Last December 8th, on a chilly, damp evening in South London, I experienced a sporting epiphany.
It wasn’t the moment I finally realised I was never destined for Olympic glory.
No. That had already come, many years earlier, when, in every sport I attempted, it quickly became clear that I would always be commended principally for trying my best.
Which does not get you on the plane to Tokyo.
But that December night, in the brief moment last year when football had crowds, I went to see Dulwich Hamlet FC defeat Eastbourne Borough.
And that night, I was put in charge of the toilet queue.
Yes. It was my responsibility to ensure the strict observance of the one-in, one-out rule in order to maintain appropriate social distancing.
I realise this makes it sound immodestly like I am something of a big cheese down at the Hamlet. After all it’s not given to everyone to take such a high-profile role in protecting public health.
However, shockingly, it turns out that Toilet Queue Supervision is actually one of the lowlier tasks involved in staging a football match.
What I actually learned from showing up that night, and through most of the last season of closed doors and empty stadia, is just how many people it takes to make sport happen, people who give time to the supporters trusts and committees of small clubs; who sell t-shirts, mend broken seats and perform tasks of punishing tedium with diligence and commitment, joining in off the pitch just so there can be a game on it.
Now, the Bible is full of famous names: your Davids, your Pauls, your Peters.
But lurking among them are their mates, their families, their neighbours; for every David, an Abinadab; for every Peter a Silas; for every Paul, a Priscilla. For every individual, a community.
And at Dulwich, and in a thousand thousand other places, that means a community prepared to send the emails and make the lists and give the briefings that mean somebody knows how to supervise the toilet queue.
This is not glory. It’s not even an outlying suburb of Glory.
But what I’m learning from the community at Dulwich Hamlet is that joining in – even to supervise the toilet queue – is, weirdly, at least a step in the direction of glory.
I took the picture at the top on the night of the Eastbourne game. It doesn’t fully convey the supervisorial challenge I faced at half time.