Have I still 'got it'?

Game 27, 2023-24
Saturday evening game, boys' U15. The home coach tells me he'd like to start on time as it's his dad's 80th. birthday, and the party's already started. Also, with a knowing laugh, "By the way, none of my lads can play football." He's not joking. The fact they win 12-0 tells you something about the quality of the opposition. Yet, the losing team plays in great spirit, and both teams smile and laugh like they're actually having a good time. Which they are. On the football pitch - just imagine! Me too. Final score: 12-0 (no cards)

Game 28

At the end of the game (girls' U15), the away team coach tells me he would have loved a penalty so that his goalkeeper could have got on the score sheet. "She hasn't scored a goal in two years," he says, like this was unusual for a goalie. I say that I didn't think the handball incident was worth a penalty, but that's not what he was talking about - it was apparently some foul or other that I can't recall. I shrug, we smile and shake hands. Final score: 0-8 (no cards)

Game 29
In the 80 minutes of this girls' U17 game (thanks to Kickers 16 for the above photo of an old fella trying to keep up with play) I blow for exactly one foul, and play advantage maybe twice. An away team player complains at length that I don't call a foul when she's been robbed fairly of the ball. As she won't shut up, eventually I ask her, "Seriously, how long do you want to talk about this for?" Her team are 7-0 up. The dissent maybe warrants a yellow card, but the game doesn't. Plus, I'm on such a roll here of games without cards, it seems a shame to spoil the sequence. Final score: 0-10 (no cards)

Game 30

A boys' U13 cup-tie. The home team has conceded one goal all season, and scored 76. When they're 2-0 up, no one's betting against a home win. But the visitors - much to their own delight and astonishment - score twice from free-kicks to level the game. The favourites then snatch a winner three minutes from time, prompting some tears at the final whistle. Very calm trainers on both benches, all players and spectators behave impeccably. Great game to ref, and I come home exclaiming at the fact that I love my hobby again. Mrs Ref says, "Hmmmmm." Final score: 3-2 (no cards)

Game 31

And then, I'm assigned a boys' U17 game at a level higher than I've ever reffed in my life. Is this a mistake? Is it a test? For weeks on end I've been given the less stressful games I asked for. Now I'm being asked to referee a match at an age and a level I've specifically asked not to be assigned to? Of course, I accept. Just to see if I've still 'got it'.

I make the five-mile bike ride on a Sunday afternoon that's peak November - drizzling, morbidly grey, and very cold too. I turn up early to watch the second string U17s, and it's a frighteningly fast game. I can either fret about this, or see the upcoming 80 minutes as the final frontier. If it's too much for me, then that just confirms I need to keep winding down. If not, then...

I focus intently on my positioning and keeping up with play, while commentating every touch to myself. "Orange, white, white, white, orange, orange, white..." There are three early offside calls against the home team, none of them contested. I've got this. There are some tasty challenges, but mostly in the category 'hard but fair', and I mostly let play flow or play advantage. There's a crowd of around 60, but none of the usual "Referee!" calls every time I whistle. The away team scores a lovely goal just before half-time.

Was this all too good to be true? Of course. The home coach approaches to inform me of the indisputable fact that one of his players was "shoved" in the build-up to the goal. Why did I not call the foul? I ignore him and walk away for my half-time meditation, which consists of me taking deep breaths and telling myself, Don't slack off!

In the second half, the away team comes out in sixth gear and scores two more goals: 0-3. The home team coach is moaning like fuck about fuck knows what, and I continue to ignore him. He's the only dissenter in the ground. "Your decisions are unbelievable!" he yells. Unbelievably good, you mean? I agree, mate. Here's the yellow card you've been craving. And now you've broken my streak of seven games without a caution, bollock-jaw.

There's a square up between two players that I interrupt with a loud whistle, a brief lecture and a double yellow. Now that I've found the caution card again, I might as well use it. One more for a bad foul, one more for dissent, just like old times, but happily not too much like old times. The home team start to come back into the game. 1-3, then quickly 2-3, and then with nine minutes left two defenders crush an attacker as he's homing in on goal from the left side of the penalty area. There are some weary appeals against the awarded spot-kick, but I'm waving them away, in the manner of referees throughout the history of humankind. The keeper gets a hand to it, but can't prevent the equaliser. At the final whistle, there's just silence, like neither side can believe they haven't won.

The home coach comes to shake my hand, but then he starts to moan again and I just turn and head for the changing-room. Through the silent crowd of parents at the edge of the field and in front of the club house. At this moment you can feel like a criminal who's just been granted amnesty against the wishes of the people. But then, it comes. "Great game, ref, well done." "Super game, ref." "Thanks, ref - really good game."

I nod and murmur a thank you back. It would be unseemly to start crying and to tell them, "Guys, I love you all!" I ran my knackers off and did the best a 58-year-old man can do to keep up with almost two dozen 17-year-old athletes, and some people noticed and were kind enough to thank me. It's all that it takes to keep us going at it for another week.

Plus, have I still 'got it'? Yes, I fucking have! Final score: 3-3 (5 x yellow)

My quite frankly fantastic book Reffing Hell, covering six years of blog entries no longer available on this site, can still be purchased directly from its publisher Halcyon. Please support this blog and independent publishing by buying a copy. If you are a referee, I promise that you will relate to its stories of bampot coaches, unhinged parents and hysterical players. Plus, I try not to take any of this (or myself) too seriously. Thank you!