Long-time undercover sports writer and musician Jeremy Redmore found himself in the Netherlands right when its cricket team was touring New Zealand. Photo / Jeremy Redmore/Screentime NZ
In April last year, Kiwi musician Jeremy Redmore embarked on a search for cricket fans in Amsterdam, while on the other side of the world, as the Netherlands cricket team toured New Zealand. Tonight the two teams meet again in India at the Cricket World Cup.
It's a cold spring night in Amsterdam, two hours before the Netherlands cricket team take to Bay Oval for one of their most high-profile matches in a decade; steam clouds from my mouth as I weave my way with a determined glare through its cobbled streets towards a sports bar where, I hope, I can discover what a true Dutch cricket fan looks like.
The local I eventually hunt down is called Satellite Sportscafé, which - despite the absence of Marc Ellis, Eva the Bulgarian and That Guy - appears a likely candidate to host the Dutch fanatics. Its walls are lined with televisions, Heineken is on tap, Max Verstappen's signed Pirelli cap is crushed into a glass frame which hangs above the bar, Johan Cruyff is everywhere.
I make my way to the bar, order a pint and scan what this Monday evening's patronage looks like. Three US college students on spring break sit near me on stools (I know this within seconds of hearing their booming chatter), a middle-aged man pokes at cubes of cheese with a toothpick between slurps of his ale, a couple are busy eating late-night all-you-can-eat ribs, the worn-out bar manager utters some frustrated Spanish into her phone and, finally, a table of orange-clad nerds in their mid-twenties chatter excitedly around one of those giant beer-towers with its own tap.
I start up a conversation with the college students, who are obviously only there for the cheap drinks, but I introduce myself as a sports journalist and ask them what they know about cricket, just for kicks.
"It's a long game right? I've heard it can get up to two or three days?" comes a sweetly innocent reply from one of the Missouri men, who claims to have watched a fair bit of the sport because of a chance connection.
"My girlfriend's cousin is married to an Indian dude, so he's always watching."
Meanwhile, another of the group is shocked to have even been asked about cricket.
"That was literally the last sport I expected you to bring up, I gotta be honest, I would think of sumo wrestling before this. If you ask an American about cricket, they'll think it's a bug."
In Dutch, the word for that bug is krekel, so surely there's no chance of confusion amongst the locals on that front at least? I hope the solo cheese-glutton is more aware that some lucky Dutch bowlers get to be the last to lock horns with Ross Taylor.
However, despite the fact that most Dutch people can converse at least in broken English, my cheese-pounder friend can only express deep annoyance while I act out my best Kane Williamson cover drive, Neil Wagner lbw appeal and Tim Southee failed-review in a futile attempt to extract any kind of realisation from the man that cricket actually exists.
I move on to the rib couple, who I interrupt mid-riblet - their saucy hands spread out as if in a gesture of prayer - to ask if they're here to watch the cricket. They smile, look at each other and nod in unison before one of the women says confidently: "Yes, come sit."
I sigh in relief, pull up a chair and prepare to ask them who their favourite Dutch player is and how they plan to stay awake for a game that only begins at midnight.
Before I can get a word out, however, one of the pair has sourced a bib from out of nowhere and placed it over my head. The other pushes the steaming pile of ribs towards me and says: "You help eat."
I naively think that this is some kind of polite, Dutch custom and take a nibble before asking how many times they had come here to watch cricket. Again, I receive a confident "yes" in reply, followed by "you eat" and a meaty smile.
I'm not sure what kind of English they thought I was speaking, but it quickly became clear they did not understand me and I had instead become an unwitting party in a plot to bankrupt this bar through excessive rib consumption.
After munching a polite amount of ribs (Google Maps 3.8 star ribs), I managed to extricate myself from their scheme, quickly wash my hands and face in the bathroom and head back to the bar for a much-needed top-up and mission reset.
The Spanish bar manager pours me another Heineken and I ask if she plans to put the cricket on the TV this evening. Now, dear reader, please count to seven in your head. That was the length of the silence between my question and the even, matter-of-fact response: "If I ever put cricket on a television in here, it will be the end of the bar. Ice skating is better."
And there we have it, my dreams were dashed. The only sports bar that I could find open on a Monday night in Amsterdam, on the eve of a big night in Netherlands cricket history, was never going to even put the game on mute on one screen in the pokies room.
I took a long swig of my beer and trudged towards the orange-clad group, determined to be a gracious bearer of bad news. It's several moments before they notice me amidst their Euro version of the circle of death drinking game - the latest loser is sucking mouthfuls of beer from the tower's tap - and turn to face my apologetic pose.
