Two good games trigger the same old optimism...

Games 31-32, 2022-23

Taking a long break from work is usually a good thing, and that applies to refereeing as well. The Dread from six weeks ago is gone, and I can't explain really where it came from and how it's disappeared again. It's still as cold as it was back in December, and the skies are just as discouraging, but now there's a feeling that soon it will be February, and then we can say, "Next month, it's spring..." It helped that I had two almost perfect games to start off the second half of the season.

"Everything I learnt about the
morality and obligations of man..."

Here's how an amateur football game should play out. It should be hard, fast and intense, and the players should be serious enough about winning. There are fouls and a couple of flash-points, but the referee is on top of things to keep everyone calm, even those whose tempers flicker or flare. Offside decisions, and their inherent fallibility, are broadly accepted. At the end of the game, everyone shakes hands, and the coaches and players from both teams thank you for coming out on such a cold afternoon.

That's how these two matches played out. True, they were friendlies, but the archive of this blog alone proves that the 'friendly' label is like a sticker saying 'refreshing and child-safe' on a bottle of absinthe. But both encounters were immensely enjoyable to ref. Which means that there's not much to write about here besides standard stuff like the odd moan or two, a minor scrap, and a couple of nasty fouls. And for that I'm really grateful.

There is nothing I'd love more than to mothball this blog and sign off on it as a historical document reflecting a past age when sportsmanship was in the bin. A time when barely a week passed without me either doubting myself as a competent match official, or questioning the purpose of football as a mass recreational weekend pastime aimed at promoting health and generating pleasure.

It will take more than two successive quiet afternoons to confine my keyboard to the attic, I fear. Again, previous blog entries testify to my occasional bouts of naive optimism following a few games that were mainly incident-free. And they often come at the start of a season or just after the winter break, when teams possibly re-set and resolve to take a new approach to the game. A more sporting, more focused approach. Just like many of us start the New Year swearing off alcohol and rummaging in the drawer for our gym membership card.

And yet, without that optimism, there would be no point in showing up at all. "Why does man, sensing the absurdity of existence, simply not commit suicide?" was the existentialist question that drove the writings of Albert Camus. You could say that this blog asks the question, "Why do players (and referees), sensing the absurdity of sporting endeavour, simply not quit the game and spend their weekends reading Albert Camus instead?"

Because then I wouldn't have experienced a coach whose team had just lost 4-0 coming up to thank me and saying that I had an excellent game. Just seconds after I was needlessly thinking, "Oh, fuck, the coach whose team has just lost 4-0 is walking right towards me." Try not to forget that traumatic days will be balanced out by rewarding games. Cling on to the faith, or stay at home.

Game 31: 1-4 (1 x yellow)
Game 32: 4-0 (4 x yellow)

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.

The fusion of Reason (the referee) and Emotion (the player)

Game 38, 2017-18

Let's say that in theory the referee represents Reason, and that the players represent Emotion. The (uncorrupted) referee has no interest in the outcome of any given game, as it's their job to rationally and neutrally implement the rules.

Meanwhile, the players have only two goals in mind - the success of themselves and their team. The desire to score and win is driven by feelings of loyalty and ambition. Anything that thwarts that ambition provokes frustration and even anger (I know this because I played for 40 years).

"Hey, Roald, lend the
ref yer coat, will ya?"

A referee must accept that, as the anchor of reason, they are going to come into conflict with the mental tipping point of performers who, in their dreams, imagine themselves as heroes, even if only for a few hours among a small group of people wearing the same coloured shirt. That's an integral part of the game. There are days, though, when the precarious balance between reason and emotion makes no sense at all. Days when I'm pushed to get emotional too.

On Saturday night it was colder than it's been all winter - minus 7 degrees, with that same persistently penetrative wind that's been chilling our fibres since the middle of last week. And yet again I had the immense privilege of refereeing a one-sided U19 boys friendly match for the vast reward of €14, while all sensible folk were huddled in front of the football highlights or drinking beer somewhere warm. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who didn't want to be there. That's just by way of background...