The King's Speech

Let me start by saying that I am writing this in a fever-induced delirium from my second bout with food poisoning. I am currently losing. Proceed with caution.

Last night was unforgettable. Bangladesh came from behind to beat the heavily-favored Irish National Team (sorry, Michelle) in the Cricket World Cup, which is being help jointly by Bangladesh, India, and Sri Lanka. Below is the match highlight report:

• Bangladesh, bowled out for 205 after taking first strike in the day-night match, hit back to dismiss the leading non-Test nation for 178 in 45 overs at the packed Sher-e-Bangla stadium.
• Former captain Mohammad Ashraful, who scored just one run, turned an unlikely hero with the ball by claiming two top-order wickets with his part-time off-spin.
• Skipper Shakib Al Hasan also picked up two wickets with left-arm spin before seamer Shafiul Islam polished off the tail in quick time with 4-21 from eight overs.

If you're like me, none of the above makes any sense at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure they're making the whole thing up as they go along. At any rate, the city exploded with marches, riots, and celebrations after the win. Once my friends and I heard the noises of pots and pans banging together on the streets below, we decided to investigate. There were about ten people screaming and cheering, walking through the streets of our neighborhood. We decided to join to small-ish gathering, just to see what was going on. Ten turned to twenty, which turned to forty, which turned to eighty. Like bacteria dividing again and again, the group swelled to probably 200 celebrants- all screaming BANGLADESH! (well, there was some other part of the cheer, but... i don't know what they were saying as they were screaming in Bangla). 

So here we are, seven white North Americans in a sea of Bangladeshis, watching in awe as they pulled people out of cars, told rickshaws to ring their bells, surfed on top of moving cars, and raised hell in ways I've only seen in Morgantown after we beat Pitt. Well, the difference was these people were sober. This cannot be said for Morgantown well, ever. 

Anyway, the leaders of the posse eventually stopped to address their followers. Being white (and therefore a celebrity) they wanted to hear from one of us. The next thing I know, I am being propelled to the front of the crowd and pushed on top of a rickety shed to address "the fans". I gave a short (and eloquent, if I do say so myself) speech and then everyone cheered and clapped because, my God, and AMERICAN is in our midst! 

After another twenty minutes of rabble rousing, we broke off and headed for home- wondering if all that had, in fact, really happened. Though next time I join a frenzied mob, I'll be sure to jot down some notes first. 

An LA Times Story on the chaos that unfortunately took a violent turn. Mom, it's fine. We were far from this part of town. :) 

One Killed, Ten Injured in Cricket Celebrations