Before I move on to Brisbane or tell you about China's idea of Women's Day, I must dedicate a post to the mysteries of cricket. They are many and great.
On one of our many late night skype sessions, Ingrid asked me if I was keen to a cricket match a day after I arrived. It was a big one. The Ashes. While I had yet to understand this statement, I thought I knew the game. I agreed to it, then googled the tournament promptly after I said goodbye.
"Huh, cricket doesn't involve horses?"
Then my flash of ignorance hit me. Wrong game. That was polo.
Of course. The sport I had just agreed to did not include animals of any sort, but rather aligned more in theory to baseball. With terms such as drive and drop, they were one in the same. Or a bowler instead of pitcher, I could visually see the connection. Other words, however, strayed from comprehension. In cricket, there's a dibbly dobbly, diamond duck, dilscoop, dolly and the ever unfortunate, death overs. Still, others sounded even more archaic, like wicket, the often repeated term for the pitch or set of stumps, which reminded me more of the mythical world of Harry Potter and wizards playing quidditch, than a day at Wrigley Field.
For an American, however, it was difficult to see the merits of cricket. The action was limited to the distance a ball could roll, not fly, and while something akin to a home run could happen, it's likelihood was smaller than my chance of understanding the game it belonged to.
What it did have, however, was beer. The one and only savior. Without it, the Australians surrounding me explained, cricket would lose its crowds, undoubtedly. VB, Victoria Bitter, the (cheap) beer of choice wasn't just in their hands. Looking around, most everyone gripped their plastic cups with fervor. For it or the game? I wasn't sure. The cheers weren't frequent enough to convey constant excitement. Most people just sat around chatting between each other.
That's the thing--cricket is about getting sloshed in the daytime. You sit, heckle occasionally, but not nearly enough, and drink cheap beer until you pass out or the game is over, whichever is first. This used to lead to wild riots, naked sprints across the field and general debauchery, but then the fines tripled and cricket lost its flair for a strip tease, I was told.
I tried to understand it, but instead resigned myself to gulping down VBs with the crowd, which turned out to be a lot; the game was a slow blowout. And this wasn't just any game, it was the Ashes. It called into question national pride: Australia vs. England and Australia had been the long standing victors in overall wins through the years, but not today.
Seven or so hours later, we left with a sullen crowd. We had survived a full day of cricket, a title not many Australians can claim and with that, Ingrid and I shuffled with them to the next bar outside the arena. Like I said, cricket, after all, is a drinking game.
As an English cricket poem goes, is it the want of devil? I'll let you ponder cricket's finer details:
Hey Anna!
ReplyDeleteLove your writing! Im lazy ans was just going to read about the cricket but going to read the rest now.
One thing though the beer at the cricket is not "cheap" $7.50 for a mid strength beer is highway robbery!!