just played an immaculate forward defensive down to silly mid-off.)

In fact Test Cricket is as sparkling and entertaining as any book this long has a right to be. Wigmore has taken as his subject the pinnacle of the game, possibly the pinnacle of any game in the world, the Test match – played over (once) three and (now) five days between no more than a dozen nations (or collections of nations) whose first-class structures justify their hallowed status. So there are no Test matches between Brazil and Argentina – nor are there likely to be until there are first-class stadiums in both countries where regional teams play two-innings matches in whites, with lunch at 1 p.m. and tea at 3.40 p.m. Pork pies would need to be sold locally and everyone would run indoors at the merest sniff of rain or bad light.