Pre-season friendlies usher in the first storm clouds of dissent

Games 1-4, 2023-24

Game 1: We've played seven minutes of my first game of the new season before I reach into my left pocket for a yellow card. The away team's number 7 has been called up for a clear handball. He protests loudly, then kicks the ball away. Time to set an early signal...

Forgotten something, old man?

Hang on, where are my cards? At this second, I realise that I've left both of them in the changing room. Good start to the season, ref. No early signal after all, except to signal that my mind's going, one day before my 58th. birthday. What should I do? Should I just hope that there are no cardable offences for the next 40 minutes? It's a boys' U17 game, so that's very unlikely, as I've just seen.

I let play continue with the free-kick. Five minutes later, there's the first goal of the game. I run off the field, and fortunately the groundsman with the key to my changing room is sitting right there. He lets me in, I grab my cards, then run back out and blow for the re-start as though nothing unusual's happened, even though everyone's staring at me and wondering what the hell I'm doing. Three minutes later, the number 7 commits another foul, and quite a nasty one at that. This time he gets the yellow card he deserved five minutes ago.

There are no more cards until the 67th. minute, when a newly subbed-in away defender is sent off for denying a clear goal-scoring opportunity. His team-mates know it's a red, but they plead with me. "It's a friendly! Now he'll be banned for a league game!" Indeed. There are no rules about rules not counting for friendlies. If they'd played like it was a friendly, instead of fouling by rote (this applies to both teams), then perhaps I'd have been more lenient.

Once the player's left the field (no protests), the free-kick comes straight back to the taker from the wall, he dribbles into the area and, five yards in front of me, is hauled to the ground with a full body throw. I point to the spot, and the away players are this time incredulous. As though giving a penalty so soon after dismissing one of their players is just plain unfair. First card of the season for dissent. Here we go again.
Final score: 3-4 (2 x yellow, 1 x red)

Game 2: Life's a loop, right enough. There's a coach dancing up and down on the touchline, screaming at me that I'm spoiling the game. I ignore him, letting him freak out for the modest crowd while upping his Twat Factor. Eventually, his embarrassed assistant comes and pulls him away. I've just time-punished (10 minutes) his second player during this nasty, ankle-biting men's 'friendly'. It's like they've agreed that the team with the most fouls will win something. The Shithead Shield. The Cup of Cunts.

A pre-match storm sets the tone. There are five punishments for dissent in all. On the home team, I caution the exact two same players I cautioned for dissent last time I was here nearly two years ago. Because life's a loop. The away team's captain, meanwhile, stands directly in front of a free-kick in midfield, ignores my instruction to move away, then sticks out his foot when the free-kick's taken and can't believe he gets a yellow card, which he then argues into a 10-minute time penalty because he thinks the free-kick taker should have got a yellow "for kicking the ball at me". It's this sanction that inspires his coach to launch into the Lunatic Quickstep.

After the game, the captain approaches me to discuss the matter further. I explain the law on standing your distance at a free-kick (a law I'd explained at length to a young man in Game 1 who kept standing in front of the ball at free-kicks, in random spots all over the field, and shouting "Wall!"), but I can tell he thinks I don't know what I'm talking about. He also denies having been disrespectful, but it's a matter of interpretation. One man's disrespect is another man's way of conducting a discussion in a perfectly normal loud and aggressive manner until he gets his own way.

The first player to get a straight 10-minute time punishment (for a crass foul, borderline red) complains too - not because he's denying the foul, but because he says the ball had crossed the sideline a few seconds before. "The club linesman didn't raise his flag, so I couldn't call it because the ball looked like it was still in to me," I say. He's more reasonable than his captain and we shake hands. I don't mind a discussion after the game, as long as both sides are listening.
Final score: 2-1 (9 x yellow, 2 x time-penalty)

Game 3: Twelve hours between games, and it's a boys' U19 friendly - two good teams above my normal pay grade, but for friendlies I'm apparently capable of refereeing them - only, without the linesmen they get in league play. Yet these games, if you're fit enough, are much easier to ref. The players are well-coached and disciplined. They tend not to stray offside, or to play passes to team-mates who are already in an offside position. They win the ball fairly far more often than they foul (in contrast to last night's Game 2). You can telegraph the direction of the play because teams keep possession for longer, and play fewer long balls.

Really enjoyed this one. Speedy, intense, skilful, but almost no unpleasantness aside from one incident of dissent (there always has to be one, it seems).
Final score: 4-0 (4 x yellow)

Game 4: Third game in three days. I show up to find the ground is a building site. Turns out I was told the wrong venue, and am just checking Google Maps to see how I get to the team's other ground when a car pulls up. "Are you the ref?" Indeed I am. "We noticed they put the wrong address in, so I'd thought I'd come and check if you're here." I get a lift, and all he gets in return is a lecture about the sorrows of refereeing.

Again, the teams are good - level 7 vs level 8. There's a single early yellow for... you've guessed it, a player yelling at me. There are a couple of caution-worthy fouls, but they don't feel like they need carding today. Players are quick to apologise and help their opponents back up. Although standing right in front of the ball at free-kicks seems to be the dominant pre-season denotation of dumbness.

Me (to player standing right in front of the ball): Stand back!
Player standing in front of ball: How far?
Me: Nine meters and 15 centimetres, like it says in the rule book.

The player looks unamused at my sarcasm. Just like the home defender who just before the end gets stroppy about a corner kick he says was a goal kick. The corner kick is easily dealt with by his keeper. After the game a few minutes later, I smile at the defender and say, "So, you survived the corner-kick then." He's not amused on any level and continues to grumble about it. "No place for humour in football, eh?" I say. I forgot, it's a very serious game. Mardy bum.

Four games, eight cautions for dissent, which would have been nine if I'd had the right card in my pocket. Only one 'difficult' match, though, and even that one I quite enjoyed. If I didn't, I could just step out of the loop...
Final score: 2-2 (1 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.