I started photographing the game of cricket in New York City as a kind of exercise in the exotic. The game was utterly foreign, yet widely played in the outer boroughs by mostly Pakistanis, Indians and West Indians; it was fascinating to watch and because it took so long to play a game, and everybody dressed so nicely, I thought it made a perfect camera subject.

I soon fell in with Australian and British expats whose ideas of nightly entertainment were nearly my own, only more so. Rather than let me come out and watch a few of their “friendly” matches, they insisted I play. So at an age when most men would rather whack small balls down fairways than swing at larger ones, nearly as hard, bounced at them with real force, I did my best to learn to play.

The photos here are mages selected for a proposed book, an unfinished work-in-progress that, try as I did, never got the necessary sponsorship for completion. I wanted to take pictures in India and South Africa, regions well beyond my resources to cover, for something like a world-wide survey. One of the last people I showed the portfolio to, the photo editor of L’Uomo Vogue in Milan, told me he liked the work, but couldn’t use any of it. “You know, I have to sell clothes” he said.

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