F*ck You Baldy!

Those are the words that I was greeted with yesterday evening after I issued a yellow card in an indoor game after one of the players refused to stop arguing with me over a call I made (or didn’t make in this case) less than a minute earlier.

His teammates knew what was coming next and a couple of them pleaded with me not do it. But how could I not? Diego (I would later learn his name) had sealed his own fate by crossing the line.

He didn’t leave the field quietly and continued to grumble from the touchline as his team was required to play down a man for the next five minutes following the red card I issued for ‘foul and abusive language’. When the penalty was over, Diego sauntered back onto the pitch as though everything was copacetic.

It wasn’t.

I immediately put a halt to the proceedings and told him to leave the field. “I gave you a red card,” I reminded him. “You’re done playing in this game.”

“But I paid good money to play here!”, Diego proetested, thinking that perhaps I would back down and kowtow to his eminency.

He was wrong.

When it became clear that Diego had no interest in respecting my decision, I informed everyone that unless he left the field in the next thirty seconds, his team would forfeit the match and lose by a score of 1 to nothing. I fully expected that his teammates would be able to convince him to leave, but he just stood there like a little brat (excpet we’re talking about a thirty-year old man here).

I felt badly having to terminate the match – it was only about midway through the first half and it was only Diego who had proven to be a problem up to that point. But since he refused to go, I was again left with no choice.

There were quite a few onlookers, several of whom came up to me afterwards to praise me for sticking to my guns. Frankly, it wasn’t all that difficult. I’m a pretty reasonable character when it comes to refereeing and I rely quite a bit on common sense – perhaps a referee’s most useful tool. That’s what made dealing with this situation so easy for me.

But never in my decade-plus of refereeing have I ever experienced something like this – somebody so selfish…somebody who obviously has so very little respect for the game and EVERYONE (the referee, his opponents, AND his own teammates, not to mention those who came to watch their friends and family play).

I share this story with you as an example. For although this is fairly extreme in nature, it’s just a part of my day at the office.

And you’d think that maybe this would be the end of the abuse I’d receive throughout the evening, but it wasn’t. In my next game, I awarded a penalty kick for an obvious shove in the back off a corner kick. After the ball was sent into the net and I made my way to the scorer’s table, three members of the all-Bosnian side who were on the bench at the time surrounded me. One of them (who wasn’t even dressed to play) raised his voice and yelled in my face with a thick Eastern European accent, “What was that call, you Asshole?!”

Now, I had every right to red card this clown even though he wasn’t playing, but I didn’t want to take that route this time. Instead, after I insisted that they give me a chance to respond to their inquisition, I told them why I’d called the penalty.

Oh, but that wasn’t good enough. The guy who called me an Asshole ran off to get the facility manager. I was unfazed and continued with the match.

When the game was over and the Bosnians had been beaten in a close one, several of them protested wildly to the manager, who had watched most of the second half. After he’d heard enough and walked away exasperated, the same jerk who called me an Asshole said to me, “You come outside”. There was no mistaking his intentions. But I asked him what for anyway. When he told me that he’d break my nose, I responded that it would be pretty awkward next time I have to ref their game. “There won’t be a next time”, one of his comrades informed me. “You won’t be working here anymore.”

At the end of the night I let the manager know that I’d been threatened with violence and he told me that he was tired of that team and their never-ending bullshit. Frankly, I actually look forward to seeing them and Diego on some future occasion. I’ll treat them fairly and professionally even though I doubt they’ll think I’m capable of it.

I shared this ‘day in my life’ with you because I wanted you to imagine what it’s like to be the referee, dealing with the childish emotions of supposedly grown-up men. Needless to say, it’s VERY challenging, but I enjoy it.

I wonder though, does Diego enjoy playing? What about the Bosnians? And you?

Think about it. Unless you’re a pro athlete, the games you play in probably have very little “real” signifigance. So go out there, kick the ball around and have some fun. By all means, engage the referee whenever you have a reasonable gripe. But for the sake of your own sanity and the enjoyment of everyone else involved in the match, learn when to give it a rest and cut the ref some slack.

I guarantee you, the referee WILL make MANY mistakes (perceived or real) throughout the course of each and every game. But if you choose to make that your focus each time you arrive at the field, do everyone a favor and just sta home.

And that’s my view from the middle for now.

Until next time…

peace,
ac