T hey are not appreciated as they should be and as I edge towards the end of my glorious (ahem!) football career I want to raise my hat to the special breed of people who despite being ridiculed and tormented still organise the games.

These haggard heroes take ownership when no-one else wants to – and get ten of us on the pitch on time.

One behalf of all of us I want to thank the Mehdis, Grahams and the Riafats of the world who spend days texting, cajoling, booking and transporting everyone to the venues.

For those who believe it’s an easy task let me run through last week: We were supposed to meet at 10.30am.

Two people arrived late and a third had overslept.

One car was dispatched to pick him up – where his father refused to wake him (quite cute in a way but annoying).

With one man short we arrived at the pitch and found the car park gate closed.

The caretaker was duly summoned and arrived ten minutes later.

It’s wise to collect the money BEFORE the game starts and right on cue two had ‘forgotten’ their contributions.

The only thing we were short of was a nose bleed!

Then when the teams were picked – an unknown overweight bloke conceding five quick goals and the teams had to be re-jigged.

All this time – who was being hen pecked, called every name under the sun?

The organiser.

We should pay tribute to these guys who have to put up with our archaic lives, our lack of communication and commitment and who after all the abuse send a text out the following Wednesday.

“Footy at 10.30pm. Let me know ASAP”.