ONE of my rugby players came up to me on Saturday and said that he had seen me helping organize another sporting event on Friday night and wondered if I ever slept.
“What do you mean?” I asked, having got a decent night’s kip all last week.
“Well, you had a hockey meeting on Tuesday night after rugby practice, you had footy practice on Thursday, basketball last night, and rugby today.  That doesn’t include whatever your kids were doing.  And then there’s work.  Just wondered if you had time to sleep, that’s all.”
He did have something of a point.  I worked it out.  With all sports included (and not the kids as both are either injured/soft at the moment), I spent over 24 hours last week either organizing or running sports.
For the last three years I’ve been trying to step back from my various roles, but volunteering in sport brings to mind the line from the Eagles’ song Hotel California – “you can check out, but you can never leave”.
The rugby club I manage has me as team manager, president, player development, gear custodian, grant applicant, administrator, club manager, food buyer and a number of other jobs – which includes temporary cleaner at the moment.
Our new premier coach hit the team with a hiss and a roar this season, recruiting fringe representative players, former Super 14 players, and even a former Junior Warrior to make the team outstanding.  He left no stone unturned in his preparation and has done a great job.
On Thursday night, 10 weeks into the season, he said to me; “I can’t do this again next year.  It’s hard on my job, on my home life, my mental health, and I’m sick of all the hassle already.”
I couldn’t argue with him.  I know how he feels.  After carting gear to and from our game on Saturday, I hurriedly changed into some good clothes to handle the stomach-churning speeches.  I walked into the clubrooms and immediately was harassed, harangued, and door-stopped.
“There’s no gas for the heaters.” (Light the ****ing fire then).  “My son doesn’t know what position he is supposed to concentrate on.” (Do I look like the ****ing coach?)  “You haven’t replied to my email about the mailout.” (Sorry.)  “We had a problem in the under-12s today.” (Well, sort it out then and let me know).  “The dishwasher isn’t working.” (Wash them in the sink).  “We haven’t got any dishwashing liquid.” (Dairy. On corner.)  “Who’s got the float for the bar?” (Try the till.)  “Can you do the speeches at 6?  I have to go to a party.” (Yep, sure, I’ll re-arrange the whole thing just for you.)  “You forgot to mention so-and-so last week in the thank yous.”  (Sorry, I wasn’t aware the lazy bastard had actually done anything other than eat free pies.)  “Hey can we find some money for…?” (Sure, I’ll just pull it out of my backside.)
It’s little wonder people don’t want to help out.  There are no rewards other than being involved in a club you love.  Don’t get me wrong, the players are by and large a fantastic bunch.  But the constant grind of being the go-to guys for everything leaves us administrators worn out.
Win a championship, and your club is full to bursting afterwards.  But when it comes to organizing the before and the after, it’s the hardcore who have to do the job. 
It’s Volunteering Week from June 20 2010.  The key objective is Raising People, Not Money.  I wish them well, but I know which is easier.