A busy weekend with three games in three days, and plenty going on. Two good, enjoyable matches (both men's league games), and one absolute shit-show (boys' U19 friendly). Some new situations, and lots of the same old crap, mainly moaning about offside decisions.
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| Friday night lights (pic: Helmut Güsten) |
Players not knowing the rules, Part 1
During the first half of this Level 10 game, a home team defender comes up with the standard passive-aggressive, "Referee, I have a question." I ignore him, but he complains anyway. When the guests just re-started the game from the centre spot after conceding a goal, they played the ball forwards! At half-time I seek him out and mention his complaint. "You have to watch out for that," he tells me. Why, I said? Since when has it been against the rules to play the ball forward from a kick-off? Oh, he replies, his indignant and confrontational attitude now replaced with mild surprise. Is it allowed?
Offside, Part 1
As we're coming out for the second half the home team players mention in refreshingly friendly tones that the goal they conceded in the first half should have been annulled for offside because an opponent was directly in front of the keeper, blocking his view. In retrospect, I tell them that I think they have a point, although the keeper would never have saved the ball even if he'd had a full view of it. "That one's on me," I say, and they laugh. It helps that they're 3-1 up, but the courtesy and the absence of any malice is a big plus.
Players not knowing the rules, Part 2
Same team. I play advantage for their opponents, but there's a strong wind that carries the next through-pass out of play. I call play back for the free-kick and the left back is incensed. "How many seconds are you playing advantage?" he demands. "A few," I reply. It couldn't have been more than five. And anyway, it's at my discretion, not the outraged full-back's.
SATURDAY:
"We love you, ref!"
I've just coached my girl's team at our home ground and am about to leave when I'm stopped by an official of the men's team set to play a level 11 game on the same field. The ref hasn't turned up, can I do the game? I'm a bit knackered from the night before (due to a public transport strike I'd walked there and back, four miles each way), but agree to do it anyway. But I don't have any kit or equipment. I borrow a weird little tin whistle from a fellow coach, a spare yellow from the ref who's just done my girls' game, and use my supermarket loyalty card as a red. I show it to the captains - "If you see this, you're not getting bonus points from REWE, it means you're getting sent off." We laugh, because at the start of the game at least they all love this ref for having helped them out at the last second.
Offside, Part 2
The massive centre back on the away team has another tantrum about a non-offside call. I go up to him and attempt an alternative to showing a yellow card.
Me: Have you ever played in a league with linesmen?
Colossal centre half: Yes.
Me: So have I. It was great. They saw everything and got all the decisions right. But now we're all doomed to Kreisliga C [Level 11], so get used to it.
Later, he yells at me again because he thinks he was fouled at a corner kick. This time he gets the yellow, but not the supermarket card, which stays in my pocket until I pick up some potatoes, broccoli and eggs on the way home.
Comparing leagues and levels
This is a standard moan when you whistle someone for a foul - that this is a man's game, not an afternoon with toddlers on the Bouncy Castle. "This isn't the U15s!" screams the away team's angry number 8 when I pull him up for a very clear trip. Too right, mate. In the U15s they don't whine like little babies when you blow for a free-kick. Have a yellow.
Early cramps, belated gratitude
An away team forward goes down with calf cramp after just 37 minutes, even though that includes a spell when he was subbed out. "Cramp, already?" I ask. His team-mate, who's stretching the player's leg as he lies on the ground, says, "It's because he spends most of his life on holiday." His team-mate is not as amused as we are.
I've just coached my girl's team at our home ground and am about to leave when I'm stopped by an official of the men's team set to play a level 11 game on the same field. The ref hasn't turned up, can I do the game? I'm a bit knackered from the night before (due to a public transport strike I'd walked there and back, four miles each way), but agree to do it anyway. But I don't have any kit or equipment. I borrow a weird little tin whistle from a fellow coach, a spare yellow from the ref who's just done my girls' game, and use my supermarket loyalty card as a red. I show it to the captains - "If you see this, you're not getting bonus points from REWE, it means you're getting sent off." We laugh, because at the start of the game at least they all love this ref for having helped them out at the last second.
Offside, Part 2
The massive centre back on the away team has another tantrum about a non-offside call. I go up to him and attempt an alternative to showing a yellow card.
Me: Have you ever played in a league with linesmen?
Colossal centre half: Yes.
Me: So have I. It was great. They saw everything and got all the decisions right. But now we're all doomed to Kreisliga C [Level 11], so get used to it.
Later, he yells at me again because he thinks he was fouled at a corner kick. This time he gets the yellow, but not the supermarket card, which stays in my pocket until I pick up some potatoes, broccoli and eggs on the way home.
