As co-host of the current World Cup, Sri Lankans are relishing their moment on the sport’s biggest stage. And no wonder. For them, cricket is much more than a game. After years of civil war, the tsunami and floods, it’s still the only thing holding their chaotic country together The wicket is taller than the batsman. The wicket is a Colombo Municipal Council garbage bin that used to be green, but is now decorated with amber-white crow droppings. The bin is filled with plastic bags overflowing with uneaten curry. In front of it stands an eight-year old in a T-shirt eight sizes too large for him. The bin frames him as a doorway would an adult. If he leaves a ball whizzing past his shoulder, he will be out. The bat is a plank that’s been sawn into shape. It would reach the boy’s chin if it were upright. Now it is held at an awkward angle, like a mamoty ploughing a paddyfield. My eyes do not go to the two ruffians in mosque hats crowding around the bat; nor to the pig-tailed girl behind the wicket, playing with the stray dog; nor to the tattered high rises, the ragged palm trees or the unkempt military checkpoint down the road. I