Dissent. Never-ending dissent. I would enjoy refereeing ten times more if players would just shut up and play. If they would only learn that moaning about a decision will not prompt me to change my mind, but it will prompt me to recall Law 12 and its rectangular yellow sanction for theatrical gesticulation and runaway gobs.
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| Half-time event (see below) |
There are teams that take you seriously when you show no mercy for their lack of respect. In Saturday's U19 boys' league game, I lecture to one complaining home team player, "My name is not 'Ref', to you it's Mr. Referee, and you will keep your mouth closed and accept my decisions for the rest of the afternoon." It doesn't even need that stupid little yellow card to come out of my pocket - that's it with the dissent until the fifth and final minute of stoppage time.
The home team's leading 5-4 and are taking the ball to the corner flag. When the ball goes out of play, I indicate a throw-in for the hosts. The away team's left back unleashes a torrent of abuse in my direction. I take plenty of time to take his name, commenting that thanks to his behaviour, his team's final chance of getting an equaliser was now being squandered. As soon as the throw-in's taken, I blow the final whistle. The full-back then graciously thanks me for the teachable moment (just kidding - boars and swine have not yet evolved into creatures of flight).
And then there was Sunday's men's game. The home team lost 16-0 the week before. With the score at 15-0, they'd managed to accrue two straight red cards. I ask the home (player-)coach how on earth that happened, and he's vague in reply. You know, a couple of young hotheads. The second red was way too harsh. I tell him that I would prefer a peaceful afternoon without any chat. Oh, don't worry, we're just here to play football and have fun, he assures me. Right.
In the first half, a player from each team takes a yellow for very aggressive back-chat, including the player-coach who's just here to have fun. Then two minutes before half-time, with the score at 1-3, an away player is hit by a shot at point-blank range on the arm, in his own penalty area. Not a penalty from my very close point of view, but several home players don't see it that way, and the number 14 goes in the book for screaming at me. That prompts him to scream some more, which sees him off for a 10-minute time-penalty. At half-time he apologises and shakes my hand.
In the first half, a player from each team takes a yellow for very aggressive back-chat, including the player-coach who's just here to have fun. Then two minutes before half-time, with the score at 1-3, an away player is hit by a shot at point-blank range on the arm, in his own penalty area. Not a penalty from my very close point of view, but several home players don't see it that way, and the number 14 goes in the book for screaming at me. That prompts him to scream some more, which sees him off for a 10-minute time-penalty. At half-time he apologises and shakes my hand.
Half-time is an event in itself. It just takes one perceived insult from an away spectator and suddenly both teams and their benches and all their followers are having a mass bundle on the field. It's a sort of throwback to English village football in medieval times, except there's no ball. I stand back and wait to see how it plays out. If there's one fist thrown, we're done. It's mainly a lot of yelling and shoving, though, and finally everyone's shaking hands, more or less. Great, now let's get started on the second 45 minutes! Though not before I've gathered both teams and issued a renewed appeal for sanity.
This works for five minutes, until the away team scores it's fourth goal. "Offside!" hollers the big number 18 in the home team's defence, right in my face. As I show him the yellow card, I quickly explain that if he's going to take out his frustration on anyone, then he should look at his lingering right-back who played the away forward onside. "It was offside!" he screams a second time, even louder, coming closer. "Ten minutes - out!" I tell him. But he's not done, he's absolutely fucking furious, and comes so close that I start to step back as he screams for the third time, "It was offside!" That'll be a red card then.
Three punishments for dissent to the same player in 30 seconds may be some kind of record, even for amateur football. He turns to leave the pitch, but after a few yards turns back around to unburden his chest of another opinion. "You're refereeing's a heap of shit today! You're a shit referee!" Of course I am.
Later on, there's another square-up between four players over the exact position of a free-kick. "Oh, are we acting like arseholes again?" I ask as I go over to sort it out. "You can't call us arseholes, that's completely lacking respect!" says one player, without any irony whatsoever. "I didn't say you were arseholes, just that you're acting like arseholes," I elaborate, "but that's a philosophical discussion for another time." The free-kick sails over the bar and into footballing oblivion, a place I'm tempted to seek out very soon.
