9/1: Study Abroad Blog: The adventures begin
By Doug T Graham
“You showed up at an exciting time for English Cricket,” Matt’s father told us Americans last Thursday while watching the highlights of the day’s play between the England and Australian national Cricket teams.
We had arrived during the biennial showdown called “the Ashes,” a bitter symbol of the rivalry between the two nations.
In 1882, Australia won their first test match against England, which led the English to declare the event “the end of English Cricket” and burn the wickets used in the game. The ashes of the burnt wickets were collected, put in an urn and treated like a trophy for the winner of the biyearly test match series.
Photo courtesy of the “Around the Edges blog.”
When we arrived in England, things were looking grim for the home team, who need to win the current test match to reclaim the Ashes (which is a best of five test matches series). A test match takes place over the course of five days of play. Apart from the intense time commitment, cricket is very similar to baseball.
• Like baseball, there is a set amount of innings that both teams need to get through, but unlike baseball there are only two innings.
• Like baseball, an inning is over when the defending team gets a set number of outs but unlike baseball the number of outs is ten.
• Like in baseball, every play starts with the pitcher (called the bowler) pitching the ball at the batter (called a batsman) but unlike baseball there is no strike zone, instead the bowler aims for wickets stacked up behind the batsman. If the bowler is able to knock the wickets over, the batter is out.
• Like in baseball, when the batsman hits the ball, his objective is to run to get points but unlike baseball there is no diamond or foul territory, the batsman just runs to the “pitchers mound” and back, each time he does so without the fielders tagging him out he scores a point.
Photo courtesy of atiusdirectory.com
Confused? So was I.
So after some pleading, Matt called up some friends and organized a small game for us in a beautiful park in Stamford. Joining Matt, Kyle, Jack and myself were Johnny, Andrew, Jenny and her younger brother, Robert (the last two not pictured because they met us later).
After a crash tutorial on how to bat and bowl (both very similar to their baseball counterparts except each having more vertical action) we started play. We didn’t have enough people to field two full teams so we played “garden cricket,” a less formal game where everyone takes turn batting, the winner being whoever scores more points before getting out.
One thing that struck me right away as I trotted out to play defense was how the fielders did not line up at all like they would in baseball.
We stood in a large circle about a hundred feet from the wickets with one person playing wicketkeeper (catcher) directly behind the batsman and one person bowling.
My first crack at being batsman was memorable to say the least.
The bat, which is known for its heft, felt foreign in my hands and it wasn’t until after whiffing the first four pitches (which because they didn’t knock the wickets down didn’t get me out) that I was able to finally connect with the ball, knocking it beyond the fielders. My heart raced as I realized what I’d done and, instinctively, I dropped the bat and started running at top speed. I earned two points on that hit (because I ran to the bowler and back without getting tagged out) and was able to continue batting.
Even though I didn’t get out, I had broken a couple unspoken cricket rules. Cricket players never drop the bat after hitting. This is because not only could you accidentally knock wickets over, but there is something intimidating about running at the bowler with a club. The other rule I broke was running at full speed. Cricket is first and foremost a gentleman’s game; its pace is slow and even during the highest stakes its players rarely sprint to get an extra point here or there.
Photo courtesy of the “Chis Holm gallery”
I eventually got out and went back in the field. It was fun comparing the English players to the Americans, the latter of which trying desperately to not revert the baseball hitter stance, which is unsuited for the low pitches of Cricket.
After everyone had several turns batting, the game broke up and we spent the time enjoying the beautiful day lying in the sun. We watched several people flying their huge kites, kites that soared magnificently at the hands of owners happy to finally have a day nice enough to justify their kite purchase.
Eventually, we parted ways with Matt’s friends, who we would be seeing the next day when we all went to Hunstanton Beach. The plan was to spend the day at the beach before moving on to Binham for a weekend with Peter and Belinda — family friends of the Burnetts.
