There was a large oval field with a bit in the middle shaped like a rectangle. At one end of the rectangle stood three tall sticks with a short stick laid across them. In front of the sticks, as if protecting them, stood a man wearing leg guards and holding the type of paddle one might use to punish a large and unruly child. Another man in a V-neck sweater ran at the man with the paddle and threw something at him. It looked rather like a tennis ball.

Isabelle, an American watching her first cricket match, was quite frankly lost. Liam, watching with her, proved no help at all. Nursing one of his legendary hangovers, he could summon little more than perfunctory grunts in response to her queries. A head nod, needless to say, was out of the question.

Isabelle studied the field intently, trying to discern any meaningful pattern in the goings on. None was forthcoming. So she changed course and focused instead on something she could easily (and enjoyably) grasp: Andrew.

A solid all-around player on the English Imperial Cricket Conference national team, Andrew Carrington moved with a fluidity and precision that was to Isabelle's appreciative eye nothing less than balletic. In short, she had no idea why he was doing the things he was doing out there, but she liked the way he did them.

She also enjoyed the way his crisp white cricket togs contrasted brilliantly with the bright green of the field.

Andrew acquitted himself nicely throughout the three days ("Three days!," thought Isabelle) of the cricket test, the historic first match-up between England and the West Indian national team. England won in the end by an innings and 58 runs.

But that's not what Isabelle remembered. Lingering in her mind was the image of Andrew in that sharp white uniform ... and the pleasing way he moved.