He's back! Oh Danny boy, I love you so...

Game 22, 2020-21

I get a call at 4pm. Can I referee a men's game at 8? It's raining and cold and it's almost November, and I'd planned to be on the sofa watching Rangers v Lech Poznan in the Europa League. I know, the wild life I lead. But I say yes because I'm useless at saying no. After I hang up, I get the e-mail and I see the teams, and there I see his name. He's listed as a substitute, assistant coach and team manager for the away side. Oh joy, oh joy, it's my lovely Danny boy.

 

Missing this, but later
 sharing the same emotion

I haven't seen Danny since I sent him off in The Game From Hell last year. For that he received a three-month ban. The time before that when I dismissed him, he was fined €150. Also in the line-up tonight are four players from that U19 line-up he was coaching, including the player red-carded for head-butting an opponent in the gut, and the defender who came in to my changing room to put a two-cent coin on my table in lieu of full payment (I've still not been paid for the game). Tonight they are all standing outside the changing room when I arrive and break into exasperated laughter when they see me. Good to know they haven't forgotten that game either.

As I did at the weekend, I speak to both trainers about the need for absolute peace on the field, and that I will call off the game if a single player screams anywhere close to my face. At the toss-up, I check with both captains that the teams have got the message. They have. Off we go.

Those lads who were so bolshie, macho and aggressive in the U19s are remarkably quiet now that they are playing with men, not boys. They are also getting spanked. By half-time they are 4-1 down, troubling the scoreboard only thanks to a clumsy own goal from the home team. So, at half-time, three players are subbed out. Danny's time has come to turn the game around as a striker...

Avoiding Corona, Ignoring an Alpha Wanker

Games 19-21, 2020-21

I lost a lot of sleep last weekend because of the theatrical scenes that followed the penalty awards in the two games I refereed. I woke up in the night and started replaying the scenes in my head, several times over. It didn't help. Through Wednesday I wasn't much fun to be around (even less than usual) - I was tired and irritable, while wondering how bad my refereeing must be if it causes such extreme emotions in so many people. If you're thinking, "Jesus Christ, mate, it's just amateur football, don't let it get to you," then I concede that you are completely in the right.

 

What also retrospectively bothered me was the health danger - players coming up close and screaming in my face in the COVID-19 era. I didn't even think about it at the time, although I was instinctively backing off and demanding they keep their distance. The leagues where this happened in Sunday's game - to the south of the city - have in the meantime been suspended. Which on one level is a shame, but in the case of the home team that couldn't accept a clear decision that went against them, I can't help but think: tough shit, lads, but it's no bad thing you were sat at home all afternoon yesterday glaring at the walls.

In my city, games are still on for now, despite soaring Corona stats...

Making the 'big calls', then dealing with the anger

Games 17-18, 2020-21

Referee training courses often emphasise that we “must have the courage to make the big decisions”. That is, making calls at crucial points of a game that we know are going to be very unpopular. This happened to me twice at the weekend, and both times my whistle prompted a whole world of pain and unhappiness. Both involved penalties that influenced the outcome of each game. I am happy with both calls, as I was perfectly placed to see both offences. I’m less happy with the aggressive, choleric consequences and what they say about the human ability to accept unhappy truths:

 

Saturday night: Boys U19 league game. The away team is leading 1-0 with four minutes to go, but the home team equalises on a breakaway. The away team is claiming a foul in the build-up, but there was no foul in the build-up, their central defender was merely outmuscled by the goal scorer. Two minutes later, the home team’s captain is tripped in the box, five yards from where I’m standing. It’s not a hard foul, just a clumsy one, but it’s an irrefutable one. I point to the spot.

Away team players surround me, yelling. I send them sharply away. After the penalty’s converted, they do the same, but then realise they don’t have long to try and claw the goal back, so they disperse quickly. Upon the final whistle, though (the score remains 2-1), the collective tantrum is so loud, unpleasant and insult-heavy that I red-card their number 14, who had already seen yellow for dissent in the 66^th. minute. 

A group of away team parents had been allowed to attend a supposedly spectator-free game, as long as they stood far behind one goal while socially distancing. By full-time, though, one of them has made his way around the field in order to catch me on my way to the changing-room...