In the mood to chat with the crowd

Game 53, 2021-22

Yellow fields, not cards (pic: RT)

I decide to take my bike on the train to game 53, and then cycle the rest of the way at the other end, probably about 12 miles. I'm on the platform ready to go at half past noon (for a 3.15 kick-off) when all the trains disappear from the departures board, and all of a sudden there's nothing running in either direction. There's no public information, but on my phone app the trains have also been struck off. With no idea how long this will last, I decide to cycle to the match instead. It's a 40-kilometre ride.

Around half way there, pedalling into a relentless head wind, another app's telling me that I'll only arrive at the club two minutes before kick-off. I stop and call them and ask to delay the start for 15 minutes. They're jovial and co-operative and tell me not to worry. Still, focusing on just actually making it there takes my mind off the game. Plus, there have been a host of non-football matters this week that have put any thoughts about refereeing completely out of my head. By the time we finally kick off on a patchy, uneven pitch where the grass is too long, I'm completely relaxed about what may or may not happen around me today. I'm just happy to have made it here at all.

The away team's number 6 shoots from outside the penalty area, and an opponent directly in front of him blocks the ball with his hands. "Handball!" screams the number 6 in my face, absolutely outraged, despite the fact I've already blown for the free-kick. "Calm down, will you?" I say. Straightaway, he apologises, citing the usual "emotions". Then just before half-time, with the scores at 0-0, I award his team a free-kick out near the right corner flag, directly in front of the beer-drinking home fans, who are duly outraged.

"That can not be true!" one yells.
"But it is true!" I call back.
"You've got to be kidding!" screams another.
"I'm perfectly serious!" I shout back. "But next time I'll be sure to come over and conduct a survey." To compound their anger, number 14 pokes the incoming free-kick home to put the visitors ahead. At half-time just a minute later, I head to the club-house to get some water. The fans are waiting for me.

"That was never a foul," says one, although he's thankfully much quieter now we're face to face.

"Yes, but after four beers, perceptions can change," I say. And then I take my drink to a far corner of the ground, to a bench in the shade, and reflect on how much I love the colours and the countryside in the fertile month of May.

By the 89th. minute the home team are 2-0 down when their number 10 goes on a run towards the penalty area. One defender pulls his shirt, a second trips him up - fouls that start outside the area, but are completed once he's in. The away team disputes the penalty kick using up some more of their 'emotions', claiming it was clearly outside the area. Their keeper saves the spot-kick anyway, and they celebrate like the game's over and the points are safe - a fair assumption given the quality of the home team's finishing over the course of the afternoon.

Gutted goalie - still in his net 10
minutes after the final whistle (pic: RT)

There are, however, four added minutes due to a couple of injuries and multiple substitutions. The home team's number 17 scores twice, with the game's final goal coming in the 94th. minute just as I play advantage for what would have been a second penalty kick. I'm very happy that he saved me another 'emotional' discussion with the away defence. After 90 minutes of long ball despair, the home team and fans are naturally delighted with their stolen point.

"Where are you cycling back to?" someone asks me as I mill about in front of the club-house chugging down a high-sugar drink to fuel me up. When I tell them how far I have to go, there's general amazement, and soon word spreads to the point that people are coming up to me and saying, "Absolute respect!" and thanking me for coming out all this way. I've never enjoyed such a rousing, heartfelt send-off.

The two-and-a-half hour journey home comes with an hour of gentle spring rain, but it's still a beautiful evening, and the cycle path is now free of traffic. Hares gallivant in fields, and a stork flies right over my head and floats towards its nest on the adjacent wetlands. A green woodpecker springs up right in front of me and flutters to the nearest tree, while the fields of yellow rape seed match the jersey I haven't bothered changing. I arrive home at 8.30pm, knackered, but also quite regenerated.

Final score: 2-2 (1 x yellow)

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.