With the Ashes underway, Rob Barward–Symmons unpacks the careers of the English and Australian captains, Ben Stokes and Steve Smith. Is there room for redemption in the face of such rivalry? 25/11/2025
In the early hours of last Friday morning English time, as bleary eyed cricket badgers watched with trepidation and hope, one of the sporting highlights of the year began in Perth, Australia. The oldest – and arguably fiercest (though India and Pakistan may contest this) – rivalry in international cricket, ‘the Ashes’ pits Australia and England against each other in five five–day test matches stretching over two months. The rivalry has been short neither of drama nor incident in its 140–year history, with the tactical decisions of the English even once threatening diplomatic relations between the two nations. As is often the case, the weekend proved to be a tough watch for English fans pulling themselves out of bed, but even before a ball had been bowled stories behind the scenes were not in short supply. As ever, the captains – in this case one, Australian Steve Smith, only serving in a temporary capacity – drew much of the attention.
In differing forms the careers of the two opposing captains can both be seen under the same lens – public fall and public redemption, in the sense at least of earning back lost status. Yet in the midst of this sporting drama, we see the extent to which rather than moral judgement or justice, it is often tribalism that shapes our expectation whether redemption is even possible.
For Ben Stokes, the talismanic all–rounder who was named England Test captain following the humiliation of the previous Ashes tour in 2022, redemption has been sought both on and off the pitch in dramatic terms.
Trusted with the crucial final over of the T20 – the shortest format of international cricket, with each team facing 120 balls each – World Cup final against the West Indies in 2016, with England in a strong position, Stokes’ bowling was hit for a remarkable four consecutive sixes to hand the Windies their second global title. The image of Stokes, alone on his haunches with his head in his hands as the West Indian batters celebrate jubilantly behind, is a powerful one. While his captain insisted he was not to blame for the loss, it is not a surprise that he described it as “complete devastation” at the time, a sense that he had let down his nation.
Three years later, however, Stokes found himself at the centre of two of the most remarkable individual performances ever seen in English cricket. In July 2019 he dragged England to victory in the final of the One Day World Cup against New Zealand, and a few weeks later Stokes was stood in the centre of Headingly in Leeds, arms outstretched with a roar of ecstasy, having pulled off the most extraordinary innings in English history to forcibly seize victory from the hands of certain defeat against Australia. From the pit of competitive despair, in a few short weeks Stokes had cemented himself in English sporting history as an all–time icon, even being named BBC Sports Personality of the Year for his feats.
In this sense, ‘redemption’ appears a straightforward (albeit dramatic) narrative. From seeing himself as responsible for collective defeat to bringing about collective victory. Those who he believed he had wronged had received recompense in a directly comparable way. On the pitch at least, few questioned the legitimacy of this arc.
For Steve Smith – missing that day in Leeds due to injury, yet in the middle of one of the greatest series performances of all time – the story has been more complex, making for an unclear path to redemption. Unlike Stokes, the need stemmed not from poor performance but rather poor judgement. As Australia captain, Smith had overseen the 2018 scandal in which members of the team used sandpaper to tamper with the ball so that it would behave in unnatural ways, a practice which is clearly and unambiguously cheating. This led to widespread condemnation from the cricketing world and beyond, even from the Australian prime minister who called it a “shocking disappointment” and called for Smith’s resignation as captain. This duly came, alongside a year–long ban, culminating shortly before the World Cup and Ashes tour of England in the summer of 2019, and what followed was a summer in some ways as equally remarkable as Stokes’.
Unlike in the case of Stokes, many did not take warmly to Smith’s redemption arc, and many in cricket have still struggled to fully forget and forgive the sins of ‘sandpaper–gate’ – and particularly the sense that there remain elements that have been hidden about the affair. Yet to others, punishment has been served and remorse has been displayed, and it was time to allow him the opportunity to re–earn the respect of fans and players through performances on (and off) the pitch.
It should not be a surprise that responses to Smith have been more mixed than to Stokes. For many of us, poor morals are harder (or at least less straightforward) to fully overcome than poor performances. While Stokes was able to ‘make up’ for his errors in one final by winning another, an instance of explicit cheating is not made up for simply by an instance of not cheating, of behaving as is expected and demanded within the laws of the game.
