"Ref, why?" When players are baffled by their own poor conduct

Games 7-8, 2021-22

Twenty minutes into a boys' U19 game, and I blow for offside against the home team's number 15. His reaction is to kick the ball far out of play, and so - predictably enough - I show him a yellow card. He looks at me all hurt and confused, like a rabbit whose previously loving owner has just shown him a pot of simmering stock and invited him to take a seat on the chopping board. "What was that for?"

Every week, players demonstrate how clueless they are about the laws of the game. Rather than sitting down to read them (you may be unsurprised to know that they are available for free on the global information network), they prefer to learn by a slow process of accumulating cautions. 'Delaying a restart' is a particularly common bone of contention, because for some reason players think that prodding the ball away from an opponent before they have the chance to take a throw-in or free-kick is absolutely normal practice and totally permissible. Perhaps they've seen it go unpunished on TV a few thousand times (thanks again to our wonderful pro refs for setting a great example for the amateur game. See also: Dissent).

Here are some other aghast reactions for yellow cards, from this one weekend alone:

Example 2: Unsporting Conduct. Two teenagers square up and exchange loud and rowdy words with each other, a sight as common in this city as pigeons shitting on a window ledge...

A purgative storm and the preacher referee

Game 6, 2021-22

Sometimes it feels like the Gods are delivering their own kind of verdict on the games that I referee. With around 15 minutes left to play on this sultry Sunday afternoon, the clouds burst and unload, there's an impressive drum-roll of judgmental thunder right above our heads, and then the conclusive blast of my whistle as I direct both teams to run for the changing rooms. Part of me's hoping that the rest of the day's a washout.

The first half passed without too much incident. There was one yellow card against the home team for a reckless foul, and three very well taken goals by the visiting number nine. A 'crystal-pure' hat-trick, as the Germans call it - three consecutive goals by one player, all scored in the same half. There's been nothing crystal pure about the second half, though. Fouls have turned niggly and deliberate, players have thrown themselves to the floor with the stricken cries of circus thespians, and there have been three major arguments, resulting in a flurry of cautions for poor conduct and a series of short lectures about keeping a lid on it...

Some days this 'shit job' is a breeze

Game 5, 2021-22

Before leaving the house, I spend an hour reading the newspaper. The Taliban is marching unhindered on Kabul, taking us back to square one after 20 years of death and futility. The two sides in the Ethiopian civil war are gearing up for the next round of conflict. Floods and serial wildfires around the globe are still not sparking the necessary political will to save our planet. I fold up the paper and cycle off to referee a game between two of the city's diaspora sides, who once formed part of the same country. Within living memory, they engaged in a war that cost an estimated 22,000 lives before two new states were formed - Serbia and Croatia. 

There are several teams in our city formed by exiles from the former Yugoslavia. Some were founded by migrant workers in the 1970s, others came into existence later as a result of the various population-shifting conflicts that hit the state during its 1990s break-up. One of today's teams was formed in 1973, and became a go-to club for Serbian immigrants. Their opponents were originally a pan-Yugoslavian side, but became a Croatian club in the 1990s, prompting their Serbian members to leave for the other team. The city's 'Balkan derbies' during that decade could attract crowds several hundred strong.

It's always worth doing your research, but it's even more important to approach a game without expectations, be they good or bad. True, I once refereed a cup tie here between teams from a region of historical conflict that for 90 minutes teetered on the verge of something much more than a game of football. But the only thing awaiting me at today's game is a journalist from a Serbian newspaper published for the ex-pat community. He wants to know if he can take a picture of both teams together before kick-off. If they're on board, you certainly don't need my permission, I tell him. I also take a snapshot of the two teams (above), who then all shake hands in the centre circle - which we're no longer supposed to do because of Covid, but this seems like a worthy exception...

Out of nowhere, violent words and conduct. What brought *that* on?

Game 4, 2021-22

In my day job I've been editing an interview with a scientist who works in anti-doping research. The scientist estimated that the number of young men taking anabolic steroids runs into the hundreds of thousands - somewhere between half a million and 700,000. He didn't say what geographical area that estimate covers, but even if it's the entire world the numbers are still way too high. The damaging and often deadly side-effects of anabolic steroids far outweigh the 'benefit' of temporarily boosting your muscle mass.

