They move like lightning in a box, these athletes – their racquets blurring as they launch themselves toward seemingly unreachable balls. During my fifteen years covering international squash, I’ve witnessed firsthand how national pride transforms this individual sport into something far more meaningful. At a recent tournament in Cairo, an Egyptian fan grabbed my arm during a particularly tense rally and whispered, “This isn’t just sport for us – it’s our place in the world.” As prize money climbs and viewership expands beyond traditional markets, the question of which nation truly rules the squash kingdom carries fascinating implications for understanding the sport’s evolution and its likely future.
The answer to squash supremacy isn’t as straightforward as you might expect – it’s more like a puzzle with different pieces revealing distinct patterns of excellence. In the prestigious World Team Championships, Australia stands as the undisputed historical heavyweight, having captured the men’s title eight times since the competition began. Imagine dominating a global sport for decades – it’s like Australia built a sporting dynasty that refused to crumble even as the game transformed around them. Pakistan follows closely with six team titles, most collected during their golden era when their players moved around squash courts with the grace of ballet dancers and the precision of brain surgeons.
| World Squash Championships | Country Medal Table |
|---|---|
| Competition Type | Men’s & Women’s Individual Championships, Men’s & Women’s Team Championships |
| First Held | 1976 (Men’s Individual), 1976 (Women’s Individual), 1967 (Men’s Team), 1979 (Women’s Team) |
| Most Men’s Individual Titles (Country) | Egypt (13), Pakistan (14) |
| Most Women’s Individual Titles (Country) | Egypt (10), Australia (8) |
| Most Men’s Team Championships | Australia (8), Pakistan (6), Egypt (4) |
| Most Women’s Team Championships | England (7), Australia (6), Egypt (4) |
| Current Dominant Nation | Egypt (leading both men’s and women’s rankings) |
| Historical Powerhouses | Pakistan (1980s-1990s), Australia (1960s-1970s) |
| Rising Nations | USA, France, Peru |
| Official Reference | World Squash Federation |
When you shift focus to individual men’s championships, the landscape changes dramatically – like watching a weather map transform from summer to winter. Pakistan and Egypt have waged a decades-long battle for supremacy, with Pakistan currently holding 14 individual men’s titles to Egypt’s 13 (though Egypt keeps adding to their tally with remarkable consistency). What makes Pakistan’s achievement particularly extraordinary is how concentrated their success was – just two men, Jahangir Khan and Jansher Khan, accumulated all 14 titles between them. “It’s like having two Michael Jordans in the same generation,” a veteran coach explained to me during last year’s British Open. Egypt’s rise has been more distributed, with multiple champions sharing the glory – reflecting a shift from the superstar model to a systems-based approach that many sports are now embracing.
The women’s championship story reads like an entirely different book altogether. Australia initially dominated through legends like Heather McKay, who remained undefeated for an almost mythical 19 years. During an exhibition match I attended in Melbourne, I watched the still-spry McKay demonstrate her technique to awestruck juniors – her movements retaining the fluid efficiency that once made her untouchable. Australia accumulated eight women’s individual titles before Egypt surged forward in recent years, with Nour El Sherbini’s seven championships spearheading an Egyptian revolution that has brought their total to 10. In team competitions, England has been the historical powerhouse in women’s squash with seven titles – though Egypt’s current momentum suggests this hierarchy won’t last much longer.
Through examining geographical shifts in squash power, we gain fascinatingly clear insights about how sporting excellence migrates like flocks of birds seeking more favorable conditions. Pakistan’s emergence as a squash superpower in the 1970s defied conventional wisdom – a bit like finding world-class surfers emerging from a landlocked country. With limited resources and infrastructure, how did they produce two of history’s greatest players? During a particularly revealing interview in Karachi, an aging coach who had worked with both Khans told me, “We didn’t have fancy facilities, but we had hunger and heroes. Hashim Khan showed it was possible, and the rest followed.” The Peshawar training ecosystem became squash’s equivalent of Silicon Valley – a concentrated hub of specialized excellence that consistently produced world-beaters.
Egypt’s current stranglehold on the sport represents a strikingly different approach – less accidental genius and more intentional architecture. Beginning around 2000, Egypt began investing strategically in squash infrastructure with almost military precision. “We studied the Pakistani model but improved it,” explained a national team coach as we watched junior training at a gleaming Cairo facility. By creating competitive hubs in Cairo and Alexandria, they developed pressure-cooker environments where young players face elite opposition daily – forging mental toughness alongside technical brilliance. This systematic approach has yielded spectacularly consistent results, with Egyptian players now occupying the top three positions in both men’s and women’s world rankings – a level of dominance almost unprecedented in international sport.
Australia’s historical success in team competitions reflects a sporting culture that prizes collective achievement as highly as individual glory – like a beehive where the colony’s success matters more than any single bee. During the 1960s and 1970s, Australian squash thrived through exceptionally strong club structures and mentorship systems where established champions actively guided developing players. At a legends dinner in Sydney, I watched Geoff Hunt (four-time World Champion) interact with players he had coached – the transfer of knowledge across generations almost tangible. This sustainable approach created a depth of talent that made Australia particularly formidable in team competitions, where having multiple strong players matters more than having one transcendent star.