I then repeat my discussion with the bar manager, explaining that I'm afraid the crescendo of their evening is not coming to pass. This time the response is not shock, annoyance, a dinner invite or ruthlessness - it's befuddlement and joy.
"Crickets? Who care about crickets? We are here to Amsterdam from Austria to drink Heineken, smoke and party for the 21st of Lena," a bespectacled, blonde guy says as I glance down at his orange t-shirt and the words "Amsterdam Party '22" printed on its front; and right before Lena takes my hand, seats me at their table and I ponder how to survive a round of 'Nine, nine, bust-a-rhyme' in Austrian.
I wake the next day with a sore head, an orange t-shirt three sizes too small and a series of questions burning in my mind. If such a sporting occasion cannot bring a Dutch cricket fan to a sports bar, then does such a thing exist at all?
I swipe my alarm into silence and recall that I have booked a coffee with two men who may provide some answers: Taku Kusano and Richard Wolfe.
Kusano and Wolfe are two of the founders of the Amsterdam Cricket Academy - an organisation that exists to grow the sport and its fans - and meet me at their home base, the Amsterdam Cricket Club.
It's a quaint building, its off-white weatherboard cladding with green trim make it remarkably similar to many found across Aotearoa. The clubroom consists of a regulation bar with tables, chairs and stools scattered beyond; its walls are covered in memorabilia, most of it innocuous outside of the framed jerseys of South African internationals Faf du Plessis and Heino Kuhn.
Their existence gave a hint at what I was about to discover about cricket in the Netherlands from Kusano and Wolfe.
"Cricket in the Netherlands has been around for over a hundred years and even competes to being one of the oldest sports in the Netherlands. But I guess it's quite a small, niche market now - not many people know about cricket in general," Kusano says, affirming my observations from the previous night.
"You only see it from your parents or if you're coming from an Indian background, an expat background, and you've moved to Amsterdam. There's a huge Asian population playing cricket here in the Netherlands," he adds.
Asian, as well as African, British, Australasian - cricket players from around the world commonly converge within the snug confines of the Netherlands to keep the sport alive amidst a local population that barely knows it exists.
"Honestly, if you go into anywhere and you tell them that you play cricket, people will look at you stunned, and they think it's croquet," Wolfe says while explaining the challenge their organisation has just to get the sport into schools.
Zimbabwe-born Kusano moved to Amsterdam to lead the coaching program at the ACC after over a year working in India at an academy founded by VVS Laxman; where each day could see him coach up to 300 cricket-mad youngsters.
"It was completely wild - there was just so much talent and so much love for the game and so much commitment to training," he fondly recalls, before fumbling over his words when asked to compare it to the Netherlands.
"I've gone from cricket as a religion to it not being, not really being... I don't even know what to describe it as."
What I get from Kusano and Wolfe is that not only is cricket a largely unknown, expat sport in the Netherlands, Dutch people barely watch sport at all, outside of a prescribed window. Kusano and Wolfe themselves even admit to not watching the full game overnight, instead opting for highlights in the morning; and to be fair, the game wasn't broadcast on any terrestrial or satellite stations locally.
"For a Dutch person to go watch sports on a Wednesday is weird. We watch sports on a Sunday afternoon and otherwise, we're just working," Wolfe says.
It's plain to see that the job of growing cricket in this country, whilst admirable, is monumental; and securing an away series against the Black Caps is not going to be its catalyst for growth. Indeed, it feels like the equivalent quest in New Zealand would be to try to grow something like racquetball to be as popular as rugby league.
However, one must hold hope for the sport, make plans and dream big, like Kusano.
"Dutch people are really patriotic, so I think if the game was televised, if there was more light shone on the Dutch cricket team itself, there would be more of an attraction to the sport.
"When you see the World Cup, the women's World Cup, or any World Cup, the streets are orange, everything is orange in the Netherlands. So I always have this feeling inside that one day, once the game gets bigger, the Dutch people are just going to fall in love with cricket."
One suggestion I have to help hurry that dream along a little bit is to get the Royal Dutch Cricket Association to immediately work on its branding. I asked Kusano and Wolfe what the national side's nickname was and was met with silence and confusion, before several messages were sent out to friends to find the answer.
"We'll get back to you," Wolfe says before suggesting we run a poll in New Zealand to make one up if the answer isn't found. As I walk away from the interview, still at much of a loss - after all my adventures - as to why the Black Caps are playing the Netherlands at all, I silently wonder if 'Dutchy McDutchteam' would win the public over...
Jeremy Redmore is an award-winning New Zealand musician and author, best known as the chief songwriter and lead singer of Midnight Youth. He’s also been a closet sports journalist and editor for almost 20 years.
The Black Caps will play just three red-ball matches this summer.