And so it’s another Cricket World Cup.
This is now the fifth one that I have experienced as a cricket fan. I discovered the game in 2007, came of age with it in 2011, enjoyed it as a seasoned fan in 2015 and again in 2019. And now it’s, somehow, 2023. A year that in my youth seemed so distant to appear fantastical is now the year I type almost every single day.
2023.
I write about the World Cup as a benchmark all the time. It’s a time for looking back, and looking forward, and — most importantly — looking around. It’s a beautiful morning today, here in Saint Paul, a beautiful fall morning. The cricket is on. I have the day off. The sun is out. The room is filled with natural light. Outside the trees and the grass are all still green but there’s a chill in the air, and the sun is at an angle that you would never mistake for summer.
This is the first World Cup that I have experienced in the early fall, one of the more magical times of the year in the upper midwestern United States.
In 2007 it was spring. In 2011 and 2015 it was late winter. In 2019 it was high summer. Now it is autumn. Deep blue skies, sweaters, steamy coffees, dry air, crackling leaves, the smell of woodsmoke, bold colors. A time of death and dying but also, somehow, everyone’s favorite season. For it is a time of change, of new chapters, of promises.
I think a lot about the change that has come over the last four years, and the four years before that. My entire life has been reinvented, and because of that I am happier now than I have ever been. They say that happiness is a byproduct of a journey, not a destination in itself. And while I tend to agree with that, I think contentment can be a destination, and contentment breeds happiness. And so here we are. At another World Cup. Another time to take stock. And wonder if we will be here for the next one. And wonder, if we are, how much will have changed this time around. A chance to live the examined life. All while the cricket is on. What a gift.
This morning, I don’t feel the need to rehash all that has happened in my life since 2007. But like all of you — like everyone — a lot happened in those 16 years. I am not sure if I take comfort in the fact that so much can happen in such a (relative) short period of time. I like my life right now. I don’t want it to change. But it will. And four years from now things might seem quite different. That “might seem” is wrong. Things will not just seem but will truly be quite different. Four years is a long time. A very long time. Life is short, they say, but it’s not, it’s very long. Add up the days, put them in a pile, and realize how much time we all really have, and while the days and weeks and even the years will slip by unnoticed, we are still changing, our lives are still changing.
This is the first World Cup where I want to guard against that change. Lock the gates, keep it out. It’s a new feeling. Previously, I would look back and then look ahead. Today, this morning, as the Dutch look to continue shocking the world, I just want to look around. And see what all I have. And wrap my arms around it so it never leaves.
Like I said, this is a new feeling. But not one born of fear or trepidation, rather one born of love, contentment, joy. New feelings.
I am also a realist. I know the change will come. But this time I am aware that it is coming. And while I might try to resist it, I also know that because I am guarding against unnecessary change, negative change — as much as possible — the changes that come will be good things. Progression. Onward. I will miss the parts of life that exist today that fall away, but they will be replaced by other, just as wonderful parts. It’s part of being a parent. I miss the days when my son just rolled on his back and those late night early foxhole days, when he was so small he could sleep on my chest, but they have been replaced with this whole person, this real human. This funny, kind, sweet, goofball who loves trucks and music and pancakes. This is the kind of change I want.
Four years always brings change. There’s nothing we can do about that.
The same is true for the game itself.
When the next World Cup happens — in 2027, in Africa, again in the midwestern fall — I will be celebrating my 20th year as a cricket fan. 20 years. Again, it seems like it should be more than that, considering all that has happened. But just 20 years. Add up all the days, watch the pile grow until it blocks out the sun. Many are saying that this is the last World Cup that will matter. That in four years time the ODI will have completely fallen out of favor, and will be seen as a relic of a time when we all moved a little slower, but of a time not long enough ago to make the demands of tradition. I tend to disagree with that. I think the ODI has proven that it has legs, that it will continue to be a big part of the cricket oeuvre. I have been wrong before, of course, and might be wrong this time, but cricket as a game has been battling against time, against decay, since it was invented. It’s always been a relic. And it’s been dying since the day it was born. I think the ODI will be just fine. Just like all cricket continues to be.
Four years will bring change, to us and to the game and to the format, but while those changes can and might and in some cases should be immense, those changes will snap into place and not even really be noticed and we will all tune in that fall and watch the cricket and read about how the 2027 World Cup is now the last World Cup to matter. Cricket changes. We all change. It’s just another lesson that the game can teach us. We change, we move on, time begs us to keep up, and we do. Somehow. Until we can’t. But that’s a story for a different day.
Today it is autumn. In one month my son will turn two years old. This is his first World Cup. In four years everything will change, and then change again. Four years ago it was summer. It was before Covid. Before I got better. Just after everything blew apart. And today I sit here basking in contentment. Four years will bring change, of that we can be certain, but all we can do is do what cricket does and has done and will do: adapt, let the day take us, guard against the enemies at the gates, and be thankful for every day we are out there, under floodlights, or under the sun, or waiting out a rain delay in the clubhouse, with nothing but the promise of more cricket to come to sustain us. More cricket, more time, more change.
I love the Cricket World Cup. May it forever guide us through the days.
Limited Overs 