England’s grip on women’s team squash stems from institutional factors that have consistently produced competitive depth rather than isolated brilliance. Their network of squash clubs – once numbering over 8,500 at the sport’s peak popularity – provided both physical infrastructure and competitive opportunities that created remarkable bench strength. “We might not always have the world number one,” an English federation official told me over coffee in London, “but we’ll have five players in the top twenty.” This depth has made England extraordinarily hard to beat in team formats, where consistency across multiple matchups typically trumps individual genius.
For aspiring squash powers, the American development model offers an intriguingly different path forward. Historically an afterthought in world squash, the United States has leveraged its collegiate system with increasingly impressive results. By offering athletic scholarships for squash – creating opportunities that simply don’t exist in traditional powerhouse nations – America has built a surprisingly sustainable development pipeline. During a visit to Trinity College’s squash facility, I watched players from twelve different countries training together – a global talent pool being cultivated through educational opportunity rather than nationalistic programs. While this approach hasn’t yet yielded world championships, Amanda Sobhy and Olivia Weaver’s breakthrough into the women’s elite suggests the American experiment deserves serious attention.
The economic foundations of squash success reveal patterns that extend well beyond this particular sport. Nations achieving sustained excellence typically have either robust public funding (as in England and Australia during certain periods) or dedicated private patronage (as developed in Egypt and Pakistan). While watching junior development sessions in both Cairo and London, the contrast was illuminating – Egypt’s privately-funded academies operated with entrepreneurial flexibility while England’s publicly-supported programs offered broader accessibility. Both approaches have produced champions, suggesting there’s no single financial model for sporting success – adaptability to local conditions matters more than ideological commitment to any particular funding structure.
Cultural factors unquestionably shape which countries excel in squash – much like soil composition determines which crops will thrive. Nations where the sport carries significant cultural capital tend to produce more champions because young athletes gravitate toward activities that offer recognition within their societies. In Pakistan during the 1980s, squash champions received national adoration that made the sport extraordinarily attractive despite limited financial rewards. “Jahangir was treated like a combination of rock star and national hero,” recalled a former player who trained alongside him. Similarly, Egypt’s current champions enjoy celebrity status that creates a virtuous cycle – visibility attracts talent, which produces more champions, which increases visibility further.
The technological evolution of squash has repeatedly reshuffled the deck of national advantage – like climate change altering which regions can grow certain crops. Australia’s early dominance aligned perfectly with the hardball era, while Pakistan’s rise coincided with the transition to softball. I’ve had the privilege of handling racquets from different eras – from the heavy wooden implements that felt like swinging furniture to today’s featherweight carbon-fiber weapons. Each technological shift created adaptation challenges, with some nations embracing change more readily than others. Egypt’s current supremacy has flourished during a period of rapid development in racquet design and performance analytics – areas where they’ve shown particular willingness to experiment and innovate.
Looking forward, several nations appear poised to challenge the established hierarchy with fresh approaches to talent development. France has invested impressively in squash infrastructure, producing players like Camille Serme who have achieved significant international breakthroughs. Peru has emerged as squash’s most surprising success story through Diego Elias, currently ranked among the world’s elite players despite coming from a country with virtually no squash tradition. During a particularly memorable conversation in Lima, Elias’s father explained how they essentially built a development system from scratch: “When there’s no path, you must create one.” These emerging powers suggest squash excellence will likely become more globally distributed in coming years, though Egypt’s systematic advantages appear secure in the immediate future.
The pandemic period revealed fascinating patterns in national resilience that extend beyond squash to sports development more broadly. Countries with centralized training systems (particularly Egypt) maintained remarkably consistent development during lockdowns by creating controlled environments where elite players could continue training. Nations with more distributed structures faced significantly greater challenges in maintaining competitive readiness. While covering the first post-lockdown tournament in Manchester, the performance disparity was immediately obvious – Egyptian players had barely missed a beat while competitors from many other countries showed visible rust. This period demonstrated how institutional factors can dramatically influence national performance beyond the talents of individual athletes.
The elusive Olympic dream has shaped national squash development in unexpectedly profound ways. Despite repeatedly falling short in bids for Olympic inclusion (a frustration I’ve seen reduce federation officials to tears), many countries have aligned their squash programs with Olympic frameworks to position themselves advantageously should the sport eventually gain admission. During a development conference in Amsterdam, I was struck by how the Olympic question dominated discussions – nations like France and the United States provide substantial funding only for Olympic disciplines, making squash’s exclusion a formidable barrier to securing the financial support needed for sustained international success.
What ultimately determines championship success appears to be a fascinating interplay of individual talent, institutional support, cultural significance, and adaptability – like a complex ecosystem where multiple factors must align for a species to thrive. Pakistan’s golden era was driven primarily by extraordinary individual champions emerging from a specialized training environment. Egypt’s current dominance represents a more systematic approach, combining individual brilliance with institutional excellence. Australia’s historical success, particularly in team competitions, reflected a balanced model prioritizing both individual development and collective strength. Each approach has proven valid in its time – suggesting there’s no single formula for national squash excellence, but rather multiple paths to the championship podium.
As squash continues evolving in our increasingly interconnected world, the pattern of national dominance will likely reflect broader shifts in how sporting excellence develops globally. The growing professionalization of player development, the application of data analytics to training, and the globalization of coaching expertise suggest that nations able to combine financial resources with innovative approaches will increasingly dominate the championship landscape. Egypt’s current model represents just one successful approach – not necessarily the final word in squash development. The sport’s future champions may well emerge from nations currently flying below the radar, bringing fresh perspectives and approaches that reshape our understanding of what drives national sporting success in the 21st century.
