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. A morning corralling 11-year-olds on the Astroturf is the last thing I need. 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. The yellow box on my timetable jumps out from my laptop screen the second I open it. 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. While shows like Freddie Flintoff’s Field of Dreams and books like Crickonomics bring awareness of the problem into the mainstream, the perspectives of the children it affects are often overlooked. Cricketers, commentators, coaches and fans have bewailed the predominance of privately educated players at the game’s top levels. I n recent years, the divide between cricket at state schools and private schools has become increasingly apparent.
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