While we increasingly notice those who are obsessed with shouting to be seen, there exists the rare man who manages to command a room by simply entering it—and, more miraculously, by saying very little once he’s there. David Grice is such a man. A Grade A referee & judge of rare competence, a former army man (which explains both the posture and the patience), and quite possibly the last person in Britain not hopelessly addicted to WhatsApp.

Let’s start with the facts: Grice is one of the most respected officials in the East Midlands amateur boxing scene, known for being maddeningly unflappable, surgically fair, and almost mythical in his quiet authority. He possesses what one might call presence—not the blustering kind worn by lesser men like a cheap cologne, but the real thing. That rare blend of humility and competence that you only tend to find in ex-military types or Jedi Knights.

As regional mentor young referees and judges—freshly minted and buzzing with nervous energy—often orbit around him like uncertain planets around a very steady star. They ask him questions. He answers them calmly, directly, and usually without raising his voice above that of a mildly disapproving librarian. His feedback is honest, occasionally brutal, but always useful. No platitudes. No emojis. No 14-paragraph essays explaining what an 8 count is. Just the truth, delivered without theatre.

And then, of course, there’s his near-total absence from WhatsApp group chats—a fact which, in the modern era, gives him the aura of an oracle living in a cave. While others are furiously posting GIFs, voice notes, and pseudo-wisdom into the digital ether, Grice maintains a dignified silence that borders on monastic. His decision to remain semi-detached from the group chat circus has only added to his mythos. Some suspect he reads the messages and chooses not to reply. Others believe he’s never opened the app at all. No one truly knows—and that’s the point.

He is, crucially, a man who gives the sport what it so often lacks: clarity. In an amateur boxing ring, where chaos and ego often outpace composure and principle, Grice acts as a still centre. His judgment is impeccable, his eyes eagle-sharp, and his tolerance for nonsense impressively low.

Yet for all this, he’s not austere. Quite the opposite—he’s warm, quick to laugh, and, if you’re lucky enough to catch him after a long day officiating, wonderfully dry in his wit. He can tell you exactly where you went wrong in your last refereeing performance while also managing to make you laugh at yourself and thank him for the privilege.

David Grice doesn’t self-promote. He doesn’t boast. He doesn’t need to. He has become, in effect, the standard against which other officials quietly measure themselves. And while lesser men are elbowing their way into the spotlight or crafting carefully curated social media brands, Grice is too busy actually doing the job—and doing it better than most.

So here’s to him: the quiet authority, the WhatsApp refusenik, the army man turned boxing sage. In a sport filled with noise, David Grice remains the signal.