A Letter Home: MVP Updates the Yanks

This is not the match report, but MVP’s email to his friends back in the land of hot dogs and apple pie.

Sunday – July 5th

I was playing cricket with a bunch of citizens of the Commonwealth (Shanghai has a large expat community of course, and many are avid cricketers). I have played before for The Bashers and was doing so again today. We were in the field first, much like the Sox in the top of the first at Fenway. Similarly, I was playing a position not unlike Jacoby Ellsbury, nor performing unlike him either – “catch of the year” they called it.

Across the field, near our Esky, which is what the Aussies call a “cooler,” was a single Chinese man. About 30-40 years old. Balding. Pudgy. He could have very well been a Basher himself by that description and proximity to an Esky. He would however, go on to do something very un-Basher like.

After about an hour of standing in the sun catching everything that was hit my way with the grace of bald eagle in mid-flight copulation, I began to tire of the simplicity and longed for new excitement; the type of excitement found only in the sport of wiffleball, hard drugs, and dangerous women.

The Un-Basher apparently shared my boredom and sought to relieve himself by indulging in some risk-taking behavior – pilfering a MacBook and other western goodies. Though I did not see the crime as it took place it would be apparent that I did not need to. The Un-Basher choose a very stupid getaway route. Though he was able to sneak stealthily by the sunbathing Ollie, who was “the guy near the stuff” albeit with all entailing responsibilities dismissed, The Un-Basher would not be so lucky getting around His Royal Gravyness.

What was before a slightly pudgy Chinaman, now appeared more cube-like as he skirted the perimeter of the playing field with a MacBook under his shirt, heading toward an adjoining road. Something about him just seemed odd, and I, with little to occupy my attention on the field of play, gave him a good look over. We locked eyes, and though no telling move had yet belied The Un-Basher’s innocence, the chase was afoot.

“Hey,” I said to no response. “Hey!” I said again, this time lifting my shirt and indicating that he should do the same, and was met again with the same stolid expression as he continued to walk the perimeter toward the road. I lifted my shirt again and this time he gave me a universally known Chinese hand-gesture meaning, more or less, “No, don’t bother.” He was now about 30 yards from me, 20 yard to the next Basher, Inquisition, and another 20 to a picket fence and the street beyond.

I took my first step toward him and away from the pitch and the field of play. To this, he began to walk quickly, skipping, as though fighting his panic to run wildly and walk unassumingly to his exit. And at this skipping, I began to point and yell to Inquisition that this man needed to be inspected but was unable to convey that clearly.

The Un-Basher had no idea what I was yelling and was no longer looking at me but had his back turned. He began to jog and fumble around with his new laptop. Due to the adrenaline rush, the details of what happened next I cannot be quite sure. I released a primal war cry which was reported by other Bashers to be “STOP THAT FUCKING CUNT!”, which to me sounds entirely too English or Australian to come from my mouth. What I think I said, and what I think I heard was “Get that motherfucker! YAHHRR MOTHERFUCKERRR!!!”

The sprint was on. As The Un-Basher neared the picket fence, out came the laptop and off it spiraled into the bushes. Over the fence he went with the grace of a panicked rabbit. Inquisition and I were right behind him. “MOTHERFUCKER!!” This instance I can be sure of. I crossed two lanes of Shanghai traffic, and was chugging along “like the Terminator…not Schwarzenegger, the girl,” said Circus later. 50 yards on, the Un-Basher gave it up and just stopped. I ran up on him and told him not to move. He was non-compliant. I put him in the sleeper and brought him to the ground. I tucked his hand behind his back and waited for the cavalry…

The cops came and took him away. The laptop, which was broken previous to being stolen ironically, remains at the police station. The Un-Basher will probably get two or three years in a very bad place. I got the MVP award.

To reiterate: I ran that bitch down. You do not, do not, fuck with The Gravy and you do not want to get on the wrong side of a team of cricketers, all of whom, except Maiden, who countenanced a bribe, showed a great deal of restraint and western ethical values while we waited for the police and subdued The Un-Basher.

And that’s the story.