There’s something about Joe Root that constantly pulls me in two directions. As a devoted Virat Kohli fan, I’ve spent years poking holes in Root’s reputation labeling him a one-format merchant, a flat-track enthusiast, someone who thrives only when conditions bend to his will. I’ve joked that I’d rather pay to watch Stuart Broad bat than watch Root leave another ball outside off on Day 1. I’ve rolled my eyes when English commentators crown him the best batter of this generation while ignoring his limited white-ball influence.
And yet, no matter how many barbs I throw or how biased my loyalty is, there’s a part of me that respects him maybe even admires him. Because beneath that technically sound exterior is a man whose relationship with cricket feels purer, more childlike, and oddly beautiful in today’s ruthless, results-driven world.
Joe Root: The one-format bully or the keeper of Test cricket’s soul?
Let’s call it what it is, Joe Root doesn’t boss the white-ball world. In ODIs and T20Is, he’s solid, sure, but not feared. Not transcendent. He doesn’t have the commanding presence of a Kohli in a chase, the explosiveness of a Ab de Villiers, or the cold precision of a Babar Azam. For years, people have laughed off his white-ball credentials, and maybe that’s fair. But what gets lost in those conversations is just how monumental his contribution to Test cricket has been, not just for England, but for the format itself.
Joe Root didn’t just survive during a time when Tests were supposedly dying, he flourished. While others dipped in and out of red-ball relevance, he stayed, he fought, he scored, and he led. Yes, English pitches flattened out at times, but that doesn’t explain away his hundreds in India, Sri Lanka or the UAE. He became a mirror to the old-school grind, but with a modern heartbeat. In a generation swayed by franchise millions, Root clung to the whites like a kid clings to his first cricket bat. He didn’t just protect the format, he carried it.
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Joe Root: Not the most beautiful batter, but the most honest one
Root’s game isn’t romantic in the way Kohli’s is. He doesn’t dazzle with elegance like Kane Williamson nor mystify with unorthodox genius like Steve Smith. Watching Root bat doesn’t feel like watching poetry, it feels like watching someone trying to earn every single run, like it’s a favor granted by the game, not a right. His strokes aren’t loud or viral. They’re practical. Measured. Rehearsed a thousand times over in nets we never see.
But here’s the thing: the honesty in his game? It’s disarming. That tuck off the hips, the late dab behind point, the nudge to third man , they all whisper one thing: “I love this game too much to disrespect it.” His cricket isn’t a flex. It’s a confession, of love, of gratitude, of obsession. You know it when you see him hide his bat under his shirt. That’s not a celebration. That’s a boy shielding his childhood dream from the chaos around him. Not showmanship, stewardship.
Legacy built on street dreams and backyard fire
What moves me most about Root isn’t his records, though he’s now second only to Sachin Tendulkar in Test runs, overtaking giants like Ricky Ponting, Jacques Kallis and Rahul Dravid. It’s the footage. The grainy videos of a young boy in Yorkshire, chasing tennis balls with homemade bats, mimicking his idols under grey skies. It’s the consistency of his dream unchanged from six years old to thirty-three. The same intensity in his eyes, the same grip on the bat, the same love for the game. That continuity in his soul is rare. No agent can negotiate it. No coach can teach it.
He may not have the swagger of KP or the aura of Alastair Cook. But he’s transformed into something they never quite were the emotional nucleus of England’s batting. Not just a stat accumulator, but someone who made runs feel human. Someone whose flaws and limitations made his brilliance more relatable. Someone who played for the applause of his younger self more than the headlines of today.
And I can bet wherever Sir Martin Crowe is, he’s smiling. Because Root, that boy from Yorkshire, didn’t just chase his dream, he kept it alive long enough for the rest of us to believe in ours too.