Anger. Everywhere. Especially about throw-ins

Games 46-47, 2021-22

Everyone's mad about something these days. The more trivial the better. Every Saturday there are people marching through the streets of my city loudly protesting about having to wear a mask in some public places to help stop vulnerable people becoming infected with a somewhat deadly virus. In times of a brutal, senseless war and rampant, earth-destroying climate change, this is the issue these citizens are apparently mad about. All in the name of 'freedom', that vague, abused and facile justification for all kinds of entitled, small-minded, attention-seeking twattery.

On Saturday morning - on the pitch next to where I'm coaching - I see a 10-year-old goalkeeper get mad at the player who's just scored past him. He runs out of his penalty area and pushes the forward over from behind. The ref makes him apologise, which he does with very bad grace. His coach doesn't even pull him out of the game. The kid still looks mad, even after he's supposedly said sorry. Where are his Mum or Dad to give him a proper bollocking, seeing as how his coach is not concerned? Why did the ref not send him off the field to think about what he just did? Which, just to recap, was to assault an opponent in a U11 game. What will he take away from this experience other than that it's okay to get mad and physically assault your opponent when he scores against you?

On Saturday afternoon, I'm reffing a boys' U19 game, and everyone on the touchline is getting mad about throw-ins. This has been a pattern over the past few weeks, and I have no idea why. Maybe there's some competition going on to see what the stupidest fucking thing on earth is to lose your temper about. It goes like this. Ball goes out, player A picks ball up to take the throw-in, player B tries to take it off him because he claims it's his team's throw-in, both of them are ignoring me telling them whose fucking throw-in it actually is. The benches with all their responsible grown adults get involved too. Shout, shove, yell, grab. Repeat. Until I run in, whistle blowing. Uh-oh, lads, it's the old bill come to spoil our fun. We were so enjoying our erudite debate about the dialectics of 50-50 decisions.

At the end of the game, the away team's coach complains that I didn't show enough yellow cards - to both teams. I look down at my notebook and count seven cautions. I showed seven yellow cards, in a youth game, I tell him. How many more do you think I should have shown? More than that, he says, to keep the fouls under control. Well, I tried that with the seven yellow cards, but it obviously didn't work, did it? At what point is the referee no longer responsible for the conduct of the players, but rather the grown-ups who coach them through the week and all year round? Oh, and by the way, you're welcome. I cycled out here 12 miles to ref this game for €14, and I'm about to cycle 12 miles back. Oh, what's that, you didn't actually say thank you? Of course you didn't, you fucking prick.  

Look, now I'm getting angry too. About a wanky youth team coach who didn't say thank you. It's infectious.

On Sunday, a men's game, at least half of the home team are angry, and all of their fans too. I'm having a bad afternoon. The personification of all this anger is the frown-faced central midfield goblin on the home team, a red-bearded ball of bellicose outrage at every single call that doesn't go his team's way. Eventually, but probably way too late, I show him the yellow card and he finally holds his gulf-sized gob in check because by then his team is already down to ten men. A player got mad about a throw-in, then reacted with serious foul play a few seconds later when the ball was back in play. He saw red, twice. Afterwards, he came to my dressing room  to apologise, together with the player he'd fouled, who said the foul had not been as bad as it looked. 

Finally, a calm game

Now, everyone's calm. I commend them for their courtesy, and thank the opposing player especially for his sporting conduct. He was hit three times by late fouls in the course of the game, and every time he reacted in a calm manner, and - after recovery - just got up and got on with the game. I promise them that I'll write up the apology and the defender's thoughts on the severity of the foul in my disciplinary report. We all bump hands.

In the club house while getting paid, I mention to some of the home spectators at the bar that they were quite vociferous in support of their team today. There follows a free and frank discussion about my decision-making - some of my decisions I defend, and on some I concede that they may have a point. Their team won anyway, so there's no animosity, and I'm actually more than happy to talk about most games once there's some distance from the final whistle. On the bar, there's a pile of the club's newsletter. Just before I leave, I hold it up and announce, "XXXX FC latest news - the ref was shit!" This evokes a round of laughter, which is much better than another round of anger. About something. About nothing. About a fucking throw-in. 

Game 46: 2-0 (7 x yellow)
Game 47: 4-1 (5 x yellow, 2 x red)

Want to read more? Click here to order Reffing Hell: Stuck In The Middle Of A Game Gone Wrong by Ian Plenderleith (Halcyon Publishing), published on August 8, 2022.