One of the many negative side-effects of abusing steroids is a marked increase in aggressive behaviour, and I began to wonder if there's a connection between steroid consumption and the high number of young men I see suddenly lose a grip on their tempers during amateur football games. I thought about it even more following an ugly incident just before half-time in yesterday's game.

Up until then, it had been a quiet friendly between two level 8 men's teams. I like this level, because everyone can play and there are generally fewer fouls. The players are more skilful, more savvy, and better disciplined. True, the home defence complained loudly about a non-existent offside when they went 2-0 down after ten minutes, but I nipped the dissent in the bud with an early yellow, and that was it for the day. Instead of trying to play a dubious offside trap in a game with no ARs, they stopped moaning and dropped a player back into the sweeper position.

Then, with the score at 1-3 on 43 minutes, the home team's number 11 took out the away team's number 17 with a robust challenge in the centre circle. I was about five yards away, so immediately blew for the free-kick. I was ready to have a strong...

10-minute time-out strikes the perfect balance between yellow and red

Game 3, 2021-22

The home team's number 7 is the key creative force in his side's central midfield. Just before half-time, with his team 2-0 down, he goes on a long run through the middle and then passes to a team-mate on the edge of the penalty area. The striker's shot is parried by the keeper, but the number 7 follows up and heads in the rebound. Half-time: 1-2. And what will happen during half-time, as sure as floods and fires in a twenty-first century summer? The away team's coach will tell his team's midfield and defence not to let that happen again. 

How to stop the number 7? Start fouling him every time he embarks on a dribble. Despite the opposition's best efforts, he often escapes with the ball anyway and I play advantage. The fouls that succeed are the tugs and obstructions, not quite enough for a yellow card until they accumulate to a persistent pattern of targeting this single player. It ends with the away team's number six going in way too hard, the number 7 goes down with a shout of pain (though he doesn't require treatment), and the home team and its fans are morally outraged. The tackle also thwarts a promising attack.

Yellow or red? I feel the foul deserves more than a yellow given its severity and location about 40 yards from goal, but that red for this particular player would be too harsh - he hasn't been dirty so far. In our state - on a trial basis for the next three years - we now have an alternative: the time penalty. So I send the number 6 off for a ten-minute spell on the bench. Only the player

Refereeing while injured

Games 1-2, 2021-22

I feel the hamstring in my right leg twitch around 30 minutes into the first game of the weekend. As a player, the troublesome muscle rarely allowed me such a warning, usually it just twanged like an eager rascal's catapult. But I can't just walk off and announce that I'm going to put my feet up with an ice-pack and a six-pack. There are no second, third or fourth officials to take my place.

Instead, I adjust my game. Instead of running with the play, I walk and occasionally trot from side to side to make sure that I have the best view of the ball and the players challenging for it, regardless of how far away they are. The hamstring perseveres with its cautionary twinges as my ageing body tells me that I need to rest. Still, the unruly muscle keeps itself in check until half-time.

At the interval, I massage the back of my upper leg with heat cream, pull on a hamstring support, and swallow two glucose

Please, no. Not Eye of the ****ing Tiger

Game 24, 2020-21

"Nooooooooo!" It's still 40 minutes to kick off, but already I'm in mental agony. My changing room is next door to the away team, and they're playing motivational warm-up music. There seem to be only two criteria for such music - it has to be blasted out at an intrusively loud volume on a below-par sound system, and the choice of song has to be the most unimaginative shite with the perceived widest appeal. In today's case, Eye of the fucking Tiger. They can't hear my cri de coeur, of course, because Eye of the fucking Tiger is way too loud. I can't stress enough how much I hate this song. That dumb, macho opening riff I've heard 25,000 times too often. The whiney vocals. The asinine lyrics. And then everything else about it, which sticks in my poor, suffering head for the entire first half. 

If the International Football Association Board gave me free rein to add just one law to the game, any law, then it would be this: "Teams playing loud pre-match motivational music that annoys the ref will be issued with a collective eleven yellow cards prior to kick-off. No exceptions. Should that pre-match music consist of Survivor's Eye of the Tiger, those cards will be red, the game will be abandoned, and the opposing team awarded a 25-0 win. The ref shall be permitted to access the offending team's changing room with a heavy hammer to attack the source of the music and render it beyond further sonic re-production."

