When a coach wants the world to know: I'm a wanker!

Games 41-44, 2023-24

On Friday night I cycled nine miles up and out of town to referee a boys' U17 game, keeping my eyes on the road, of course, but occasionally glancing upwards. There had been a warning on the news that a giant battery pack from outer space - galactic junk - was due to re-enter the earth's stratosphere round about now, and south Hessen was one of the places for its possible landing.

There was one place that I hoped it would land during the game - on the away team's bench, where there appears to be no ground control. I would have been happy to write the headline in my match report: Bawling Ass Crushed by Falling Trash.

The team is often a reflection of the coach. One of his players trips an opponent up just before half-time. Not in the course of play, I should add. The ball has just gone out for a throw-in, and without any apparent provocation, the away team's number 7 sticks out his leg as the home team's number 10 trots past him. About five yards from where I'm standing. The number 10 and I both look at each other, as if to say, "WTF?" There was no pretence, no cover-up. Just plain stupidity, for all to view.

Dark night. Shit ref. Laughable ref

Game 40, 2023-24

Sometimes, you miss a key decision, and you know it. The players know it, the coach knows it, the crowd thinks they know it too. How they react can have a knock-on effect on your confidence, and uncertainty creeps in. You start to second-guess what you just saw before your very eyes. Or thought you saw. Exasperation spreads among those around you, mutating to incredulity and then abuse.

Saturday evening, a U15 game, the hosts are the girls' team of the city's biggest club, against a local boys' club one year younger. The girls are expecting to win, they're far higher up the table, in second place. The first half is physical, but not unfair, and an even 0-0. The turning point is at 1-1, early in the second half. The girls take a corner kick, the boys' team heads it clear, and in the melee a girl goes to floor with a yell. But I haven't seen a foul, just a cluster, and I'm already following the ball upfield, where the boys score on the counter-attack to make it 2-1.

Bloody hell. Not one apology, but two

Games 34-39, 2023-24

A father comes up to me at the end of Game 38, a boys' U15 league match. He's laughing as he asks how many cards I showed. I'm not laughing as I tell him - seven cautions and a time-penalty. Another father shakes my hand, thanks me, and says he admires referees for turning out for games like this one. I nod in acknowledgment, but I'm in no mood for a chat. I retreat to my changing room and fill out the match stats. Then I add in the box under 'other observations':

"Seven yellows and a time-penalty in a U15 game - it's a crying shame that teams in this age group are already being coached to foul relentlessly and moan disrespectfully at the referee. An extremely unpleasant game."

Thankfully, by the time I come out of my changing room everyone's gone home except for the home coach, who's bringing in the corner flags. He smiles and shakes my hand, a different person to the one who - along with his assistant - was complaining on auto-drone throughout the second half. I'm still not smiling, the game has put me in a shit mood. I tell him that they both deserved yellow cards at least, and he nods ruefully. Instead, I'd just ignored them. Some days, you can't be arsed with the drama and just sink into a kind of melancholy daze, wishing the minutes away as every call you make is greeted with bleats and brays.