The people football puts in your life

Football has brought an extraordinary range of people into my life.

Some have stayed for decades.
Some passed through briefly.
Some challenged me.
Some supported me quietly.
Some never agreed with me at all.

And that, I have come to realise, is exactly what community football does.

Football is a game. It is fun and it is meant to be enjoyed.

For me, football has always been lived on the sidelines, on winter mornings, behind fences, and in places that slowly become part of your life.

Football is about people first

It’s easy to talk about football as competitions, pathways, structures and results. But anyone who has spent real time in the game knows that football is, first and foremost, about people.

People who give their time.
People who show up week after week.
People who care deeply about their children, their teams and their clubs.

It is emotional. It is personal. And because of that, it brings out the very best, and sometimes the very hardest, parts of people.

The supporters you don’t always see

Some of the most meaningful support I have received over the years has been quiet.

A message sent privately.
A conversation on the sidelines.
A nod of understanding after a difficult decision.

Not everyone wants to be visible. Not everyone feels comfortable speaking publicly. But that does not mean they are not there, watching, caring, and appreciating what is being built.

Those moments matter more than people realise.

Learning to live with disagreement

I have also learned that leadership does not come with universal approval.

In football, decisions are rarely simple, and they are never made in a vacuum. People see situations through their own experiences, fears and hopes for their children. That is human.

Not everyone will like you.
Not everyone will agree with you.
Not everyone will understand decisions made under pressure.

That does not mean those decisions were wrong, and it does not cancel out the good that exists alongside the criticism.

Learning to sit with that has been one of football’s greatest lessons for me.

Speaking while we are still here

I have always found funerals a strange process.

They are not really for the dead. They are for those left behind. A place where people gather to say kind things when the person they are speaking about is no longer there to hear them.

I have often wondered why we wait. Why we save gratitude, honesty and reflection for the end, rather than speaking more openly while people are still here.

I was born in New Zealand, and one of my strongest childhood memories is of tangi. Growing up around Doubtless Bay, tangihanga was not something rushed or contained. It took time. People stayed. They talked. They cried. They sat in silence.

What stayed with me was that people spoke directly to the person who had died, as if they were still present. Stories were shared honestly. Gratitude was spoken plainly. There was space for emotion, humour, regret and love, without polish or performance.

That memory has stayed with me.

It has shaped how I think about community, and about the importance of speaking while people are still here, not just when something ends.

Gratitude, often expressed late

As I step away from the Presidency of South Hobart Football Club after sixteen years, I have found myself reflecting on the people, moments and lessons that have shaped that time.

One of the unexpected things about stepping aside from a role is the messages that arrive afterwards.

Words of thanks.
Reflections shared.
Thoughts people perhaps did not know how, or when, to express earlier.

I am grateful for those words. But I am even more grateful for the everyday conversations, the quiet support, and the relationships built along the way, when they mattered most.

Service, not sacrifice

Sometimes people would ask me why I did so much for the club. They would say, couldn’t someone else step up, or surely there were other things I would rather be doing. The truth is, doing something you love, for a cause you care deeply about, does not feel like sacrifice. It feels valuable.

If my path had not crossed with football, and with South Hobart, I would not have met Ken. Our lives intersected through service to the game and to the club, and from that came a family, friendships, and a shared life shaped by community sport. That alone makes every hour worthwhile.

Serving a cause bigger than myself, in this case my club, has been one of the most valuable experiences of my life. It has given me purpose, perspective and connection, and I would not trade that time or those years for anything.

Looking back

A long time from now, when I am older than I am today, I hope to look back on this day and remember the children who played for my club, their parents, and all the people along the way who loved football for what it truly is, a game that creates community.