I think that's reasonable. It certainly makes a lot more sense than the comical handball law IFAB's now had to retract and pretty much restore to its original state...

After an eight-month break, back to foul play and hot tempers

Game 23, 2020-21

First game for eight months, a boys U19 friendly. The pandemic's second wave is over, while the third one (driven by the Delta variant) is not forecast to hit Germany for another two months. It's been humid and in the mid-30s all week, the worst kind of weather for outdoor sport. The back-end of June seems an odd time to be re-starting play. But these are odd times. It's still the 20-21 season, but really we're preparing for 21-22. In the meantime, I've been 'training' by watching the referees in the European Championships, who - aside from being too lenient on dissent - have been doing an excellent job.

The home team wants to play three halves (2 x 45 minutes, plus an extra 30 minutes) because they have so many players. It's okay with me, but their opponents, with a squad of 16, say they'll decide after the 90 minutes are up. That makes sense, given the weather. Kick-off is delayed because the German FA's software won't accommodate more than 11 subs. When that's finally sorted out, I start the game and soon we're back to normal - two yellow cards in the first seven minutes. The first is for a tactical foul, the second is when the away team's goalkeeper up-ends a home forward who's about to score. At half-time, the home team's assistant coach wants to know why it wasn't red. "He made an attempt to play the ball," I say. He doesn't think much of that explanation. Some rule changes can take years to seep through into the consciousness of players and coaches...

He's back! Oh Danny boy, I love you so...

Game 22, 2020-21

I get a call at 4pm. Can I referee a men's game at 8? It's raining and cold and it's almost November, and I'd planned to be on the sofa watching Rangers v Lech Poznan in the Europa League. I know, the wild life I lead. But I say yes because I'm useless at saying no. After I hang up, I get the e-mail and I see the teams, and there I see his name. He's listed as a substitute, assistant coach and team manager for the away side. Oh joy, oh joy, it's my lovely Danny boy.

 

Missing this, but later
 sharing the same emotion

I haven't seen Danny since I sent him off in The Game From Hell last year. For that he received a three-month ban. The time before that when I dismissed him, he was fined €150. Also in the line-up tonight are four players from that U19 line-up he was coaching, including the player red-carded for head-butting an opponent in the gut, and the defender who came in to my changing room to put a two-cent coin on my table in lieu of full payment (I've still not been paid for the game). Tonight they are all standing outside the changing room when I arrive and break into exasperated laughter when they see me. Good to know they haven't forgotten that game either.

As I did at the weekend, I speak to both trainers about the need for absolute peace on the field, and that I will call off the game if a single player screams anywhere close to my face. At the toss-up, I check with both captains that the teams have got the message. They have. Off we go.

Those lads who were so bolshie, macho and aggressive in the U19s are remarkably quiet now that they are playing with men, not boys. They are also getting spanked. By half-time they are 4-1 down, troubling the scoreboard only thanks to a clumsy own goal from the home team. So, at half-time, three players are subbed out. Danny's time has come to turn the game around as a striker...

Avoiding Corona, Ignoring an Alpha Wanker

Games 19-21, 2020-21

I lost a lot of sleep last weekend because of the theatrical scenes that followed the penalty awards in the two games I refereed. I woke up in the night and started replaying the scenes in my head, several times over. It didn't help. Through Wednesday I wasn't much fun to be around (even less than usual) - I was tired and irritable, while wondering how bad my refereeing must be if it causes such extreme emotions in so many people. If you're thinking, "Jesus Christ, mate, it's just amateur football, don't let it get to you," then I concede that you are completely in the right.

 

What also retrospectively bothered me was the health danger - players coming up close and screaming in my face in the COVID-19 era. I didn't even think about it at the time, although I was instinctively backing off and demanding they keep their distance. The leagues where this happened in Sunday's game - to the south of the city - have in the meantime been suspended. Which on one level is a shame, but in the case of the home team that couldn't accept a clear decision that went against them, I can't help but think: tough shit, lads, but it's no bad thing you were sat at home all afternoon yesterday glaring at the walls.

In my city, games are still on for now, despite soaring Corona stats...