One of the first matches on our campus was Jersey vs. USA. Once there, I ran into some classmates from the dorm and joined them. While we watched the match, most of the discussion veered away from the slow paced game. One of the students asked me if I knew where Jersey was. I responded that I had no idea where, or even what, Jersey was. After that comment, some British tourists a few rows in front of us turned around and smiled. I continued by stating that Jersey was probably a territory, principality, colony, wholly owned subsidiary of the British Crown, or something like that. I only knew that they didn’t have UN representation. As I found out later online, Jersey is something and somewhere, but I’m still not quite sure of its current status of dependence or independence of the United Kingdom. Its status is about as simple as anything in the British legal system, or American legal system for that matter.
As we watched more, another issue came up. The Nepali students pointed out that no one on the USA cricket team looked particularly American to them. I had to explain that their view of what an American looks like is very limited. In actuality, the USA has immigrants from all over the world. Looks can be deceiving. Even people who appear to be recent immigrants may be a part of families who have been in the USA for several generations. I added that one of my favorite ex-coworkers was a sixty year old man from the Bahamas. The students mentioned that most of the players looked like they came from the West Indies. It had been a long time since I’d heard anyone refer to the Caribbean as the West Indies. I told them that some of those countries were probably the only ones in the western hemisphere that regularly play cricket. Jamaica is a pro-cricket country, but the Dominican Republic is almost all baseball oriented. Without getting into the actual rules, I explained baseball’s dominance in the USA and its status as the national pastime. I also explained that I had grown up playing baseball from a young age. If my father had taught me how to play cricket instead, we would have been considered un-American, and rightfully so.
It was later in the week that my sister arrived to visit Nepal. After explaining all of the historical monuments that we could visit, I also told her about the upcoming cricket matches. Most importantly, she would be there for the anticipated Nepal vs. USA match at the main campus in Kirtipur. Nepal, USA, and Singapore were in the running for the top two spots of the tournament. Those two teams would play in the final match, but being the winner of that match wasn’t as important as being in the match. The top two teams would advance to the next round of international competition. That was the real prize at stake. In addition, this match would be rather crowded. Not only was it being held at the main campus in anticipation of a large crowd, but the current tournament results ensured that this match would likely determine Nepal’s chances of advancing. A win over the USA would guarantee them a top two spot.
On the day of the match, the two of us made the long and adventurous walk over to the main campus. Included in the walk was the crossing of the three-foot wide Baghmati foot bridge, which is shared by both pedestrians and motorcycles. When a motorcycle is coming, you stand on the edge of the bridge and hold onto the suspension cables to prevent from falling into the excessively polluted river below. Once we arrived at the field I realized how crowded the match would be just by looking at the number of motorcycles in the parking lot. We made our way into the grassy area that functioned as a grandstand. Walking through the crowds and trying to call my schoolmates, I couldn’t help but notice we were the only non-Nepalis in the crowd. The British contingency from the Jersey match had decided not to show up. After a break in the game, we found my friends and sat down with them.
The match continued on at a usual pace, with Nepal scoring very little. On every good Nepali play, the crowd would cheer and clap. On every good American play, I was the only one cheering and clapping. The strangers around us started smiling and chuckling when I would cheer and clap by myself. A few of them offered us some of their snacks they had brought to the game with them. At the half, Nepal had a very disappointing score and it seemed clear that the USA would win the match. A few spectators started throwing water bottles onto the field. One of the local event organizers walked around the perimeter of the field and tried to clam down the crowd. Due to the age gap, it looked like one father was trying to calm down a few thousand unruly teenage children. Surprisingly, after a few minutes the crowd was calm and the match resumed.
In the second half, the USA played an average match. It seemed like their performance would easily be enough to win. As the game progressed, it became more and more obvious that Nepal’s efforts were futile. At one point, a USA batsman hit three sixes in a row (three homeruns in a row, for my American friends). It was at this point that the match was clearly turning into a blowout. Not long after this realization, I saw a brick hurled onto the field from the crowd, then another, and another. The rain of bricks and water bottles picked up pace. The Nepali fielder closest to us turned around and looked at the crowd in disappointment before calmly walking away from his position. Anywhere in the developed world, raining bricks would be cause to run. Being Nepali, the fielder just calmly and slowly walked away, raining bricks being something that isn’t always that rare here. We stayed in our seats, the bricks flying comfortably over our heads.
As the brick throwing mob backed up on its way to leave, we found ourselves more isolated in the front rows. No one was going to throw a brick at us, but if someone’s throw accidentally fell short, it would be trouble. As we got up and started walking away, a friend from school said that we needed to leave. The police would be coming soon if we didn’t. With that, we joined the mob scrambling over the brick wall in the rear and calmly walking out. As we walked, I told my sister that even though we were walking away from a potential riot, we were perfectly safe. Even though we were the only fans of the victorious opposing team, we were still safe. Nepal doesn’t have a culture of violence against foreigners. The thought of hurting the only Americans there wasn’t in anyone’s mind. They were only thinking about getting away from the field before the APF (Armed Police Force) found it necessary to force them to leave.
Back at the dorm, I talked with some of the students about the match. While we were walking back, the unofficial score had been tallied up and Nepal was in second place, in front of Singapore. Even though both teams had the same record, Nepal had a better “net run rate”, putting them in second place. It was then that I realized what the riot was about. It was to stop the match after the last American batsman started scoring too quickly. If the match had continued to completion, Nepal would have a worse net run rate than Singapore, putting them in third place. The fans had stopped the match to help ensure the Nepali cricket team would advance to the next round. It had worked. I told my friends at the dorm that the fans had essentially secured the victory for the Nepali team. They agreed.
Even though Nepal later won the tournament final, the cost may have been too much to justify. When we walked away from the cricket riot with my schoolmates, one of them looked a little sad. He hadn’t been throwing any bricks. He said, “It will probably be a long time before they allow Nepal to host another ICC tournament.”
http://www.cricinfo.com/wcl/content/story/450113.html
Motorcycle Parking at the cricket match.
APF at a different, non-riot cricket match.
