Referee's Bingo - a game within a game

Game 47, 2022-23

In my head, I've been playing Referee's Bingo for years. During the course of 90 minutes, certain aspects of a game are destined for repetition, week after week. The stands may be empty, but there's almost always a Full House. Sunday's match proved to be another one that scored high. Let me share with you my Bingo Card.

Time to play...

* Passing the ball around at the back for the first two minutes. Do we have to? Every week? Yes, I know, the players are getting a feel for the ball, and that the two teams are sizing each other up. But why can't we just skip this bit and cut straight to the first long ball in the third minute? You wonder if the coaches discuss this beforehand - a mutual deal to make themselves look like Pep. A poor man's, 9th. Level tiki-taka. Please let it be over. Oh, good, the big number 6 has got bored as me and welted it down the pitch. BINGO!

* A perfectly good goal, followed by an outraged defender appealing for offside. In the 16th. minute the away team's number 10 runs on to a through-ball, dribbles round the keeper and scores. The home team's number 8 is incensed. Not at his own poor positional sense and lack of speed, but at the referee. He screams from somewhere deep inside of his soul: "Referee! Fucking hell, that was offside!" No one else appeals. His sorrows are compounded by a small yellow card, held high by the referee, now disappointing him for the second time in 30 seconds. BINGO!

* Harry, the Monster of Mentality. He's still around, and always will be. The barking biggie at the heart of all defence - whether it's physical or verbal. Harry never, ever fouls - he may be rock hard, but he's totally fair. Slow, grim, unburdened by a sense of humour, and dirtier than a porn mag in a puddle, he's a passionate advocate of justice, in complete contrast to the milquetoast dandy referee, who has no fucking idea what a foul looks like in a man's game. "Never! Never!" he will say, shaking his head and running away from his bruised and crumpled opponents, already preparing for the free kick he will return to orbit via boot, forehead or with a thigh as thick as a cedar tree. So much heartfelt conviction wasted on a mere game - this man should be on the streets and outside the courts chanting and ranting against the shamefully wrongful rulings of the establishment. BINGO!

* The multi-mooded coach. Before the game, he's friendly. We chat in a mild and convivial fashion, one human to another. During the game, something changes. "Why are you yellow-carding every time one of my players fouls?!?" is one of a series of screams. Fizz, howl, rage, splutter, yellow card! And the answer: every time one of your players fouls an opponent in a reckless manner, he earns a yellow card. Get 10 and I'll give you one for free. Some advice: don't yell at me, but try coaching your players not to commit reckless fouls. After the game, he's back to being human. He shakes my hand and says well reffed, and that he's sorry for losing his rag. BINGO!

* "I played the ball!" Every week, over and again. And patient as the patron saint of enlightenment that I am, I explain, "Yes, but you also played the man," sometimes adding, when appropriate, "Plus, you went in with a leading straight leg." Harry's one of few who doesn't claim to have played the ball, mainly because he never gets near it. BINGO!

* "Ref, penalty!" For once, it is. For once, no one complains. A trip in the box, and a caution for the defender who executed it. A brief nod of acknowledgment as I hold up the card. No Bingo. No Full House this week. But we still had time for:

* Shove Me Do. Player A fouls Player B by holding him around the waist. Despite my whistle, Player B is aggrieved at being fouled. He shoves Player A. Player A shoves him back and Player B falls over. Oh look, now everyone's running to The Shove Match! Whole Lotta Shovin'! Harry demands a red card, which makes me immediately decide to blow the final whistle, as we're already in the 96th. minute. "What? No red card?" Big, angry, crimson-eyed Harry. Absolutely fucking incredulous Harry. Harry, dude, bollocks to your fantasy punishment. It was just another minor shove. All go and have a fucking pint in the bar together, will you? Indeed, within seconds, everyone's calmed down and we're all shaking hands. Except righteous Harry, who's disgusted at such an outbreak of sportsmanship. BINGO!

Final score: 2-2 (9 x yellow)

My 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.