How cricket has lost its working class tradition; The game is better for having its working-class heroes
March 16, 2013 Leave a comment
Class and cricket
A lower-order collapse
Mar 12th 2013, 19:54 by B.R.
IT USED to be said that when England needed a fast bowler, all it had to do was whistle down a Nottinghamshire coal mine. Harold Larwood (pictured), the most fearsome bowler of his generation, was destined for a life in the pits before he was spotted while playing for his village team and offered a contract by Nottinghamshire in 1923. Nuncargate, the tiny mining village in which he was born, unearthed four further England cricketers, including Bill Voce, who shared the new ball with Larwood during the 1932-33 bodyline tour of Australia.
England’s great batsmen, too, often came from humble beginnings. Jack Hobbs, one of the country’s most revered players, grew up in poverty in Cambridge. Herbert Sutcliffe’s father was a pub landlord in Yorkshire. Indeed, from Fred Trueman, the first bowler to take 300 Test wickets, whose father spent time in the coal mines, to Ian Botham and Freddie Flintoff, working-class heroes have always bestrode the game.
This is not to say that English cricket has not been subject to class division. On the contrary, it is enshrined in its history. The first recorded games, in the 17th and 18th centuries, were often between teams playing under the patronage of the landed gentry, such as the Second Duke of Richmond, who employed local farm hands in fixtures convened for toffs to bet on. Until 1962, England’s first-class cricketers were formally divided into two categories, gentlemen and players—the nobs who could afford to play cricket as amateurs, versus working-class professionals who needed to be paid. At Lord’s, the home of the game, teammates entered the field through separate gates dependent on this distinction. There was even an annual fixture between the two which was, for a while, the highlight of the domestic season (and in which the professionals usually prevailed). It was not until 1952 that a non-gentleman, Len Hutton, captained the Test side.
Class is even enshrined in the game’s aesthetic. Some shots—particularly front foot drives—are to this day considered more elegant, to be purred over by purists. This may be because they are also associated with the upper classes. In “More Tales from a Long Room”, a satire of the game, Peter Tinniswood relates the story of an aristocrat who undertakes “a missionary crusade to the dourlands of the north to preach to the working classes his fervent belief that the cover drive, the late cut and the wristy leg glance were not the sole province of the upper classes.” In contrast, brutal, clubbing back foot shots, such as pulls and cuts, were considered professionals’ shots, born of those who cared little about art and much about efficacy.
Yet if there was once a class battle in cricket, it is on the verge of being conceded. Today, fewer working-class players reach the top of the English game than probably at any time in the sport’s history. If one takes a very broad measure of class—whether a player attended a state or private school—the majority of England’s Test cricketers since the second world war could be said to have come from relatively modest backgrounds (see chart). In 1993, nine of the starting XI who played in the first Test against Australia had been to a state school. By the 2009 series, only half did (one, Monty Panesar, attended both types). In the last Test match England played, against New Zealand last week, that proportion had gone down to a third. Read more of this post







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