The Other World Cup

While the sun has long since set on the British Empire, there is still one thing that can summon former colonialists together to party like it’s 1899—the lure of sixers and sticky wickets. For those not versed in the baffling phraseology of British sport: cricket.

To the unacquainted, cricket can at first seem to be much ado about nothing. “They spend a lot of time just batting a ball into the ground and standing around,” acknowledges physics grad student and cricket aficionado Lars C. Grant. But, for the 45 cricket addicts who have gathered together in Leverett G to watch a live satellite broadcast of the 2003 Cricket World Cup, batting a ball and standing around is serious business. Among the countries of the former British Empire, there are few sources of national pride greater than securing victory on the cricket field. Grant proudly announces that his native Canada had recently advanced to the next round. “We beat Bangladesh!” he says.

With so much on the line with each match of the six week tournament, many Harvard students hailing from the former British colonies, ranging from Sri Lanka to South Africa, have tallied sleepless night after sleepless night of late as they follow the progress of their national teams. Because of the seven hour time difference with South Africa, which is playing host to the tournament, many matches do not begin until the early morning hours in Boston—FM had the pleasure of attending a match with a starting time of 3 a.m. And, because Cricket is bizarre (as are all British sports, for that matter), most matches last well over eight hours.

On this particular evening, the group is watching the India-Pakistan match, perhaps the most hyped of the entire tournament. An Indian flag has been placed on top of the VCR, indicating the loyalties of most gathered here. “All the Pakistanis must be watching it somewhere else,” says Sanmay Das ’01, a grad student at MIT.

The respectful silence maintained by the crowd—unknown in the world of American sports—is broken by the occasional seemingly incoherent and very British announcements. “Wicket looks a beauty,” observes the announcer. Despite the beautiful wicket, a member of the Indian team makes a slip-up on the field. However, a group of physics concentrators in the corner downplay the fumble, noting that “Even [Nobel Prize winner Richard] Feynman made mistakes.”

Harvard’s lifeline to the world of cricketing has come thanks to Naresh Ramarajan ’04. Ramarajan shelled out for a satellite dish so he could watch the telecast from South Africa. As a loyal fan of the Indian national team, Ramarajan explains that the decision to set up the gadgetry necessary to access the telecast from South Africa was an easy one. “If you’re from India,” he says, “[cricket] is pretty much your sport. It’s the biggest sport in India, and this is the World Cup, so it doesn’t get bigger.”

The game rages on. Some guy hits something with a misshapen plank of wood and everybody in the room goes “Ooooooh.” Instead of being rowdy, the audience is mostly reverent. Mild shouts of “What a bowl!” greet the instant replay. When something goes terribly awry, they tilt back their heads and make a disapproving yet dignified “tsk” sound, or place their heads in their hands while groaning or (when things get really rough) raise their arms at an oblique angle and flail their forefingers in frustration.

People arrive in tuxes from the Freshman Formal, and one guy in a tux and New Balances lies prostrate in front of the TV. It’s now five in the morning. Vending machines provide some sustenance and gum gets passed around. There are cigarette breaks, but apparently no alcohol for the teetotaling crowd.

As it begins to grow brighter outside, the stamina of the cricket fans remains strong—and will continue to be for the next six hours of delightful sport. The Pakistani team is lagging and one presenter says, “Let’s hope they get a birthday present from God.” Apparently, this birthday package got lost in transit: Pakistan lost to India by six wickets, and for those of us in the know, that’s a bloody lot.