Last week England played Wales in Euro 2016 at 6 AM, and so I excitedly got up early and prepared tea, bacon, eggs, and toast for the morning meal. Oh ya, that day was also my university convocation, and so my parents duly came down from the Okanagan to watch me walk across a stage for about thirty seconds. The ceremony itself wasn’t a big deal to me, but the chance to watch the match with my father and to later go for a picnic on the beach made the whole thing worthwhile. Whilst at the beach, my father and I shared a Merridale Scrumpy.
I have long had a fascination with all things from the British Isles, with those originating in England striking the deepest chord. One of those things has long been cricket; that very British of sports, queer, elusive, incomprehensible, yet indispensably appropriate if one is to understand the antics of P. G. Wodehouse’s Bertie Wooster, or the gentleman thief A. J. Raffles of E. W. Hornung fame.
And so a sport that had merely elicited British stereotypes in my mind slowly transformed from mystery into a sport that I knew and loved: first during an eight hour One Day International at the MCG in Melbourne, 2013, and more recently during the 2015 Cricket World Cup. After that I was hooked; I needed to play cricket. In the summer of 2015, the best that I could do was to practice one time with the Kelowna Cricket Club, but in the summer of 2016 I did one better!