A T20 story from America’s oldest cricket club

The umpires strode out, wearing floppy hats and white jackets that looked liked lab coats. And the president and tutelary spirit of the Staten Island Cricket Club, a tall, courtly Trinidadian named Clarence Modeste, bowled a ceremonial first ball, taking a running start and tossing a straight-armed lob at the stumps. Modeste’s exact age is a club mystery. All that is known for sure is that he was born before World War II and is old enough to be the father of everyone else on the team. On the sidelines, near the Walker Park field house, a slate-roofed Tudor-style building, players and onlookers sipped tea and nibbled Parle-G biscuits from India. They cheered, hollered and called out to those on the field in the lilting accent of the islands, the clipped vowels of Guyana, the lyrical syntax of Hindi-inflected English: “Well thinking, guys! Well thinking.” “Nicely batted!” “Lovely Cricket — lovely!”

O’Neill made light of the loss, saying that it was early in the season; there was another, serious match the next day, and some of the players were eager to get home to their wives and families. A little earlier he had explained: “When I met my American wife, I presented myself as a cricketer. I didn’t want to have to have any retrospective discussion. All these guys are in the same boat; it’s a negotiation.”