On the wild moods of Galle

Our final Wednesday of the month has passed, though we decided against making the weekly show for it given that Adam had just arrived off a plane exhausted and that Geoff and Bharat had spent two days trying to set up the commentary position in Galle.

If you haven't visited Sri Lanka, let's give you some background. One, of course there is the major economic crisis that we've talked about in recent weeks, with very little fuel available and no supplies imminent on a sunny island whose governments have never seen fit to invest in solar power. Power blackouts, miles-long petrol queues, a shortage of cooking gas, re-routed flights, a wiped-out tourism industry, and constant street protests are all part of daily life. At the same time, people are still coming to the cricket, and everyone we've met has been friendly and happy to see us. 

Down in Galle, a couple of hours by train down the coast from Colombo, it is damn hot. Temperature we're used to, but this is joined by an all-encompassing humidity, a latent drench that stands ready to soak you as soon as you move. Sweat covers the whole surface area of your skin. You drip into meals, onto paperwork, the bench in front of you. You down litre upon litre of water and never once need to look for a bathroom. When the sea breeze swirls across the town, it brings some relief, but any place where the air stands still will immediately become a steam bath. 

Rigging a commentary spot from scratch is always a challenge. It is especially so when the home cricket board tells you that they have allocated all of the indoor boxes and that your position is on the roof. You walk up there to find... nothing. An expanse of grimy tile next to the camera gantry. Deep breath. Proceed. 

Here are some of the things you need. First, shade. You are promised a marquee, which after a day or two arrives. A roof, no sides, up in the strong winds off the ocean that will harangue the microphones. You need furniture: tables, chairs, storage, bins, coolers for water. You first need electricity, which has to be wired in. Second, internet, a hundred metres of LAN cable run up the outside of the building from the servers, carrying the broadcast audio to the world. Third, the sound effects line from the stump microphones. Fourth, the dirty feed from the camera truck, so you can see replays and close-ups without watching the television broadcast that lags 30 seconds behind and spends most of the day on ads. Fifth, a television to watch this on. Sixth, an array of adaptors and leads and powerboards to make all of the disparate pieces of equipment talk to each other.

Each of these things requires some sort of mixture of cajoling, bargaining, downright pleading, anger, denial, and acceptance. You must go with the flow of dozens of people who all want different things and will all go differently about getting them. Different approvals must be sought from different people who work for one company or another in some distant office in Bangalore or Doha or Dubai. You must make friends with Sumit the cable guy, Vihari the effects guy, Sampat the organiser, and form a kinship with them to use guerilla tactics and win slowly with them from the inside. Nothing works the first time. Most things don't work the second or the third. You take trips down to local electrical shops to fill in the gaps. 

And gradually, piece by piece, over days, it comes together. The night before the Test starts, you stand looking at an almost entire broadcast setup. A few missing pieces are promised by the morning. Then a torrential storm of sideways rain sweeps in, and you shove all the equipment into its protective case and run downstairs moments before the entire broadcast gets turned into electrical soup.

Standing in an inch of water and live power cables a few minutes later when the rain has stopped, the authorities agree that they will need to put side panels on your marquee.

And look, it worked beautifully for day one. The panels cut down the wind noise. The breeze kept us cool, the view was perfect. 

But you know. Then the massive storm arrived on day two and destroyed the entire thing.

Galle cricket ground sits on a tongue of land poking into the ocean. From the commentary spot, you can see the breakers crashing onto the shore on two sides of the ground. The third side is the mighty walls of the fort. This position by the sea means that rain arrives in units of airborne swimming pools, hitting the town like a hard slap, and the wind on its day can be cyclonic.

By now it is quarter past 11 local time. One of the temporary shade stands has been torn down completely. The windows of a hospitality structure have been smashed. The ground is still covered. The wind is buffeting the glass in the media centre. Our commentary position has been abandoned, the large tent nearly lifting several people off the roof as they tried to pull it down. And we have been given a very nice commentary space in the President's Box. Unlike Aravinda de Silva yesterday, we won't turn it down. 

Geoff and Jeremy Coney make friends with Prasanna while hiding from the rain on the way to the ground.

Just before it all came down. Click for video.

Story Time 94 – The many crimes of Fidel Fernando

To continue with our Sri Lankan flavour, last weekend saw a new co-host for Story Time recorded in Colombo, with Andrew Fidel Fernando taking the role for the first time in a confessional mood. Also, the mathematics of Nelson, the region of the Muruwari, an irrational broadside at Ian Bell, an Australian Test player we've never heard of, and a great name - literally, not figuratively - from New Zealand.

Your Nerd Pledge numbers this week:
111.10 - Henry Bainton
9.65 - Eranda Jayawickreme
15.79 - Riley Campbell
2.35 - Andrew Peaple
3.31 - David Smith
4.23 - Dave McRobbie
3.38 - Not That Tim Minchin & Jake Schmidt

Audio file is here.