We departed for the beach early in the morning and as a direct result of fatigue I made several mistakes when dressing myself for the beach. Not only did I not wear my swim trunks before getting in the car, I also didn’t put in my contacts, wore shoes and socks instead of sandals and wore a sun-absorbing black shirt. The only thing I did properly was to apply sunscreen, a minor triumph in the name of cancer prevention.
Before we could leave the Burnett’s house, we had to coax their dog, Lady, to get out of the boot of the family car. Lady’s puppyhood of being raised by gypsies is one of several theories as to why she likes hanging out in the boot. I don’t see the appeal. I rode back there once and found it to be rough and uncomfortable, but to each his own, I guess.
We met up with the other car (which contained Jenny, Andrew, and Johnny from the day before, and newcomer Rachel) and started our way East. It took about two hours to travel the 63 miles from the Burnett home outside of Stamford in Lincolnshire County to the Beach at Hunstanton. The traffic was moving slowly, which caused Matt to engage in the English custom of raising ones arms in disgust at the long line of cars.
By the time we arrived at the beach it was pretty packed with people, most of them locals out enjoying the warm, sunny weather.
I understood the concept of low tide before arriving at the beach that morning, but never before had I experienced it on such a massive scale. What you see in the picture below is not the Sahara desert after a rain, it is the amount of sand that separates where we set out our towels and the sea.
Because the sand is underwater half the time, (it has a really cool pattern and was fun to walk on), the sand wet enough to glob onto your foot but dry enough that your footfall’s imprint stayed preserved.
From the water’s edge we were able to admire the cliffs from afar. We Americans wanted to get a closer look at the rocks, so Jack, Kyle and I walked barefoot towards the bedazzling monolith.
I was content with taking pictures, but Kyle and Jack had the primal urge to climb and pose atop the cliff, so they did.
All that picture-taking and cliff-conquering got our stomachs rumbling, so soon we were making our way towards some traditional English beach food: Fish and Chips. The place we went to was called “Tam’s Plaice” which is a very funny name for a restaurant if you know that “Plaice” is a type of fish. We ordered our food and ate outside where we could observe some English beach goers in the wild, like this guy who foolishly stayed still long enough for me to frame him with the restaurant’s sidewalk sign in the frame.
To save money only half of us ordered chips with our fish, which is why my strip of Plaice is all alone in its styrofoam box. The meal was good but it did remind me that you can deep fat fry just about anything and make it taste good. I wasn’t able to finish all of the dough that came with my fish but I did eat my share of the chips, all of the fish and I drank an English Dr. Pepper, which used sugar instead of High Frucose Corn Syrup and therefore tasted five times better.
Then, with our bellies full of food, we sat around the shops like the cool kids we are. Here is a picture I took of the men in our group during a moment of almost absolute cool.
When we had our fill of soaking up the sun, it was time to hit the beach again and give the English a crash course in baseball. Although our bat was built for a 10 year old and we had no gloves or baseballs, we did our best to give our hosts an authentic American baseball lesson (albeit on wet English sand).
The English picked up the game quickly, although they did have trouble with the concept of “foul territory,” often one would dribble a grounder well to the right of first base and respond by sprinting towards first gripping the bat tightly in one hand.
You can see in the picture above that Rachel had the toughest time holding the bat in the American way, but that didn’t stop her from hitting doubles out to left field (though it was only like 40 feet to first base so it was easier than you’d think).
After letting the English feel good about themselves with their singles and doubles, the Americans stepped up to the plate. Below is a picture of Kyle belting one to deep right, otherwise known as the North Sea.
After everyone had three or four at-bats, it was time to switch back to cricket, which was more difficult because of the wind and because of the people we were sharing the beach with. We played hard nonetheless and Johnny was even able to hit the wicket that Matt was protecting, which is a lot more exciting than it sounds.
In all too short a time, the day at the beach was done and we parted ways with Matt’s friends. Their destination was their homes in Stamford and ours was the town of Binham where we would have a wonderful couple of days that I will tell you about next time.
The English ended up winning back the Ashes by the way. They trounced the Australians by 197 runs over the course of four days. Now they get to keep the Ashes trophy/urn until Australia beats them again, if they ever do.