Knocked for six by sport’s greatest battles MARCUS BERKMANN

some words are terribly overused in journalism. ‘Iconic’ is one. ‘Tragedy’ is another.

But few words have been so debased by repetition as ‘epic’, which now seems to mean merely ‘ rather good’. simon Barnes’s book is not particularly epic in length, scope or intention, but it is excellent in many ways.

Barnes was a sportswriter for a national newspaper for more than 30 years, an unashamed stylist and thinker in a world that often eschews both style and thought. since getting booted out in 2014 (apparently to save money) he has written a series of books, some about birdwatching (his passion) and others trying to work out the meaning of sport.

epic is very much in this latter category: its subtitle is ‘In search of The soul of sport And Why It matters’.

Barnes has taken his many interviews, features and columns over the years and refashioned them into a chronological history of the sport he has watched.

each chapter is a year, starting around when he started, in 1983, and ending in 2014 (with his P45). He takes several incidents and turns each one into a miniessay, which usually has some point beyond the obvious one. Then, at the end of each chapter, he updates us on what has happened since to those he wrote about.

Reporting sport, though, is all about seeing things non-professionals don’t see. If we watch a football match, we’ll have opinions about it, but we’ll open the paper the following day to see what our favourite writers thought. If we think they’re wrong, of course, it’s a disaster. In the past, I have actually changed the newspaper I read because I hated the cricket correspondent so much. These things matter.

Barnes started as a predominantly humorous writer, but the jokes became fewer and further over the years. While not actually pompous, he can occasionally verge on the ridiculous.

But I like the way that, for Barnes, writing about sport has become a personal quest for meaning. As this book shows, his insights are rarely less than wise and informative, and often fascinating.

In 1991, Barnes was at Nick Bollettieri’s tennis academy in Florida, watching two little girls, aged ten and eight. ‘Bollettieri’s voice was as hoarse as a professional wrestler’s from constant professional shouting, but it dropped to a soft, eager growl for these two. “That’s it! That’s it! I

love it!” And the eight-year-old hit 30 successive volleys straight back at Bollettieri: rat-tat-tat, a Gatling gun made for two.’ The girls? Venus and Serena Williams.

So, to my main sporting interest, cricket. In 1998 England were playing South Africa at Trent Bridge, when Allan Donald bowled a fast ball to Mike Atherton (left). The ball brushed Atherton’s gloves and the wicketkeeper caught it, but the umpire gave him not out. Donald, furious, responded with a spell of violent bowling from around the wicket. I was watching on TV at home, mesmerised.

So was Barnes. ‘Donald was all aggression and hard words; Atherton responded with a level stare . . . Once he gave a small nod, to acknowledge Donald’s brilliance — brilliance that was still not enough to get him out.

‘ The response was passiveaggressive: my cold to your hot. One thing became very clear as the contest developed, reached its peak and at last ended, with Atherton not out at the close of play. It was that Atherton loved every second of it. Not in the sense of drinking beer with your mates or meeting a lovely girl or watching the world’s funniest film — but in the sense of being tested.

‘This brutal examination of his sporting and moral hardness was something that stimulated him to the core of his being.’

Twenty years on, I can say that none of that occurred to me at the time, but I realise now it was absolutely true. It’s very fine sportswriting indeed. This may conceivably be Barnes’s best work yet.