Preparing for teams with atrocious disciplinary records

Game 8, 2018-19

A freezing night, a cinder pitch, and a relegation battle in the city's A League between two men's teams who are not only very low in the standings, but last and fourth-last in the disciplinary table. Between them, they've managed 16 red cards this season (eight apiece), with the home side racking up six straight reds and an almost impressive 57 yellows in just 19 games. 

Home team's appeal: "Fair Play - also applies
please to PARENTS and FANS. Thank you!"

I spend the ride to the ground pondering the best way to broach this in my pre-match speech. Sometimes I think about saying nothing at all, and that instead I should try and come across as silent, stern and unapproachable. I used to know a ref in the US who'd come to games glowering like a pensioner at a swingers' club, wearing a hoodie and dark glasses and looking like he was about to discharge a semi-automatic on both teams (always a possibility in the US). He was told either to quit or drop the attitude - he was scaring the kids, and the parents too.

I'm not much good at looking like the hard man, though. My first instinct when I meet the coaches is always to smile, introduce myself and shake their hands. No one likes an asshole, and why get things off on the wrong footing? So as we line up to take the field I give them my usual speech about my invisible linesmen and add, "By the way, I've seen the Fair Play table and it's an ugly sight. So, for God's sake, try and play football and enjoy the game." Cue shit-eating grins from both teams.

A relegation fight on 80s astro-turf - as bad as it gets

Game 21, 2017-18

Man of the match

Just how bad is it possible for a game of football to be? Today, the ideal conditions are all in place. The home team is bottom of the table with zero points after nine games. The likewise winless away team is one place above them with two points, and we're playing on one of those bald, hard, 1980s astro-turf surfaces you occasionally get out in one of the city's satellite towns, where time does indeed feel locked inside that plastic, Day-Glo decade.

The visitors bag a fortuitous early goal when a scuffed shot finds its way into the corner of the net, more thanks to the intrinsically malevolent bounce of the pitch than any skill on the part of the shooter. It turns out to be the most accurate attempt on goal all afternoon. The remaining 83 minutes are for connoisseurs of random pinball - though Tommy Daltrey's deaf, dumb and blind kid would have played more accurate passes than all these lads put together.