Can I be your in-house referee?

Game 3, 2019-20

If you whistle for a penalty that no one's appealed for, does that mean the foul really happened? In the fourth minute of last night's game, an away team defender shoves over the home striker as the two of them are competing for a bouncing ball. It seems so blatant, yet there are none of the familiar shrill cries of "Referee!" before I make the call. Is it because it happened so early in the game, and no one quite expects to see such an unnecessary infringement so soon after kick-off? 

A penalty-area tussle during last night's game

Even more uncanny is the fact that no one complains. There are not even any groans of exasperation at my myopic decision. Not a single away team player tells me that I've got to be joking. The defender does not stride over and insist that he was only doing a, b or c - with a. denoting they played the ball or b. they were just shielding their space or c. that they didn't even touch the opponent. But no, they just accept it. The number nine steps up and converts. 1-0. And after that early setback, there's still not a breath of dissent.

It worries me for a while. Let me repeat: no one appealed, and no one complained...

A new season starts with silence in the dugouts

Games 1-2, 2019-20

Another year, another season - Game One of the 2019-20 season happens to coincide with my 54th. birthday, doubly accentuating the sense of embarking upon yet another cycle that may well turn out to be the same as the last one, and the one before that. But wait, I hear you say. That can't be true. Fifa has introduced several new Laws! Ah, so the game of football matures a little every year. Fat chance of that happening with me, Mrs RT might observe.

"You need to calm down!" Will new laws
 mean less hassle from the bench?

From a disciplinary point of view, there has been one particular change that should make a huge difference to referees at the dog-scrap amateur level. Now we can show yellow and red cards to team officials, and no longer have to follow the laborious process of a verbal warning, followed by a second and final verbal warning, concluded with a straight-arm dismissal and a further verbal justification. Why was this system so deficient? Because it not only required a lot of effort to explain three times to coaches that they are "behaving in an irresponsible fashion", but also allowed them room to disclaim and involve the referee in an always unhelpful discussion. Plus, in amateur football showing a red card is much more effective and straightforward than pointing to a non-existent stand.

Even better, the head coach is deemed responsible for the behaviour of everyone on the bench. So if you can't identify which one of half a dozen substitutes or team officials screamed at you, you just caution the coach, who carries the can of conduct for those in their charge. That's a significant and beneficial change to those of us alone on a field with 22 young male players and a dozen more potentially temperamental time-bombs planted along the touchline.

What you get if you google "small
birthday gift". Awwww.

It's only fair to warn them of the new laws, though. In Game One, I make the mistake of not bothering...

The Game from Hell

Games 31-32, 2018-19

The home team is coached by an old friend of this blog, 'Danny'. I intuit before the game that it's not going to be a quiet afternoon. When Danny's on the touchline, it never is. When we met in March I let him get to me. Today I resolve to remain absolutely calm, no matter how much shit this U19 match-up propels in my direction. By the end of the afternoon, I'm indeed in fecal heaven.

The game kicks off.

The away coach tells me before the game that when the two teams met earlier this season, Danny hounded and intimidated the young referee throughout the game. It's the same story I've heard now from three other coaches in this league. Just to recap, it's over three years since Danny and I sat in front of a disciplinary panel and he was fined €150 and told they didn't want to see his face there again. Yet to no one's surprise he's still here, a malignant cancerous growth on the city's already diseased amateur football scene. 

I gather all four coaches in the centre circle to remind them of the punishment process for irresponsible behaviour. First warning, then the second and final warning, followed by dismissal. They all nod, except for Danny. "Did you get that, Danny?" He gives a token gesture of the head, but I can't read his expression - he's wearing reflective sun-glasses to go with his hipster beard, giving off the usual air of 'I don't give a fuck'.

Neither do the teams, who go at each other right from the off. There are obviously numerous scores waiting to be settled from the first game...

Stormy skies, stormy games

Games 29-30, 2018-19

There's a momentary tentacle of hot lightning followed a few seconds later by a loud groan of thunder. It's as though the very heavens are exhorting me to call an end to this shockingly poor boys U17 game. We're only 22 minutes in and I've already shown three yellow cards, all for nasty fouls. I blow my whistle to interrupt play, secretly hoping that the skies will roar, burst and electrify, and then we can all go home.

Nature's way of telling us to
shift our arses indoors

"It's not even raining," moan some of the players. I tell them that if a fork of lightning hits the field, they'll know about it. Neither they nor their coaches care, and they all stay out on the pitch while I retreat to my dressing room. After a few minutes I check the radar on my cell phone, and as the storm appears to be moving slowly off to the west, I risk resuming play. For the rest of the game it hovers close by, rumbling and threatening like the home team's coach, who's already been warned for encroaching on to the field of play to confront an opposing player about a challenge. Very responsible, that. Thank you for your help and co-operation, fellow adult.

At half-time, the teams stay out on the field. I seriously consider walking back to the dressing room, getting changed and cycling away from it all. Right in to the storm, if necessary. I've lost all desire to whistle another dirty challenge. Barely any of these players seem willing or capable of playing football. Why are they even here? Why am I even here on a Sunday evening when I could be...

Ultras in the park, and getting away with a conflict of interest

Games 27-28, 2018-19

I'm waiting with the away lads for the home side to come out of the changing room. It's a U19 team in an end-of-season mood, and we make flippant small-talk. "How many of you are playing for the U17s tomorrow morning?" I ask. Four of them raise their hands. "Oh good," I say, "I'll see you there - I'm your opponent's coach." Most of the team laugh and make a comment about how the four players are now in extra danger of a red card so that they'll be banned from the following day's game.

Better be really careful with these today...

