a missed opportunity

This weekend my knowledge of New Zealand's obscure sports (obscure to me) was vastly broadened.
Friday, I somehow got into a conversation about cricket and it's nuances, and asked questions until the Kiwi I was talking to probably would have rather talked about something else. But (I think) at least I know what some of the numbers up on the screen during cricket telecasts mean, and I'm very close to figuring out what an "over" is. I just haven't figured out why they have them.
(Fun fact - apparently, a cricket game is only supposed to use one ball. If a ball is lost, by a long hit or otherwise, the umpire goes to a batch of pre-worn balls, to find one in the same condition as the lost ball).
(Fun fact No. 2 - I had this conversation in the wee hours of the morning after consuming some beer. Therefore, the entire first fun fact may be wildly inaccurate).

A Saturday barbecue at a friend-of-a-friend's house (with a crowd made up of friends-of-a-friend-of-a-friend) ended in an invitation for me to play netball on Sunday. Even though I don't own the proper attire I decided to go. Problem was, when Sunday rolled around, all I knew was I was supposed to be meeting people at the Newtown Sports Centre at 12:45 p.m., and I vaguely remembered some directions that were, at best, vague to begin with.
(Netball, by the way, is essentially the same "women's basketball" my grandmother played in high school. Players can't move past half-court and no one can move with the ball. It ends up with a lot of passing, and my best comparison is playing Ultimate Frisbee with a basketball, and shooting at a backboard-less goal).
A quick Internet check revealed that there is no Newtown Sports Centre. Or at least that there are a number of places which could broadly be said to be called by that name. Armed with the shaky memory of the shaky directions, Kirsten and I arrived at a decision on where to go.
Of course, we were taking a bus, and we were running late. When we arrived at our best guess of location at about 12:40 p.m., it became obvious we'd guessed wrong. After asking directions and consulting a borrowed street index, we realized the directions (go to the end of Riddiford Street) were meant to start from the other direction. Therefore, we were at the wrong end of the street.
The day was beautiful, but there was no netball. There was a slightly frustrating walk across town, complete with several other wrong turns and is-this-the-street-I-don't-know-I-don't either exchanges. The only thing keeping tempers under control was the sun, out for the first time in weeks.
We arrived at the sports centre (officially named Wellington Indoor Sports) exactly at the moment the netball game ended. However, we did spend the rest of the afternoon at another barbecue in the sun, with the netball players. Not a complete waste; but one of these days, I'll get some first-hand experience with these obscure New Zealand sports.