THE PENN STATE CRICKET CLUB

Am driving along Northern Parkway glad that I made it through the red light camera district when at the high school before Park Heights I see person make a U turn and pull onto the grass of the playing field to the side of the school.

Typical I think – but wait why are all those people in white, and not Balamer white – oversized t-shirt, overly baggy trousers – but white with floppy hats, in the middle of the…cricket. After righting myself so that I don’t cause an accident, do all that I have to do then race back. Park the car behind the field and walk over to the idyllic Sunday scene that would make any English village proud – well except for the matting wicket, and the disused car parts strewn all over the place, and, well broken cassette tapes, oh and the swamp at deep extra cover, oh and the grass that was cut the last time our knighted saviour actually raised funds. What would normally go for four stopped dead just beyond mid on. I think that some of the fielders would have preferred shorter grass willing to give up a four now and then to chasing balls to cut short the run rate. They looked haggard keeping the batsmen to singles.

It seems that I have run across the Penn State University Cricket Club which drives the four hours weekly from May to September to play in a league with 30 odd teams between Baltimore and Washington. This week they were at the Pimlico Oval.

Being cricket once I was outside the sight lines of the batsman the deep extra cover came up to have a chat, where was I from where did I learn cricket.

Headed over to the team that was in and this is where I found out that they were from Penn State.

Mentioned that around Chicago when I saw matches they were usually played by potbellied old farts, to which they pointed to the score keeper and said looks can be deceiving. I fully documented between bowls preferred the spin bowler – who seemed to be having more effect he would pull the batsman off the line having them almost stumped twice, caused a lot of balls hit in the air which would have been caught normally and one lbw – than the pace bowler.

Ah the problem of constantly feeling rushed, I felt guilty watching the match – something I wouldn’t have felt in earlier times, I had so much that I wanted to do and so little time. it was Sunday after all and great day to wander the less desirable neighbourhoods as most shops were closed and the churches were open. Set myself a time limit, one hour. When I t came I walked slowly to the motor stepping over the broken glass and latex gloves, past the group on their Nextel phones under the tree in the mid distance and headed off.