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A Cricket Nation

LONDON — In the last seconds of the championship, as I stood packed between purple-clad Sri Lankans and Pakistanis shroud in green, in a bar across from the Lord's Cricket Ground, it looked unlikely my adopted greens would pull off a comeback. It would take a home run, the equivalent of a ground rule double, and a few foul tips for the batsman Shahid Afridi to bring the cup home to Islamabad.

The next day I would interview Pervez Musharraf, the former president of Pakistan; I didn't want to imagine the prospect of seeing him after a second brutal championship defeat.

In 2007, the last time the tournament was held, Pakistan lost to nemesis India on the final pitch. A Pakistani batsman launched the equivalent of a pop fly to in the infield and was easily dismissed.

To put it up front: This is not your great-grandfather's cricket; this game can no longer be thrown alongside golf and bowling in the category of tedious though sometimes rewarding sports to watch.

In the Twenty20 format, every pitch matters; batters swing for home runs rather than more tactical strokes; bowlers throw with the same velocity and cunning placement one finds in the MLB; and there are certainly no breaks for tea. Nor is the game anywhere near as complicated as most believe it to be, I've found: The batsman gets six strikes rather than three; he can be out sooner (dismissed) if one of his hits is caught in the air, a wicket is knocked over or if he is thrown out while running between bases. The game has one inning, each team getting between 10-20 at-bats depending on how many batters are dismissed.

Could 2009 be different for Pakistan? Both Pakistanis and Sri Lankans found themselves in need of a national triumph. For many former outposts of the British Empire, a Cricket trophy stands second to only football in sporting prestige. In American terms, perhaps only an NFL championship is comparable. Both countries have dealt with explosions in simmering, bloody internal wars over the last year, and neither nation is anywhere near out of the woods.

The match also comes at a moment in which a great cricket book, "Netherland" by Joseph O'Neill, finds itself returning to favor. Barack Obama recently told the New York Times magazine that the 2008 novel is on his bedside table.

The volume is a terrific summer read and was hailed as the first great post-9/11 novel. It centers on a Dutch banker in New York, left estranged from his wife and in search of a refuge.

He retreats to a cricket club, full of expatriates from around the world. All had been attracted to New York for different reasons, and most are in pursuit of quite divergent careers, but socioeconomics and culture are pushed aside for their singular devotion to the game.

"We have defeated the world in cricket, now we will defeat the Taliban in the west," Pakistanis screamed into the lens of a CNN camera several hours later, somewhere on the dark streets of Karachi.

Afridi — whose name inspires banners reading "Be Afridi, be very Afridi," had hit the Cricketman's version of Mazeroski's World Series walk-off homer. Grown men jumped liked schoolboys, kissing one another and nearly crashing the correspondent to the ground.

Hours before, as I watched Afridi from a bar across the street from the match, those alongside me lost anything left in the shade of composure. Inside the stadium, a predominantly white and aristocratic British audience jumped from their seats, astounded by the terrific finish.

And in a city that's been called Londinistan, those around me abandoned their Sinhala and Urdu chants to congratulate and console the opposition in the queen's English regarding a match of the prime minister's favorite sport.

I can't help but note here Europe's current bout of xenophobia: French President Nicholas Sarkozy proclaimed this week that the Burqa — black, female, Islamic dress — is unwelcome in France, and later this week I plan to meet with former Spanish Prime Minister Jose Maria Aznar, who has repeatedly claimed that multiculturalism is the greatest threat facing Europe this century.

A few weeks ago, as I stumbled around New York late into the night, I came across the Chelsea Hotel, the home to both "Netherland's" protagonist and the novel's author. I charged the lobby. "Joseph O'Neill lives here," I said.

"Yes," the night manger said sarcastically, "but I'm afraid he's gone to sleep." I nodded, apologizing as I retreated to the street.

The morning after the Pakistani victory, I found out that former President Musharraf had been up late.

"I heard you were out chanting Afridi's name in the streets last night," I joked as we were introduced. "Congratulations on the match."

Musharraf laughed, then smiled at me slyly, almost shrugging. It felt as if he were trying to say "perhaps I was."

I'm learning that these are the kinds of acts this "boring" game tends to inspire — no matter what language your telecast is beamed in.

Brian Till, one of the nation's youngest syndicated columnists, is a research fellow for the New America Foundation, a think tank in Washington. He can be contacted at till@newamerica.net. To find out more about the author and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.