In September 2005, Britain won the Ashes from Australia for the first time in 18 years in a quite exciting cricket match. You read right. The Ashes. Not some ashes, no, the Ashes.

The story of the Ashes explains so much about so many things. It is not just a story about the world-wide spread of cricket or international competition between two nations. It is the story of the British Empire, of the rise of Australian nationalism, of quintessentially British humour, and of snarkiness that can span centuries and continents.

The story begins in 1861 when a cricket team set sail for Australia, expecting to teach the Aussies a thing or two about cricket. It turns out that the Aussies already knew a thing about cricket, it being the sport of the Empire and all, and had been practicing. They didn't win, but the match was closer than people had thought it would be.

Subsequently, in 1882, the Aussies and the Brits decided to have a "test match." The Aussies, who had been spent the past twenty years practicing, won. The Brits were bitter, because, dammit, they invented the damn sport. It's like when Lithuania beats the US in Olympic basketball-- just plain sad. A British paper ran a sarcastic obituary, which had this as its text:

"In Affectionate Remembrance of English Cricket Which Died At The Oval on 29th August 1882
Deeply lamented by a large circle of sorrowing friends and acquaintances
R.I.P
NB: The body will be cremated, and the ashes taken to Australia."

Then, two years later, the British, who, having been humiliated, had been training harder than ever, won again. The "ashes" returned! By this time, an Australian girl who probably fancied the capitain of the British team decided that these metaphorical ashes should be "kept" (metaphorically, that is) in a pretty velvet bag. So she made a bag.

Another woman back in Engalnd who had taken a shine to the British capitain and was determined not to be undone decided that the the bag was not a "grand enough trophy for such a celebrated occasion." So she bought a silver urn AND burned a piece of cricket equipment to make the ashes incarnate.

He gave the ashes to the cricket authroities- and then they gave them back. He took them to Australia and married the girl who made the bag for him. Then they disappeared (read: stayed in his house...) until he died. Now they are on permanent display in a cricket club in England. They left only in 1988 to visit Australia for an anniversary celebration. Even then, they were accompanied by the RAF. Yeah, the freaking British Air Force.

Here is an actual quote from the website: "To this day, the Ashes remain the ultimate trophy in a bi-annual cricket competition between England and Australia and although the winner never takes physical possession of the original trophy, a copy is always presented to the victorious team captain."

And nobody seems to have a problem with this.

Anyway, the "ashes" (that were apparently born of the metaphorical cremated remains of British cricket and then became real but are now kept behind glass so it's really only a replica) have returned to Britain!! Huzzah!

This all leads me to the unavoidable conclusion that the Brits and Aussies are CRAZY. But in that fun sort of way.