Dark times: shitty behaviour, Part 379

Games 18-22, 2023-24

My new quiet refereeing life without men's or boys' U19/U17 fixtures started well when I reffed a mainly peaceful girls’ U17 game the weekend before last. It was a warm Sunday afternoon and I had no plans (Mrs. Ref had a friend in town), so I hung around to see how some of the young referees were coping with the kind of game that is mercifully no longer part of my life.

I watched the second half of a boys’ U17 game where the teenage ref was yelled at constantly by both coaching teams, and by the players too. The more he got yelled at, the less interested he became in doing a good job, and his body language indicated that he would rather be anywhere else but here today. I know this feeling well. You stop caring, because whatever call you make, someone's going to be upset at you. The players' behaviour deteriorated to the point where I was worried it was going to end up in a mass fight - there were some really shitty tackles going in from both teams. And all I could think was, "Christ, I'm glad it's him out there and not me." After the game, he told me he was quitting (he’s been refereeing for a year). I suppose I should have encouraged him to think again, but I just said, "Don't blame you, mate."

On the other field, a boys' U19 game had just finished. I went to the club-house to use the toilet, and was accosted by four friendly blokes who, seeing the emblem on my referees’ jacket, wanted to know the answer to a question - if a player throws the ball back to his own keeper and the keeper handles it, what happens next? They seemed to be in jovial mood and I assumed it was a theoretical discussion. I told them it was an indirect free-kick to the attacking side. They all laughed, and one of them said, “I knew it!”

What I didn’t know was that it pertained to an incident that had just happened in the U19 game. So I came out of the toilet two minutes later to find that the jocose mood was over, and that one of the men - who turned out to be the aggrieved coach of the losing team - was giving the young ref from that game a very hard time, because he’d got the above decision wrong. The ref was apologising and admitting to the mistake, but pointed out correctly (and politely) that the game was now over. The coach, a man around 50, said he wasn’t going to pay him (in advanced Germany, we still get paid cash in hand in return for a handwritten chit…), at which point I intervened and said that he should really stop talking to a teenage boy in that fashion and pay him the money due.

Short corner?

My opinion was no longer welcome. The coach's anger went from third to fifth gear and he told me very firmly to mind my own damned business. I said that as a referee, this was very much my business, just as it was my business to protect a young colleague being verbally attacked by a man several decades his senior. Every year we lose half of our new referees precisely because of incidents like this. The coach then claimed that he had no money. I said that I didn't believe him, and that I would seriously advise him to pay the young referee and stop upbraiding him (I was getting quite loud too by this point).

Again he yelled that this was none of my business, then he disappeared, then he came back two minutes later with his wallet and, with bad grace and no apology, paid the visibly shaken young referee. I gave the ref my number and we've since worked on a disciplinary report of the incident. Once the referee had left, the coach tried to explain to me why he'd behaved the way he had. I walked off without a word. No explanation was needed. It's because you're an asshole.

Look at the list of results below and their disciplinary counts - either women's games, or boys' U12 games/tournaments, where there are no yellow or red cards. Mind you, the level of chat, aggression, fouling and complaining is seeping down to this level too. And in the U12 tournament, there was endless pushing, holding, shoving and tactical fouling. "I just let them play, they're such good players," said one of my refereeing colleagues who was working the tournament with me, reasoning that as these were largely Bundesliga teams from a professional set-up then we should keep our whistles in storage. Not on my field. No wonder they're already turning into such whiney, entitled shits. "Want to ref the game yourself, son?" I tell one pint-sized complainer. "Then do the course and I'll give you my whistle for free." He looks at me like he's going to call social services, but then he plays on and shuts up.

Game 22 was a boys' U12 city cup tie, second round. The winner came just before the end of extra-time. The excessive post-game celebrations are probably still going on as I write, two days later. "Number 11 insulted my mother!" one home player tells me at half-time. "Just ignore him," I say. "He's trying to provoke you. Play your game and keep quiet." He manages to do this until the final whistle, but being on the victor's side he now runs up to the number 11 and cries triumphantly in his face, "Want to insult me again now, eh?" Jesus Christ. I'd ask to get moved down to the U9s, but they don't have refs there. They'll probably need them soon, though. "Ref, number 7 called my teddy bear a wanker!"

Game 18: 0-2 (1 x yellow)

Game 19: 2-1 (no cards)
Game 20 - U12 tournament: 3 x 30 minute games without scores (no cards)
Game 21: 3-2 (no cards)
Game 22: 3-2 (no cards)

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.