I laugh too, but I'm restrained. I've just made a potentially serious error. What if one of these four players does indeed commit a red card offence? This is a conflict of interest that I should have avoided, but I only noticed the anomaly that morning when it was too late to pull out of the game. On the plus side, there's nothing really at stake for the away team in today's game - it's the home side that can win the championship if they pick up three points.

The Bloke Who Stares and other small club archetypes

Game 26, 2018-19

It's half-time and the home team in this boys U19 game is 3-0 down. My changing room's across the corridor from theirs, but I can hear the coach through two brick walls. He's demanding to know what the fuck they are playing at, because it's certainly not football. He wants some extra effort, he wants them to show that they really want to be out there, otherwise what's the point of being here at all. COME ON NOW!

You could call this place the archetypal city club. I've been here plenty of times before, and to plenty of clubs just like it. It's tucked in to the allotments, a stone's throw from the Autobahn. You can see the towers and lights of the city centre to the east, and on a clear day you can see the hills of the wealthy satellite towns to the north. Both feel beyond reach of a club which, unless you were looking for it, you'd never know was here.

There are certain other staples. In the club house there's an elderly woman in charge of everything. She's civil but she's not over-friendly - after all, how many referees pass through here every week...

When a teenage player breaks down and cries

Game 25, 2018-19

"Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn,

Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth."

(John Milton, Paradise Lost)

Paradise Lost - 4-1 to
Hell after extra time.

Just over 20 minutes gone in a boys U15 game, regional league. The dominant home team leads 2-0. From a direct free-kick just outside the penalty area, the diminutive but agile away goalkeeper makes a fantastic, flying one-handed save up in the top left-hand corner of his goal. Corner kick, and applause.

I stand on the end-line closest to the taker, as I always do for corner-kicks. The corner swerves in on goal and the keeper, unchallenged, can only punch it into his own net. 3-0. He's angry with himself now - the great one-handed save has been annulled, at least in his eyes. Then two minutes later he makes another save, attempting to turn a shot over the bar. Only, he doesn't get enough hand on it and it loops behind him into the net. He scrambles back to try and rescue the situation, but he's too late and ends up in a heap in the back of the goal. 4-0, and the game's effectively lost with just 26 minutes played.

I run back towards the halfway line, but when I turn around for the re-start I notice that the goalkeeper's still lying on the floor, curled up in a ball in the back of the net. I run back to check if he's injured, just as a team-mate is trying to help him to his feet, but he doesn't want any help. He is crying, and crying hard. He hadn't wanted anyone to see, but now that he's getting to his feet there's no mistaking his emotion. He screams in frustration, grabs at the net, and kicks the goalpost. Added to his two mistakes is now the supposed shame of being the boy that cried...

Having less than a second to make a call on "Handball!"

Game 24, 2018-19

It's 0-2 with half time approaching, but the home team is on the attack. Their central midfielder takes a shot from around five yards outside the penalty area. It strikes the away team's central defender on the arm, which is in front of his body in a defensive, self-protective position. The defender is standing just inside the penalty area. The home team and all their followers scream "Handball!"

Model sportsman Franck Ribéry
 has spotted an infringement 

This is a direct result of the professional game's Video Assistant Referee. Of course, there have always been loud and righteous cries for 'Handball!' whenever the ball strikes a player's arm or hand, no matter from what distance or in what part of the field. But the calls have become markedly louder and more urgent in the past couple of years since VAR entered our lives. That's because slow-motion replays, examined several times with forensic keenness, have lead to many more decisions in favour of the attacking side. Many of these calls have been dubious at best, typified by Manchester United's spot-kick in the final minute of their Champions league last-16 game at Paris St. Germain, plus numerous bizarre VAR penalty awards for handball in the Bundesliga.

A magnificent night, despite the teeming rain

Game 23, 2018-19

Last night's game is a girls' U15 Regional Cup semi-final, played by floodlight beneath an unrelenting rain. A 0-0 draw that goes to extra time and penalties. A crowd of around 80 look on, hunched under glistering brollies as the clouds unleash their loads without mercy for those of us on the ground wearing shorts and nothing to protect our heads.

Both the players and the coaches allow me to focus fully on what's important - the run of play. Almost every foul is followed by a handshake and a hand to help an opponent stand back up. The only slight whine all evening is on a decision I definitely get wrong - two opposing players go in simultaneously studs up for the ball near the halfway line and connect. I instinctively whistle, then hesitate before pointing my arm randomly in one direction, when I should have given a drop ball (or just let play continue - there's no injury). I'm relieved when nothing comes of the free kick.

There's also one major roar of disapproval from half the crowd...

Refereeing the perfect team - from Japan

Games 20-22, 2018-19

A couple of years back I refereed two games in one weekend involving ethnically based teams from the following four countries: Greece, Morocco, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Korea. Ever since, I've enjoyed asking family and friends, "Which team do you think gave me the most hassle?" And every single person gives the Korean team as their final answer after exhausting any combination of the first three. All wrong. It was the Koreans who picked up more cautions than the other three teams combined. Wahay - our ethnic and cultural pre-conceptions take another kick in the nuts.

So, to a three-game weekend: on Friday night I referee a friendly between one of the city's top U19 clubs and a touring team from Nagoya High School in Japan. I'm intrigued to see how the teams shape up not just in football terms, but in how they respond to my calls. Another test of the cultural archetype.

I heart Nagoya

The Japanese team come bearing gifts. Not just for the home players, but also for the referee. I've never received anything other than a post-match Wurst and a €2 tip when no one's got any change, so in comparison this feels like the big time. Like when teams used to exchange pennants, medallions and memorabilia and all that 70s stuff. So I now own a pin badge marking 130 years since Nagoya was declared a city (I think). 

The lavish gift doesn't influence me in thinking that the Nagoya team is impeccable in every way...