Playing along with Archie of the Arseholes

Game 19, 2018-19

Another Sunday, and another afternoon in the reserve leagues choking on dregs from the bottom of the sporting barrel. I look at the 'Fair Play' table. Out of 15 teams in the division, these two are 13th and 14th, with 15 red cards between them. When my phone goes two hours before kick-off, I'm hoping it's to tell me that the game's called off. Instead it's my niece asking me if we want to hang out and play board games. Sounds like fun. Sorry, I can't make it.

Saner games for Sunday afternoons.

I know the captain of the away team. He's a fellow ref and we get on, so I appeal to him to ask his team to keep it sane. I make the same appeal to both teams as we line up to enter the field. The same old speech about me only having two eyes and no assistants. About not screaming at me every time I whistle for offside. About how we should play in a fair and sporting fashion and actually try to enjoy the game. They all applaud. Sounds like fun. So happy I could make it.

My speech is quickly forgotten by the home team. It's the offside calls that get them going...

Anger, dissent and a mass brawl - another night out with the Reserves

Game 18, 2018-19

Nice smooth surface on a beautiful
spring night - we'll soon fuck that shit up.

Good news for pedlars of anger - supplies are still running high. There is absolutely no shortage.  In fact, anger levels seem to be going through the shattered glass skylight. As I wrote in my game report, "For the away team, I recommend an immediate and urgent course of fury control therapy." I'm absolutely sure they will take my advice.

A relegation battle in the League of ragged Reserves, football's abandoned grave-pit where you will find only the cluttered, dehydrated bones of the game's sporting values. Too old? Play in the Reserves. No discipline? We'll drop you down to the stiffs. No fucking use at all? We'll call you when we're short, on a Thursday night at the butt-end of another failed season... 

Like Groundhog Day without the punchlines

Game 17, 2018-19

It's been a year or two since I last encountered 'Danny', the city's loudest youth coach, and when I saw his name on the team-sheet of the away team for a U19 game last weekend I wasn't exactly leaping through the air and pumping my fists at the thought of an emotional reunion. Still, everyone has the opportunity to change. Although in the times we'd met since I was a witness three years ago to him receiving a fat fine and a heavy warning from the disciplinary panel for unacceptable behaviour on the touchline, he hadn't changed one bit. 

"Hey, Danny - great to see you again!"

Sure enough, Danny has coached a team in his model image. Right from the start they foul their opponents, and then complain loudly when I whistle. They are backed up by Danny on the touchline, who screams, "Referee!" every single time. It's an obvious ploy to intimidate both their opponents and the ref. By half-time they have three yellow cards - one for foul play and two for dissent. I've spoken to Danny twice and given him his first two warnings of the afternoon. Does he listen and shut up? Does he fuck. 

Young coaches setting a good example

Game 16, 2018-19

Sometimes you know it's going to be a quiet day simply from the coaches' pre-game attitudes. For this boys' U17 match-up, both teams are coached by personable young men who respond with a smile and conversation when I walk up and introduce myself. Much better than the greying, gruff old-timer who won't look you in the eye, and who honestly looks as though he'd rather not be there. These are two strong amateur clubs giving off an air of professionalism.

The only picture I could find of player passes.

Since the winter break, the control of player passes in youth games has been re-introduced. It was abolished about two years ago, and was obviously open to abuse. It probably still is in the men's leagues. I confronted one team at half-time after becoming suspicious that a player being passed off as 24 looked to be almost twice that age. "Give us five minutes," they said through a crack in the door of the changing room. When I knocked again they told me he'd had to leave suddenly due to a family emergency - via the back entrance.