No, these are not the names of New Jersey exotic dancers (actually, no doubt they are, but not in this context), this time they refer to cricket, another one of my passions.
As with my interest in photography, I've been able to indulge my love of the old game rather late thanks to our having come to Mexico. Nestled in the lee of a hillside in the city's northwest is a patch of ground that each Sunday afternoon trades the raucous bellowing of "Gol!!!!" for the plaintive cries of "catch!" and "howzat?!" The football players who trudge off the two soccer fields at the Reforma Athletic Club watch over their beers as their field is transformed into a cricket ground, replete with sight screens, boundary markers, and a rare real grass wicket that, while in need of a closer shave, would not look out of place in county England. Games are played usually in bright sunshine (unless the season is fresh or nearing an end, when downpours send cricketers scurrying) and end with beers under a new pavilion that looks a little like the drunken inspiration of a homesick Swiss architect. The games are tremendous fun, being a little dangerous (my count is the loss of a toenail, thumbnail, and an assortment of bruises) and filled with characters from India, Australia, England, Pakistan, Mexico and even the U.S.
I've shot hundreds of pics at the games but this is one of my favorites. Tarun Sharma (responsible for my loss of aforementioned toenail) has just glanced a ball to the leg boundary and the shot captures the poise, grace and power with which he plays. Thankfully, for my team.
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