To complicate matters further, the incident against the West Indies was not the low point of Stokes’ public image. Eighteen months after the fateful final over, in September 2017, Stokes was arrested after injuring a former soldier in a street–brawl. Images of the incident soon spread across the front and back pages, and he was charged with affray early the following year. He was ultimately acquitted, having argued he was defending a gay couple from homophobic abuse, but was nevertheless charged by cricketing authorities for bringing the game into disrepute and subsequently fined and banned for eight matches. While the heroics of 2019 therefore straightforwardly made up for the on–pitch failings, in the minds of many they also over–wrote the memories of that fight, grainy black and white CCTV images of a Bristol backstreet replaced by footage of jubilant crowds surrounding their icon, all in glorious technicolour.
Yet the reality is in both cases there is another aspect at play here, beyond that of simple judgement as to what is an appropriate level of recompense for moral failing, or whether sporting feats can ever atone for unsporting sins.
Rather, these are inescapably shrouded by tribal loyalties and collective or individual self–interest. Both are undeniably world–class talents, and all–time national greats of their sport. Both teams benefit from their respective presences, and both oppositions would benefit from their absences. Of course both have critics from within their own nations, those who feel more was needed from them to earn back public trust and be worthy of representing the national side. But overwhelmingly, cries for leniency come from those within the tribe, and calls for ongoing punishment come from those in the opposition camp.
Sporting loyalties are one thing, and of course, despite the protestations of the Australian prime minister, ball–tampering is not a crime, at least beyond the laws of the game, and certainly not an unforgiveable one. Yet it is clear that public perceptions of the possibility and even necessity of redemption are increasingly (or perhaps they always have been) driven by other tribal loyalties – often party, religious, or ideological affiliations – resulting in situations far more impactful than who is in charge of selecting the England batting order.
Rather than a shared moral compass, across public life figures are often held to wildly different expectations by the differing camps that have emerged in society. For each camp redemption is easy (or perhaps even unnecessary) for figures who for another camp are irredeemably fallen, or at very least should not be given positions of high prestige. Likewise, those who are viewed as more valuable to a camp will often face different expectations to those who are viewed as more dispensable. This is not solely down to wilful blindness and double standards (as may often be the case in sporting situations, for example, with an unspoken recognition that it is part of the fun of the game). Rather the media bubbles we find ourselves in help shape stories of individuals and of tribes which frame our perception of moral behaviours, and the extent to which acts can and should be forgiven, even long in the past.
Either way, in the same way as in sports this is all too often framed by one central desire – for one’s own tribe to triumph over the other.
In this context, therefore, the Christian understanding of redemption strikes a strong challenge. For a start, there is no question over the necessity – all of humanity, regardless of tribe, are in the same state of requiring redemption. Our natural state of unity with God has been in some way damaged, and the metaphor of redemption is used to describe the process through which this relationship is restored. Not only this, but all of humanity are equally capable of experiencing redemption. Just as our fallenness is a shared state, so is our possibility of redemption through the work of God. Redemption and restoration are not the preserve of those within our tribe, those whom our tribe supports, or those who can benefit our self– or tribal–interests, but rather is radically extended to all.
Here stands two of the crucial offenses at the heart of Christianity when facing the modern world. Not only is it not sufficient to condemn those from other tribes than our own, we are instead forced to recognise that we ourselves are in need of redemption. All includes us, our peers, and those who lead our causes. And contrastingly, we are faced with the idea that even those whom we stand in ardent and fierce opposition to, are worthy of forgiveness and redemption. All includes those who we cannot stand.
As an England fan, I cannot assure the reader that I will not slip into tribal mindsets over the coming months. Indeed, I can promise you that it is almost certain to occur – unless the miraculous occurs, England storm to victory, and I am feeling particularly magnanimous. But the central challenge of escaping tribalism with an open view of redemption is an essential one for a civil society, not only in relation to our athletes but to those in public life and to those we encounter in our day to day. Of course this is not to say that there should not be earthly consequences for actions, and it is vitally important that we hold public figures to account and to a high standard, but rather there is still a need to approach this task with a single vision of shared human dignity across all – as difficult as this may be.
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