Spot On

I’ll be damned if I didn’t see several cricket games going in Washington Park a few Sundays ago.

Talk about jaw on the floor.

Snappily dressed people of color---at first glance I thought everybody was black---in crisp white uniforms will grab your attention. I later discovered that the urban cricket players were mostly expatriates from Her Majesty’s Commonwealth; mainly Indians, Pakistanis, West Indians and Africans.

I couldn’t even begin to make this one up.

Cricket on the south side of Chicago? Next thing you know the Jenkins’ Boys will be mixing up Gin and Tonics between games.

As if that weren’t enough, I found that the croquet and lawn bowling peeps have their own little set---complete with a clubhouse mind you---in the shadow of the Museum of Science and Industry.

Between the bird watchers in the Osaka gardens and the Anglo sports enthusiasts, the hood is looking less and less ghetto fabulous the longer I live here.

Perhaps that's it---Woodlawn is uping the ante for ghetto fabulousness.

Jesus, I feel like I’m in the blacksploitation version of a Merchant-Ivory film.