In the United States if you say the word cricket one thinks of Jiminy Cricket, Pinocchio’s conscience in “The Adventures of Pinocchio.”
But if you live in Great Britain, India or Pakistan the word cricket conjures up thoughts of sticky wickets, overs, bowlers, Mike Brearley and cricket balls and bats, all of which are associated with the sport of cricket, the game first originated in southeast England in the 13th century.
Cricket is the most popular ball-and-bat game in the world, with 2.5 billion fans worldwide. If you’re new to the game, permit me to give you a crash course by describing my experience this weekend.
I attended the World Cup cricket match between the Netherlands and South Africa played at Eisenhower Park.
As a journalist and sports psychologist, I was aware that the Cricket ICC Men’s T20 World Cup was being held locally. I wanted to obtain a press pass.
However, the demand for tickets was so great that getting a pass proved to be impossible, and I resigned myself to the ugly prospect of purchasing one on my own.
When I discovered that the cost for a single ticket ranged from $150 to $3,000, I decided to forgo the pleasure of writing about cricket.
As I sat on my porch early Saturday morning sipping coffee, I could see that the day was to be perfect. It was a warm sunny day with low humidity, the sky was clear blue and white cumulus clouds floated by.
Strangely enough, there was also the sound of helicopters flying overhead, all heading for Eisenhower Park.
I surmised that they were all transporting the super rich to the 30,000 seat stadium that had just been constructed for the World Cup and I was immediately attacked by a case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out.)
So, I got in my car and headed off to Eisenhower Park.
I could see many excited pedestrians walking straight to the park from as far away as two miles. The last time I saw a wave of humanity all walking in the same direction was when I was on the Ile de la Cite in Paris as I made my way to Notre Dame.
I parked my car about one mile from the entrance and joined the throng of cricket fans headed toward their mecca. And posted on the fence that surrounded Eisenhower Park were big signs that said “NO ONSITE TICKET SALES”.
I continued to walk to the front gate, undaunted and undeterred. Once upon a time, when I was younger and had the confidence of youth, I had a deep desire to see the men’s finals with John McEnroe against Vita Gerulaitis at the brand-new Flushing Meadows Tennis Center.
But I had no ticket. With youthful naivete I drove into Flushing, parked my car, walked up the ticket office and asked for one ticket to the men’s finals that day.
The guy in the ticket booth laughed in my face and said all finals tickets had been sold out for a year. I must have looked shocked and/or sad over that news and he then told me to wait and he went into the inner office and returned with a ticket in the grandstands. Fortune favors the bold.
I am now older and wiser but I continue to be steadfast and so I ignored all those “NO ONSITE TICKET SALES” signs and when I finally got to the main gate at Eisenhower Park I approached the ticket booth asked if they had any tickets for today’s cricket matches. The guy told me I needed to sign up with the appropriate app and then purchase a ticket online.
I attempted to do so for about 15 minutes with no luck. I wonder how many purchases are lost these days because corporations use the internet rather than humans.
The ticket guy must have taken pity on me and lent a hand. He tried for about another five minutes and had no luck either. He then reached into his desk and handed me a complimentary ticket, free of charge.
So, with renewed faith in humanity, I took my ticket and headed to the enormous stadium to find the right entrance. I worked my way around to the east side of the stadium and negotiated six flights of stairs to the top.
As I climbed the stairs, I was reminded of the first time I was taken to Yankee Stadium by my father as a nine-year-old boy. We also had to climb up long, darkened ramps as we made our way up our mezzanine seats.
It was a dark, dreary and dreadful climb but I still remember the sight of the Yankee Stadium infield grass as we emerged from the dark ramp and had my first view of Yankee Stadium.
The lights were on and the grass seemed to sparkle and shine as if we had arrived at the Emerald City.
This is exactly what it was like when I left the stairway ramp in the cricket stadium. Looking down on this field of green, there were cricketers from the Netherlands and South Africa in this big round, beautiful grass infield with a blue strip in the middle with the batter, the wickets set up, and the pitcher.
To be honest, I didn’t understand much about the game. This score was big, 48 to 4, and the pitcher ran about 60 feet before he threw the pitch.
The ball bounced once, and the guy with the square bat hit it easily enough. The crowds were not as rowdy as those in a baseball game, and I heard no cursing.
Cricket has a gentle, leisurely pace to it, with the average match taking about eight hours. It has the feel of a picnic on a sunny summer day, just the kind of sport that is needed as an antidote to the fast, frantic pace that characterizes much of American life.
Sport is a non-consequential pastime made to instill relaxation, peace and joy in the fan who watches so welcome all ye cricketeers to the land of America. It’s just the kind of sport we’ve been waiting for.
