Does a winning cricket team have to be a happy one?

A few nights ago, in my home town, a small city in the East Midlands, a remarkable sporting success occurred. Leicester City football club, who began the season as favourites to be relegated, won the Premier League. At odds of 5000-1. So ridiculous was the fantasy of them even avoiding relegation, let alone topping the table, few fans bothered to place a wager.

And what magic, we may ask, spelled this victory into reality?

Team spirit is one of the answers put forward by the pundits. Much has been made of the togetherness of the Leicester dressing room, the inference being that with the help of wizardly manager Claudio Ranieri, the 11 who take the pitch perform to a total greater than the sum of its parts.

But what is this mysterious team spirit? Does it even exist? According to Scotland footballer Steve Archibald, it's "an illusion glimpsed in the aftermath of victory" - a quote put forward by Mike Atherton in his essay in the book Team Mates.

The former England captain doubts such a force as team spirit actually exists, at least in cricket. However, the very thing whose existence Atherton and Archibald question is why I play sport. If I didn't want to walk into the changing room, I wouldn't want to walk onto the pitch. But does a winning cricket team have to be a happy cricket team? Possibly not.

In my other sporting love, rugby, team spirit is vital. This is a brutal 15-a-side contest where you rely on your fellow players to not only pass you the ball but also to protect you from physical harm. A fraternity is a necessity when your body is on the line. The energy from playing with someone you, dare I say it, love and care about, tempers the senses and fires the adrenaline. There is a bond beyond language and culture that makes winning rugby teams.

Ah, but cricket. The most individual of team sports requires only a single glittering innings or a whirlwind bowling spell to win a match. From an IPL franchise flying in a cabal of talented mercenaries to a Saturday league team vying for promotion, the match-winners are the shamans of team spirit.

If you're playing for cash and the opener's century confirms your win bonus, then you'll share a bottle of champagne with him regardless of whether you hate his guts. The win bonuses might not be more than a jug of beer for a Saturday club side, yet the focus on silverware means the men you take the field with don't have to be your best friends.

I don't have the exact stats, but I'm certain England won more than a few matches when Kevin Pietersen and Matt "The Big Cheese" Prior played together. And what about when Harbhajan Singh slapped Sreesanth? Did their tiff affect the Indian team's performance?

Anyway, when Saturday league turns into Sunday friendly and the pace of the game slackens, the value of the company increases. If the manner of the match is more important than the outcome, the player who can laugh away his golden duck is as vital as that swashbuckling centurion - possibly more so, because in friendly cricket our own failures are only highlighted further when a more talented player steals the show. The changing-room jester is the first name on the team sheet, not the bloke who swears at fielders for dropping catches.

Wanting to win is fine if you're a pro, but it can be rather unseemly on a Sunday. Not that the friendly team doesn't need egos managed and massaged. At any level, cricket is a sport balanced on the most fragile psychology. Having fellow players who can console, counsel, or simply entertain, is surely part of the magic mix of this ethereal team spirit. And if squabbling players can't create their own sense of community the squad can unite in opposition to the establishment, like World T20 champions West Indies.

Constructing a team of "nice guys" won't win you that many trophies. Yet neither will a side of selfish athletes who put their own performance first. There are coaches and captains who shout and inspire, the gesticulating football managers on the touchline who flail at their charges and scream instructions. Then there are the Mike Brearleys, the leaders who make an effort to understand the motivations of their players. Or the likes of a fatherly Clive Lloyd, who considered his team family.

Eleven players bring infinite wants and needs into the changing room. The genius of Ranieri at Leicester City has been to bind a group of footballers from different cultures, countries and religions into a whole. Journalists and players talk about his respect, warmth and humour. He seems to have both Lloyd's paternal presence and Brearley's psychological insight. But there must be more to their phenomenal success than simply tactics and impeccable manners, and my fellow Leicesterians will be hoping that Ranieri will sit down with LCCC cricket supremo Wasim Khan and share that secret to a winning team spirit.