As I sat in a bar way back at Cape Town, International, I had no choice but to watch cricket. It was on the only television I could watch 13 hours ago. Come to think of it, that’s been the only live television I’ve watched on this trip. Putting aside for a moment the chunk of my life that disappeared in a restless sleep on that 12 hour overnight flight over Africa, let’s give some thought to the game of cricket.
Never has man created a game that’s more confusing or utterly worth less than when he created cricket.
It’s fair to admit (if you don’t already know this) that I am no expert when it comes to anything sport. But I do consider myself well-informed about things that “make sense.” I understand that eating grapefruit with a spoon is wise. The roulette wheel? Let’s play. Caviar? Count me in! Wine tastings? I can’t get enough! Regular visits to the dentist? Get ‘er done. In short, these things “make sense.”
Cricket, my friends, is silly, arrogant, and – dare I say – boring. It doesn’t “make sense.” As far as I can tell, it can take days (maybe weeks?) to play, requires more armor than we provide to our soldiers, and what’s up with that pitch? Even I could do anything with as much of a running start as those guys get. Simply put, this sport doesn’t add up.
Have you ever watched it? If so, I’m sorry. If not, please remain blissfully ignorant. It simply doesn’t “make sense.”
The only good thing about the cricket match I watched was the British Airways 747s taxiing away. And do you know what each one meant? Hundreds of Cricket fans leaving Africa.
Sadly, I left The Continent too.
I will miss Africa.
But here I am in Amsterdam. I’m planning to take a shower here at the airport, put my bags in a locker, and see the city. If I can figure out how to do any of it.
Afterward, I have another overnight flight. This one 11 hours to Hong Kong.