Dissent - football's festering verbal disease

Games 11-14, 2022-23

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.

Half-time event (see below)

How I love games without dissent. Like the two intense, hard-fought midweek cup ties last week - a U17 and a U19 game - where there was an almost complete absence of moaning. The one player booked for dissent over the two games came and shook my hand after the final whistle, said thank you, and even smiled.

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

The Romance and the Rain (and the home coach is a pain)

Game 10, 2022-23

A men's cup game in the rain under floodlights - that always sounds so romantic. Does this constellation bring out the best in the two teams, though? Is this game the sporting equivalent of a candlelit dinner with a laid-back jazz trio playing smooth grooves in the background? If you've been reading this blog for the past six years, you'll know the answer to that without reading a further word.

Romance in the rain. It's over-rated.

The home team play two levels below the visitors, but clearly relish their role as underdogs. Their bench is loud, as refereeing colleagues had warned me it would be. "The first time their coach yells at you, show him a card," is their advice. "Don't worry, he's used to it." Indeed, by the eighth minute, I've flourished the lightly coloured plastic towards a man whose default setting appears to be: hysterical hobgoblin on the verge of a cardiac arrest. A few minutes later his son - playing in midfield - follows suit for commenting, "You might as well go upstairs and ref the game from there." I'm not sure what that actually means, to be honest (their clubhouse only has one floor), but the tone's enough to again lure the card out of my pocket.

With just 17 minutes gone, the home team's 0-1 down and has four yellow cards for a combination of dissent and extremely robust play. The insane thing is that this goes on to help them win the match. They

It's a corner. It's also half-time. What happens next?

Games 7-9, 2022-23

It's still warm, so after the 30-minute mark a lot of players are asking me how long until half-time. Just before the break, and with no injury time planned, I hold up two fingers and bellow loudly, "Two minutes!" for the benefit of players, coaches and spectators alike. And for me too, so that no one asks again.

A corner. But where is everyone?

The final passage of play takes us 30 seconds over the 45-minute mark, and the ball goes out for a corner to the away team. Acting in accordance with the Laws of the Game, I blow for half-time, and every referee alive will know what happens next - screams of outrage from the away team. "But we've got a corner!"

When you explain the rules to a player who's telling you with bulging eyes that they know better, here's what never happens: they calm down and say, "Oh, I didn't know that. Thanks for putting me right, ref." In reality, they get even angrier. So if you tell them that the only reason to extend a half beyond the allotted time is to take a penalty kick, they will still look at you like you pissed in their kit bag and shout, "But we've got a corner!"