我如何愛(ài)上板球

My wife, Tanya, is Australian. Several times in our relationship, she has attempted to explain the game of cricket to me. It was a big part of her childhood. She was on her schools cricket team that won a state championship for Grades 8/9. She fondly1 remembers playing beach cricket with family and friends on every visit to the sea. At home in Alberta2, she has a cricket bat that mostly just sits in a box because the kids and I dont know how to play. Indeed, for the vast majority of Canadians, the rules of cricket are shrouded3 in mystery. Terms like“overs” and “wickets” are strange.4 And, in our fast-paced world, the idea of a game that can take several days to play is completely foreign. Cricket seems an anachronism from the colonial age, played by stuffy Englishmen dressed in white.5 If anything, it is something to laugh at.

A few months ago, we moved to Melbourne for a year. Tanyas family is here. I am on a research sabbatical6 at a university. Our four kids are getting a full year of Australian childhood. They attend a local school and we enrolled them in some junior sports, including cricket for children 10 and under. All the kids receive a ball and a sturdy7, plastic cricket bat. On Friday evenings in the summer, we go to a cricket oval close to our home and the kids learn various skills like batting and bowling the ball.8

After several weeks at the oval, it remained incomprehensible to me, but I hoped that at least my kids would figure it out.9 One evening, I had a conversation with Marcus, one of the Aussie10 dads whom I had previously met at a school event. I laughed as I told him that Tanya and my in-laws had repeatedly explained cricket to me but I still didnt get it. Marcus told me that his father, who immigrated from Czechoslovakia11, is the same. For many years, his father has politely asked him about the rules, quickly forgotten it all and then asked again on the next visit. Then, Marcus challenged me. He told me that the rules are not difficult. The problem is that, like his father, I do not want to put any effort into learning them. If I was really interested, I would apply12 myself and figure it out. He understood that if someone did not grow up with cricket, they may not be interested in it. He told me, “Thats okay. I get that. But stop pretending that you want to learn the rules when you obviously dont.”

Marcus had accused me of insincerity13. I knew he was right.

Two weeks later, my brother-in-law invited me and one of my sons to a Twenty2014, or T20, cricket match. This is a short match that usually finishes in less than three hours. The teams wore brightly coloured uniforms instead of white. There were smoke machines, a cheerleading dance squad15 and loud Queen songs. This was the opposite of stuffy and traditional. It was like going to a baseball game.

As usual, my cricket ignorance was quickly uncovered16 by my brother-in-law and his mate. I was embarrassed about it. For the next two hours, I applied myself. I carefully watched the action on the field and checked the scoreboard with every bowl, run and wicket. I asked a lot of simplistic questions (e.g.“Whats an ‘over, again?”). It started to make sense. I suddenly found it interesting.

Right after Christmas, there was a series of international test matches17, each five days in length, between Australia and India. I managed to watch some of it on television. In the second one, the Australian team was playing very well. On the third day, we tuned in and happened to see their captain, Michael Clarke, hit the last 50 runs of his 329-run inning.18 He had batted for 10.5 hours! It was exciting. Finally, I appreciated why people would sit and watch a test match for five days. It was all about quality. There were no bells or whistles, no smoke machines or dancing girls. It was about the strategies, the battles between batsmen and bowlers (all dressed in white) and the excitement of runs and wickets.19 It reminded me of the slow-food movement, where one is meant to sit down and savour20 a delicious, healthy meal with good company. In the same spirit, test cricket matches have scheduled breaks for tea, just to be civilized.

Unfortunately, attendance of five-day international test matches has declined over the years. This is because fewer people are able to take even one day off to watch part of a series, which is usually played on week days. On the other hand, T20 games are played in a single afternoon or evening, which makes it convenient for most people. T20 attendance is strong. It has been suggested that this format might save the game from slow decline.

In a Facebook status update, I announced that I finally understood cricket. The response from friends was quick and derisive21. “Impossible,” they said. To them, cricket remains an incomprehensible joke. These friends are as bigoted22 toward cricket as I was. They have no experience with the game and almost no opportunity to see it played. But, if they watched a match and made an effort to understand it, they might discover an interesting sport that is no more complicated than North American football. Like me, they might even join with the crowd and chant, “We want a wicket!”

1. fondly: 愉快地，快樂(lè)地。

2. Alberta:阿爾伯達(dá)省（加拿大西部一?。?。

3. shroud: 覆蓋，遮掩。

4. over: （投手的）一輪投球數(shù)（一般規(guī)定為六個(gè)球）；wicket: （板球中的）三柱門。

5. anachronism: 不合時(shí)代的事；stuffy: 苛責(zé)的，古板的。

6. sabbatical: （大學(xué)教師的）學(xué)術(shù)休假。

7. sturdy: 結(jié)實(shí)的。

8. oval: 橢圓形物，這里指橢圓形的板球場(chǎng)；batting: 擊球；bowling: （向擊球員）投球。

9. incomprehensible:無(wú)法理解的；figure out: 理解，明白。

10. Aussie: 【非正式】澳大利亞人。

11. Czechoslovakia: 捷克斯洛伐克（前中歐國(guó)家，1993年分裂為兩個(gè)獨(dú)立的國(guó)家，即捷克共和國(guó)和斯洛伐克共和國(guó)）。

12. apply: 使（自己）致力于。

13. insincerity: 不真誠(chéng)，虛偽。

14. Twenty20: 每方20回合的二十20比賽。

15 a cheerleading dance squad: 一個(gè)跳舞的拉拉隊(duì)。

16. uncover: 發(fā)現(xiàn)。

17. test match: （板球或橄欖球等的）國(guó)際錦標(biāo)賽。

18. tune in: 收看（電視）；run: （板球的）跑動(dòng)得分；inning: 一局。

19. batsman: 擊球手；bowler: 投球手。

20. savour: 品味，品嘗。

21. derisive: 嘲弄的，嘲笑的。

22. bigoted: 有偏見(jiàn)的，固執(zhí)己見(jiàn)的。