A "Proper" Match

PAB's colleagues decided that it was high time to introduce him to a proper English sport. Cricket. PAB let me tag along and I jumped at the opportunity. Cricket has the same appeal for me as women's Lacrosse--pretentious outfits are worn and silly tools are used, there is much prancing about and little contact except for the occasional ball-to-face (which is really the best part of both sports). Our particular match would be a battle of the losers, the two worst teams in the County league. Hip, Hip, Hooray for Gloucestershire! I couldn't be more proud...

I met PAB and his colleagues at a pub (they like to call them pub lounges, which is in itself an oxymoron). When the pints and the bangers and mash were ordered we sat down for a full description of the most elegant of her Queen Majesty's games. Sir Cliff (who was wearing a sun hat despite the chronic lack of sun in G.B.) told me that cricket was in many ways like baseball, but as he began explaining I wondered if he had ever viewed a "proper" baseball match. In cricket, you can run even if you miss the ball. In cricket, no one yells profanity at the umpires; there is appropriate golf-like clapping ("Very nice. Very nice."). In cricket, the men are lean, almost girlish (there is no question of steroids being used in this sport...). Cliff proudly informed me that just last week an English player had hit the ball a WHOPPING 120 yards!!! I would love to see the looks on the Brits faces if Barry Bonds were to go out there and whack the crap out of their little cricket ball. 120 yards, pff! Little league!

Really one can sum up cricket in one position. The "silly" man. There is a man who walks proudly onto the field, a professional athlete, and steps into his position as SILLY on or SILLY off. I asked Cliff for an explanation regarding this silly position (Is his job to make the batter laugh?) hoping that this was yet another lost in translation. Alas, no. The silly man is in fact...silly. He stands in a position that is absolutely ridiculous because it is absolutely certain that he will get hit by the ball at least once during the course of the match (not surprising as he stands only 50 yards from the batter). Typically the silly position is assumed by one of the junior members of the squad. "Come here lad. We believe in your silliness. Go out there and show us just how silly you can be!"

We made it to the stadium to secure good seating. A persistent drizzle had begun (oh, sometime in the 17th century) and didn't seem to have any intention of letting up. Not that we had to worry, the covered seating was no drinking (and you try to separate a Brit from his beer at a sporting match. In that way, they are completely American). So we waited. And waited. The musical selection to rile up the players included U2, Coldplay and James Blunt. Kick their butts boys! And after two and a half hours of waiting..."I'm sorry folks. The umpires have just informed me that play cannot continue in these conditions." In Britain, a game is cancelled for a drizzle. Heaven forbid their sterile white uniforms become dirtied! In America, if a professional sports game is on the line, you better bring your rain gear and snow shoes, because they're not cancelling the game unless a hurricane decreases visibility for the press box. So we made our way home, cold and wet, in every sense experiencing the true nature of British cricket.

We will exchange our tickets for an upcoming game. And this time bring an umbrella. There is no way I'm sitting through another two and a half hours without a pint!

Pardon me, do you speak American?

When PAB first told me that he learned British English in his French high school I remember thinking--Shakespeare? But the more time I spend in this bloody country, with my increasingly Anglicized boyfriend, the more I realize that the Revolution happened for a reason. Americans and Brits are simply not the same, it's a wonder that we even come from the same species, a trickling down of a common culture.

My closest connection to British culture is my love for tea (albeit iced) and the Brits don't even seem to understand that commonality. I have this vivid memory of my poor Cajun "mum" ordering an iced tea in a London pub and watching in horror as a confused British bartender put hot tea into a martini shaker with ice and strained the "iced tea" into a pint. One cultural miscommunication coming right up!

When I observed in the Bristol high school last March I was astonished at the number of promiscuous little British girls shamelessly asking the male teacher, the boy next to them, even MOI for "rubbers". In the U.S. we use rubbers for a whole lot more than erasing, those I guess both could be considered not entirely accurate or reliable...

PAB is continually asking me questions along these lines: Do you say "fag" in American English? (Yes, but only in the South in narrow minded villages such as Friendswood), Do you say "wanker"? (only when making fun of British people), Do you call each other "cunt"? (Now this one had me wondering who exactly he had befriended on that tiny island). Each question making me realize more and more the ever increasing gap between the Queen's land and her colonies.

I have come to accept that American is considered the lesser English (though to hear some of the British locals talk you would think you were in the Deep South). I am certain that our wonderfully blubbering Chief Bush did not do great things for the world's perception of American English (Did he just say crusade?) Hopefully the Barackster will come in and show the skeptical and the critical exactly how we play rhetorical in the U.S. of A.

Meanwhile, I am going to make tea (heating the water in the microwave like any respectable American) and have a biscuit (not to be confused with the buttermilk biscuits us Southerners are so fond of pouring gravy on). If only the smell of the tea could overpower the stench of the fag smoking going on in the flat below me...