I'll Bowl Your Wicket

It's been a while since there's been a single event worth writing about. Normally, it's a trip or a weekend or several things that occurred over the course of the week. However, today presented an event so spectacular, so inexplicably amazing that there was no way that it could not be shared with my online family and friends who read this blog so very faithfully...unless it's too long, in which case you just skip over the entry and go back to reading perezhilton.com.

Today, after going to the London Centre to meet with Bill about my internship, I took a walk through Hyde Park because it was such a gorgeous day outside and walked past the Tennis Courts and glimpsed the Serpentine, the small lake that divides Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. While passing by an expanse of grass used for sporting events, a familiar looking group of people caught my eye; they were from the London Centre and with them was Bill, the director of the London Centre, setting up what looked like bundles of sticks in the middle of this field. Suddenly, it clicked in my mind: Bill promised us today that he would teach us to play cricket in the afternoon.

And so it began.

Once everyone arrived, we numbered about 20 people, including Bill, Chuck and Diane, a married couple in their 50s who also work at the London Centre teaching music. Chuck is probably my favourite person in the world; he is loud and obnoxious while having fun and, as we all learned from our cricket match, yells jokes across the field when he is playing any sport. The rules of cricket have to be taught by either watching or playing a match; it's nearly impossible to explain the rules without visuals. It's similar to baseball, but it's really not. You play in a 60-yard circle and can hit the ball when it is bowled (the equivalent of pitched) to you, except you can hit it in any direction, including behind you. There are three sticks behind you with two small wooden sticks on top of those called wickets. If the ball is thrown (bowled) and one of your wickets falls off, you're out and the next batter comes up. From there, it gets complicated.

So after warming up for a good 45 minutes, we started our match. It was reminiscent of a high school gym class; the boys were hard-core and into the game and the majority of the girls stood or sat in the outer rim of the field, talking to each other and picking grass out of the grass to let fall from their hands. The thing that surprised me the most about the match, though, was the competitive ferocity that Bill exhibited from start to finish. Picture your typical grandfather figure, subtract 10 years, add a library of historical and literary references to his head with a dash of love for football (soccer) and rugby, and you have Bill Sheasgreen. The man was an animal. He yelled at the batters, telling them to swing harder. He taunted them when they still could not hit a single ball bowled to them. When a bowler (pitcher) hit a wicket and got the batter out, he threw his hands in the air, screamed exultantly and sprinted toward the bowler to give them a hug. It was INTENSE. Naturally, our team won, 43-14, in 40 overs. However, there is one scene that needs to be described.

Alex Krasser, a theatre major, is up to bat. He is new to the game, like most of us, and doesn't exactly have athletic tendencies. He's the kid in gym class who would rather be back inside, standing alone in the auditorium and practicing his own rendition of "If I Can't Love Her," from Beauty and the Beast...or maybe that was just me on selected days in high school. At any rate, he's let the first two balls go by without swinging at them. Bill, who is bowling, turns to him and says, "You need to swing at these. You can do better than that." Alex let the next ball go by as well. Bill walks back over to him and tells him, "Swing at these! Don't be a wimp! C'mon, let's see you swing! Let's GO!" Bill hurls the ball toward Alex and it all happens in two seconds. Alex swings and hits a line drive straight at Bill's chest. Bill hunkers down, brings his hands up, catches the ball in his chest, then stares at Alex for what seemed like 10 seconds in pure defiant glory as the rest of the students explode into a cataclysmic "Oooohhhhhhh!!" Ridiculous. That is why I love cricket.