Thanks for your lucid description, darmok. A brother-in-law (former NROTC instructor at NU) was stationed for a term in the U.K. and was welcomed onto a weekend cricket team. He came to love the sport and has since urged my interest as well. Perhaps this summer I'll finally give it a shot.
The one match I saw in England seemed impenetrable, likely as much as baseball surely seems at first to the uninitiated. In fact, back in 1972 in Houston I'd been asked to host a visiting author from Hungary who was touring the U.S. on a State Dept program. He surprised by asking to take in a baseball game at the Astrodome between the Reds and Astros..
It was a memorable experience for various reasons. The game was played on a night of torrential downpour and street flooding (yes, we had those back then too), so much so that a couple of streams poured through cracks in the Dome's otherwise weather-proof roof. But for me the biggest challenge was, once inside and seated, trying to explain what was happening onfield.
Not content to stare at the Dome's bells'n'whistles, the Hungarian writer began asking me to explain virtually everything. In fact he even pulled out a small notepad, presumably to record impressions. (I wondered if he planned to set a novel in America.) His English was certainly passable yet not wholly fluent, so I tried speak slowly and simply. But one can't explain baseball without using some terminology peculiar to the sport, and each explanation led to more questions. It got increasingly complicated.
Why, he asked, do "substitutes" sit in a partially submerged area called a "dugout?" What is meant by a "bullpen?" When a certain Cincinnati player named Johnny Bench (that season's HR leader and NL MVP) blasted a homer over the left field seats, that prompted the question about how often such a prodigious hit occurred. In trying to explain baseball numbers I mentioned that someone named Babe Ruth had hit 714 homers in a career. That seemed to stun the Hungarian, who wondered how many other interesting statistics I knew involving the game.
My lame but ongoing commentary was so thunderously boring that I could swear other spectators in our area moved farther away. My companion seemed untiring and the deluge outside discouraged our early departure. The author never stopped asking questions and taking notes through the whole nine innings.
Finally it all ended and in much relief I got him back to the hotel. Never again, I thought. It was months later when the same State Dept office called and asked specifically if I'd be available as a 1-2 day guide for another visitor from behind the then-Iron Curtain. "Why me?," I pleaded. It was, I learned, because the Hungarian's visit and subsequent writeup had gone so well. That was stunning. How could that exhausting evening have had a positive effect?
It turned out that the "author" to whom I'd been introduced had written some fiction and a play or two, but was mostly known as a newspaper journalist. He'd returned to Budapest and produced a SERIES of columns based on his night of America's curious national pastime in the company of an "expert host." The guy in Washington told me the whole thing was thought to be a successful exercise in Cold War diplomacy! Who knew? Still, I declined to serve further as intercultural representative for MLB.
In subsequent years I admit, however, to wishing a literal translation -- from Hungarian to English -- of the baseball-related columns could be obtained. It would be interesting to see how much of that night's blather would result in anything intelligible to a reader in that country.
All by way of saying why darmok's clear explanation of cricket's three formats was so welcome. We need more info, however. May I request that AstroCat consider hosting a Zoom gathering -- akin to his enjoyable Wildcat football sessions -- and that Darmok serve as ongoing commentator during the Cricket World Cup? Is that too much to ask?
