Teaching state school kids to love cricket is hard. I know. I’ve tried

I n recent years, the divide between cricket at state schools and private schools has become increasingly apparent. Cricketers, commentators, coaches and fans have bewailed the predominance of privately educated players at the game’s top levels. While shows like Freddie Flintoff’s Field of Dreamsand books like Crickonomicsbring awareness of the problem into the mainstream, the perspectives of the children it affects are often overlooked. As a teacher at a large West London state school and a member of a club nearby where most young players are privately educated, one Tuesday last year gave me a first-hand insight into the experiences of both.

The yellow box on my timetable jumps out from my laptop screen the second I open it. “COVER DUTY: YEAR 7 BOYS PE, 09:50-10:50”. I sag into my chair involuntarily. It is the second Tuesday of the summer term, my Year 13 form are beside themselves with anxiety about their A-levels, my GCSE English class are days away from their first exam and there is a stack of overdue marking on the desk next to me. A morning corralling 11-year-olds on the Astroturf is the last thing I need.

In a bid to improve the shining three-and-a-half minutes I have before the school day begins, I wade against the corridor tide of puffa jackets and Nike backpacks until I reach the cavernous PE lock-up. There, surrounded by broken badminton rackets, bags of mismatched bibs and a precarious pile of rusting javelins, stands Mr Edwards. This two-metre titan wheels round to fix me with the warm, gormless gaze of a man to whom athletic endeavour has always been second nature. “Ah! Will! Thanks so much for covering Year 7. Do you fancy doing some cricket with them?”

Do you fancy doing some cricket with them?

Altho