After the game, I see the same player sitting outside the changing-rooms with a cigarette in his hand, looking like someone who's just lost by eight goals to three. I sit down next to him and apologise for the arsehole comment and say that I didn't mean to be disrespectful. "Don't apologise," he says, "because you're completely right. We are an arsehole team. Every weekend it's the same shit. And so many players have left the club because of it." We shake hands and I head to my changing room.
Next up is number 18, wondering about his possible suspension. He's changed his mind about me being a shit ref - now, apparently, I had a good game. He doesn't exactly apologise for screaming in my face, but explains that he just lost all control off his emotions. Law 12 be damned.
"Was that an average game at this level?" a photographer from one of the local papers asks me after the final whistle. Not exactly average, but not all untypical. Dissent is just accepted as the norm. On Sunday morning, I'd witnessed a 12-year-old player (the captain) and his two adult coaches delivering loud dosages of it to a young referee in a U13 match. They knew it was the referee's first ever game - he's only just qualified. Yet not even that's enough to shut up these shameful, shouting gobshites. And until FIFA and local FAs get serious about punishing them, the 12-year-old captain will look to his bellowing bench and think, "That's the way to play football."
Game 11: 1-3 (3 x yellow)
Game 12: 0-1 (3 x yellow)
Game 13: 5-4 (3 x yellow)
Game 14: 3-8 (6 x yellow, 2 x time-penalty, 1 x red)
My new book 'Reffing Hell: Stuck in the Middle of a Game Gone Wrong' documents six years of whistling torment. Please buy a copy direct from Halcyon if you would like to support this blog and independent publishing.
Three punishments for dissent to the same player in 30 seconds may be some kind of record, even for amateur football. He turns to leave the pitch, but after a few yards turns back around to unburden his chest of another opinion. "You're refereeing's a heap of shit today! You're a shit referee!" Of course I am.
Later on, there's another square-up between four players over the exact position of a free-kick. "Oh, are we acting like arseholes again?" I ask as I go over to sort it out. "You can't call us arseholes, that's completely lacking respect!" says one player, without any irony whatsoever. "I didn't say you were arseholes, just that you're acting like arseholes," I elaborate, "but that's a philosophical discussion for another time." The free-kick sails over the bar and into footballing oblivion, a place I'm tempted to seek out very soon.
After the game, I see the same player sitting outside the changing-rooms with a cigarette in his hand, looking like someone who's just lost by eight goals to three. I sit down next to him and apologise for the arsehole comment and say that I didn't mean to be disrespectful. "Don't apologise," he says, "because you're completely right. We are an arsehole team. Every weekend it's the same shit. And so many players have left the club because of it." We shake hands and I head to my changing room.
Next up is number 18, wondering about his possible suspension. He's changed his mind about me being a shit ref - now, apparently, I had a good game. He doesn't exactly apologise for screaming in my face, but explains that he just lost all control off his emotions. Law 12 be damned.
"Was that an average game at this level?" a photographer from one of the local papers asks me after the final whistle. Not exactly average, but not all untypical. Dissent is just accepted as the norm. On Sunday morning, I'd witnessed a 12-year-old player (the captain) and his two adult coaches delivering loud dosages of it to a young referee in a U13 match. They knew it was the referee's first ever game - he's only just qualified. Yet not even that's enough to shut up these shameful, shouting gobshites. And until FIFA and local FAs get serious about punishing them, the 12-year-old captain will look to his bellowing bench and think, "That's the way to play football."
Game 11: 1-3 (3 x yellow)
Game 12: 0-1 (3 x yellow)
Game 13: 5-4 (3 x yellow)
Game 14: 3-8 (6 x yellow, 2 x time-penalty, 1 x red)
My new book 'Reffing Hell: Stuck in the Middle of a Game Gone Wrong' documents six years of whistling torment. Please buy a copy direct from Halcyon if you would like to support this blog and independent publishing.
They do it because they see this behavior when they watch professional games on the television. Until those leagues allow their officials to property sanction for dissent, we're all fighting an uphill battle.
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