After 13 years steering the good ship Oakley Cricket Club, I’ve decided that this season will be my last as Chairman. It’s not a decision I’ve taken lightly, but it is one I’ve reached with peace, perspective—and, inevitably, a hint of sentimental wobbling of the bottom lip.

So why do we do it? Why do otherwise sane people give up their evenings and weekends to run grassroots clubs, often armed only with wit and an ability to cajole? Is it altruism? A love of the game? Or—let’s be honest—a dash of narcissism dressed up as community spirit?

Because it is quite nice being the person who quietly makes things happen. There’s a satisfying hum to being useful. And when that usefulness creates joy, friendship, and a shared sense of something greater? Well, that’s a buzz recruiting electricians or watching Yellowstone just can’t compete with.

In my case, being useful has worn many hats: Colts coach, Sunday captain, occasional painter, fundraiser, agony uncle, reporter and, on occasion, the person who writes to a rival chairman to explain that it’s his team who are a bunch of cunts, not mine.

I’ve given countless hours, but the club has given me far more: laughs, friendships, mild anxiety, and the quiet satisfaction of seeing a little village club punch above its weight. It’s even where I met my partner, Jennifer—in what is largely recognised as the last ever relationship not to be formed on the internet.

Knowing When Enough Is Enough

But here’s the thing: at some point, as a volunteer, you wake up and realise you might not have the same fuel in the tank. And if you’re lucky, you notice that before someone kindly taps you on the shoulder and offers to “help lighten your load”—which we all know is code for please step aside before you combust in the committee meeting.

When there’s a fall-out at a cricket club, it goes viral in a matter of hours. Everyone loves a cricket club descending into more chaos than their own. Including me.

I hate to say it, but there’s a strange, slightly comic ego-trip that comes with thinking: What if it all falls apart without me? What if the covers are never put away properly again? What if the membership dwindles without my brilliant leadership? What if the electronic scoreboard ends up on eBay?

But of course, the truth is both reassuring and a little humbling: no one is irreplaceable. Not even me. Especially not me. I don’t want to be the equivalent of an Argos storeman who thinks the whole place would collapse without his dedication to seeking out iPad pens while the queue at the till snakes out the door.

Getting tired as a Chairman feels like being a once-great football manager: you can still see the tactics, but you can’t quite get the players to listen. You know the right thing to say, but it doesn’t come out with the same fire it once did. The end-of-season speeches get written an hour before, not weeks in advance.

I still care—deeply—but I also know the spark doesn’t come as easily. And I’ve always said: if I ever start to become a parody of myself, someone should gently tell me. Luckily, no one needed to. I saw it first.

The Right People, the Right Time

So rather than cling on for “one last project,” I did something uncharacteristically sensible: I looked for good people. The right people. The kind of people who are as respected as they are liked—which, as anyone who’s chaired a cricket club will know, is the volunteering equivalent of a superpower.

These are people already embedded in the club’s soul. People with ideas, energy, and—crucially—the patience to deal with all the WhatsApp groups.

Yes, it all needs confirming at the AGM, but if that goes wrong, I’ll know I’ve misjudged the mood as badly as I misjudged my first night on my ECB coaching course—when I turned up in full polyester Slazenger whites, purchased with loose change from Sports Direct. I’m confident it won’t. I’m certain I’ve read the room. If not, well… I’ve fucked it right up.

When I told the players and committee, there were no desperate calls for one more year, no sobbing in the car park. Just warm nods, kind words—in fact, some eye-watering words—and, most reassuring of all, an understanding that this is the right time.

Leave when the wheels are turning smoothly, not when they’re falling off in the layby and the AA membership hasn’t been renewed.

A Club to Be Proud Of

Of course I’ll miss it. I’ve been here through promotions and relegations, cup finals and collapses, moments of sporting triumph, episodes of near-handbags in the car park, and spicy encounters with opposition when a player’s love for the club ends in bats being thrown (sometimes mine) and the clubhouse turning into the Mary Celeste.

I’ve loved this club more than my football team—Reading FC. Oakley Cricket Club are my team, and always will be. It’s where my son first picked up a ball in 2006 and where he still plays his cricket now, with lifelong friends he would have never met otherwise. It’s where my other non-playing son has met friends and enjoyed social time.

I leave behind a club in rude health: cracking facilities, a youth section brimming with promise, and a senior setup that—while struggling this season—will come back stronger as an exciting young crop develops and steps up.

I’ve played my part. Now it’s time for someone else to write the next bit. And what a brilliant bit it could be. New ideas, new projects, emerging players—and that unmistakable feeling when the first cut grass of spring hits your nose.

A Perfect Ending

I’m so happy I’m not being dragged out by the ankles, muttering about how it was so much better “back in my day.” I’m walking out, head held high, with the scoreboard still lit, the bar still open, and a golden future ahead at the place where I’ve had some of the funniest, saddest, proudest, angriest and adrenaline-filled times—often on the same field as my eldest son and some forever friends.

And that, in my book, is a pretty perfect ending.

I cannot wait to see what comes next.