Sportswriting takes on a twist when it brings you face-to-face with childhood heroes.
Bryan Williams was a very clear first among my sports hero equals. I'd talked to him briefly over the years, but this was a chance to meet and look back at his career, and particularly the part Ponsonby plays in his life.
"Your standards must have been a bit low," he said in typically self-deprecating style, on hearing his boyhood hero status. We agreed to disagree on that.
Bryan and Lesley Williams live next to Cox's Bay reserve where he is often spied putting out the ropes and corner flags or doing any of the other menial jobs essential in a sports club. Over the years many people - from those on the periphery to others such as Auckland coach Paul Feeney who also idolised Williams as a kid - have expressed their enhanced admiration on observing the way a test star like Williams continues to roll up the sleeves for his club.
Williams says: "I call this a labour of love. This is where my roots have been. I've been part of this club for 54 years and it is a passion. I don't mind doing those things ... someone did them for me when I was playing. I've never been too proud to carry out manual tasks.
"I understand the amateur ethos, the volunteer nature of what makes amateur clubs tick. I like to be part of a successful, happy organisation where people are enjoying it, and winning, of course."
Ponsonby won 10 of 11 Gallaher Shields under Williams' rugby directorship from 2001 to 2011. The shield's status has slipped from its glory days, but Williams' competitive fire hasn't. After poor performances, coaches were greeted with Williams' curling forefinger dragging them to a clubroom corner.
Director of rugby means fulltime work for part-time pay. Tasks include recruiting top young players, but Williams makes it clear to young players there will be no money involved. He believes, unfashionably, that a strong club with "values" can still play an important part in building top class careers, even if future stars have limited time with their clubs.
Williams says: "I think it surprises a few parents that their first XV stars won't get any money here. Put your hand up, not out. Learning those types of values is still essential."
There's an irony here. In the 'shamateur' days of under-the-table payments to beat amateur rules, Ponsonby collected a few thousand dollars for Williams when he first made the All Blacks in 1970. Those payments dried up over time and while it was tough supporting his family and running a law practice alongside an international career, money was never a prime object. Winning was, though.
Three years of relative Gallaher Shield failure has encouraged Williams to stand down. He suspects a new voice is needed, that he might have lost his mojo. And there's even a sense that he now feels like a man from another time.
It's time for family and friends, including visiting sons Gavin and Paul, Samoan representatives who play and live in France.
Williams has small projects in mind at Ponsonby such as sorting out the memorabilia, but his life is moving on. This might even be regarded as a history moment - a rare, visible strand to a very different Auckland rugby past being cut.
Williams won't miss locking up the gates on cold winter nights. But he will miss showing the Ponsonby prospects around the place, luring them with the history of a club he has graced for so long.