Comparing leagues and levels
This is a standard moan when you whistle someone for a foul - that this is a man's game, not an afternoon with toddlers on the Bouncy Castle. "This isn't the U15s!" screams the away team's angry number 8 when I pull him up for a very clear trip. Too right, mate. In the U15s they don't whine like little babies when you blow for a free-kick. Have a yellow.
Early cramps, belated gratitude
An away team forward goes down with calf cramp after just 37 minutes, even though that includes a spell when he was subbed out. "Cramp, already?" I ask. His team-mate, who's stretching the player's leg as he lies on the ground, says, "It's because he spends most of his life on holiday." His team-mate is not as amused as we are.
At the final whistle, four players - two from each team - walk directly past me on their way off the field. "You're welcome," I say. Two of them, from the home team, turn around in surprise and thank me and shake my hand - they look aghast at having ignored me. Ah, that's okay. No handshake from the colossal centre half.
SUNDAY
Self-doubt on a Sunday
It's Carnival Weekend. I'm cycling through the wind and the rain at midday, as usual wondering, "Why?" Three games in three days at my age. And I know that the club I'm going to is one of the city's worst. Who's the fool today?
The customary cauldron of ugliness
Sure enough, it's the usual 90-minute nightmare of fouling, yelling, moaning and complete disrespect.
Players not knowing the rules, Part 3
In the second half, with the score at 2-2, a defender clamps his arms around a forward in a crowded penalty area and stops him running on to the high ball just crossed from a free-kick. It's not the first time I've seen him doing it. He's so outraged at the penalty call, he pushes me (lightly) on the shoulder. A team-mate pulls him back, I send him out for five minutes (lenient - a straight red would have been justified). After the game, the player approaches me as I'm waiting outside my locked changing room door.
Arsehole: Why did you give that penalty?
Me: Because you had your arms wrapped around an opponent. And you're lucky you didn't get a red for pushing me.
Arsehole: That was never a penalty. Why did you give a penalty?
Two parents and his coach then lead him away even as he continues bellyaching. No one else from the club speaks to me - no apology, no thanks (as if!), but it's better that way. I file the game report in my changing room, slip out to my bike and disappear without any more drama. On the way home, I see numerous groups of people in carnival costume having a good time. I need some advice on that front.
The one good thing is that I'm so used to games like this by now, I no longer let them ruin my weekend.
Game 35: 6-2 (4 x yellow)
Game 36: 2-3 (2 x yellow)
Game 37: 2-3 (6 x yellow, 4 x time-penalty)
My new book 'Reffing Hell: Stuck in the Middle of a Game Gone Wrong' documents six years of whistling torment, tears and occasional ecstasy. Please buy a copy direct from Halcyon if you would like to support this blog and independent publishing. Thank you!
SUNDAY
Self-doubt on a Sunday
It's Carnival Weekend. I'm cycling through the wind and the rain at midday, as usual wondering, "Why?" Three games in three days at my age. And I know that the club I'm going to is one of the city's worst. Who's the fool today?
The customary cauldron of ugliness
Sure enough, it's the usual 90-minute nightmare of fouling, yelling, moaning and complete disrespect.
Players not knowing the rules, Part 3
In the second half, with the score at 2-2, a defender clamps his arms around a forward in a crowded penalty area and stops him running on to the high ball just crossed from a free-kick. It's not the first time I've seen him doing it. He's so outraged at the penalty call, he pushes me (lightly) on the shoulder. A team-mate pulls him back, I send him out for five minutes (lenient - a straight red would have been justified). After the game, the player approaches me as I'm waiting outside my locked changing room door.
Arsehole: Why did you give that penalty?
Me: Because you had your arms wrapped around an opponent. And you're lucky you didn't get a red for pushing me.
Arsehole: That was never a penalty. Why did you give a penalty?
Two parents and his coach then lead him away even as he continues bellyaching. No one else from the club speaks to me - no apology, no thanks (as if!), but it's better that way. I file the game report in my changing room, slip out to my bike and disappear without any more drama. On the way home, I see numerous groups of people in carnival costume having a good time. I need some advice on that front.
The one good thing is that I'm so used to games like this by now, I no longer let them ruin my weekend.
Game 35: 6-2 (4 x yellow)
Game 36: 2-3 (2 x yellow)
Game 37: 2-3 (6 x yellow, 4 x time-penalty)
My new book 'Reffing Hell: Stuck in the Middle of a Game Gone Wrong' documents six years of whistling torment, tears and occasional ecstasy. Please buy a copy direct from Halcyon if you would like to support this blog and independent publishing. Thank you!
Just read your book and really enjoyed it. I was hoping for some morality tale ending with Danny getting his comeuppance. Any update?
ReplyDeleteThank you! No one's heard from Danny for a while - I've a feeling that the meltdown at the end of the chapter 'Danny (Part 6)' was the end of his career as a player and coach in this city too.
ReplyDelete