A referee sent to test my purported sporting values

Yadder yadder.

As well as refereeing most weekends, I coach two teams. The boys' U16 team that has the dubious privilege of my tactical knowledge receives a lecture before every game about respecting the opponent, respecting their fellow player and, above all, respecting the referee. "Please, don't even talk to him. Accept their decisions. Let our captain politely address any concerns."

Often I know the referees and we'll have a chat before kick-off. I tell them not to hold back on yellow cards for dissent from my players, because I'm trying to teach them basic sporting values. If the ref has a good game, I'll tell them so. If they don't, I shake their hand and thank them for turning out. Even those who seem to me like poor officials are rarely to blame for the result. In fact the worst ref we'd had all season was in charge for two of the games we've actually managed to win.

Then this past weekend, I faced a new trial as a coach. A severe test of everything that I preach on this blog about decency, self-control and fair play. Because the only thing I can say about the referee consists of the following four words: Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Sorry's not always the hardest word

Game 15, 2018-19

  

It's rarely a good thing when a player you sent off the field three minutes before the end of the match walks towards you at the final whistle. In this case, the number 8 of the home team. It's a U19 game, so it was a five-minute time penalty that had followed an earlier yellow card.

A different kind of card

What had happened? In the 83rd minute of a most unfriendly and foul-ridden 'friendly' game, he had come in late on an opponent and left him on the floor, with no apology. He moaned about the yellow card for the foul, and I asked him kindly to keep it shut. Four minutes later he shoved over a different opponent, and complained again when I blew the whistle. This time I invited him to take a break on the touchline. He walked off without further protest.

So what does he want with me at the final whistle?

What's the point of re-taking an illegal goal kick?

Game 14, 2018-19

There's one football Law that I dislike in particular. A given team is taking a goal kick, and the goalkeeper, say, plays it short to a defender on the edge of the area. There is no attacking player anywhere near the defender - that is, the opposing team are not part of the current craze for pressing, or counter-pressing, or whatever the 1001 Apostles of Klopp are calling it this week. 

The defender receives the ball just inside the penalty area, or on the line of the penalty area. The law says that you have to blow the whistle and make them take it again. The same if it's a free-kick taken from within the penalty area. So you're faced with the following choices:

1. You blow and insist on the re-take. Everyone sighs, some might utter an epithet. Bloody hell, ref, does it matter? Such a trivial stoppage for, really, nothing. The Germans have a great word for it - kleinlich, which covers petty, fussy, pedantic and nit-picking all in one. Sometimes Bundesliga refs will be marked down in kicker magazine for being kleinlich, and to me there's no greater criticism. I think I'd rather be called useless, inept, blind and corrupt.

The Mouthy Pensioner, 'Your Mother' insults, and "It's still 0-0!"

Game 13, 2018-19

There were some regular features in last night's game that anyone who plays or refs in local leagues will instantly recognise. Let's take it from the top:

A coach, yesterday.

* Pre-match - the coach who hasn't got his player passes ready. It's like listening to a scruffy schoolboy explain why he hasn't done his homework. "They're in my car," he says. Well, could he go and fetch them, please? "I'm parked way over on the other side of the ground! There are only ten minutes to kick-off - can't I give them to you at half-time?" No, I want them now, otherwise we don't start the game. "But I'm an old man!" Then send a young substitute with your car key and I'm sure we'll have them in no time. Eventually I get them, and they've not even been chewed by the dog.

* 'Your mother' insults. It's been a while since I've had one of these staples of the amateur game. The away team's number 8 is chasing down the home team's right-back, who successfully shepherds the ball out of play for a goal-kick. Out of nowhere, the number 8 aggressively squares up to him and I go over to separate the two. "He insulted my mother!" whines the number 8...