THEY ARE SMALLER THAN A PEPPER MILL, and much the same colour. They live in a museum and never leave this country. They are a two-horse race that has been won eight times in a row by the same horse. But they are the Ashes, and they have a special magic. In all of sport, there may not be another trophy that looks so humble and resonates so strongly.

As a concept, it is brilliantly simple: two nations, one rivalry, no messing. As a name, it is fabulously succinct: only the FA Cup says as much in so few letters. As a tradition, it is satisfyingly longstanding: 123 years, 287 Tests, and oodles of mythology, from the quaint story of its birth, through Bradman and Bodyline to Hutton and Compton, Laker and Benaud, Illingworth and Snow, Lillee and Thomson, Botham and Brearley, the Chappells and the Waughs, Warne and McGrath. More than a contest, the Ashes are a brand, and they have proved it by losing little of their lustre in the long years when they have been not much of a contest at all.

The brand values appear straightforward: Test cricket, a full series, England against Australia. Underneath, there’s more to it. England v Australia at cricket carries an electric charge, like England v Germany or Argentina in football. But it’s a ferocity born of kinship, not enmity.

The two nations share a head of state and a way of life, apart from all that exercise Australians insist on going in for. We speak the same language, more or less (and increasingly, now that young people in both countries make statements sound like questions). In wars, we are always on the same side, as the Australian cricketers reiterate by starting their tours here with visits to the battlefields. The Ashes are a kind of local derby between teams from opposite sides of the globe.

While cracks have appeared in some old sporting rituals, from the FA Cup to the Lions, this one stays strong. Over the past three months, the Ashes have been previewed as never before. Two Sunday papers have been running weekly profiles of the Australians — half team, half partwork. Every day of the series that can be booked in advance is sold out. People who never talk about cricket are talking about the Ashes.

Cricket’s enduring grip has something to do with the way it encapsulates mortality: every wicket is a little death. And its most celebrated trophy is called the Ashes, which happens to be what many of us will end up as. Its connotations, of heat, and fire, and phoenixes rising, all deepen its appeal.

Other great rivalries have come along: in the Nineties the big one was Australia v West Indies, then Australia v South Africa. Now, in media and business terms, the big one is India v Pakistan. But they play three Tests, not five, their mutual history is necessarily slight, and few sports fans could even name the trophy they play for. This year, for the first time in more than a generation, Australia and England are the world’s top two teams. The Ashes are the thing: that little urn is bigger than ever.