Category: Refereeing

Its been some time (since 13th April to be precise) since I’ve officiated at any level. That was the day “I did my knee” (see broken) ending my season and leaving me hobbling for weeks to come. I did begin to wonder if I’d ever take to the middle again.

But the new season has dawned and today I ran the line for Yeovil Town U16 v AFC Bournemouth U16. I really enjoyed it, not just the game itself, but the whole “experience” – turning up, being part of a team of three, interacting with players, coaches and managers, even the drive to and from the game.

For the record, Bournemouth ran out comfortable 5-0 winners, there were calls for offside for their second goal but I didn’t give it, I think the striker & two defenders were all in line, hence no flag.

Anyway, need to manage “the knee” and keep on with the whistle.

A Year in the Middle – tales from the man in black

Inwardly I sighed, expecting the inevitable. Once again, a wayward shot had flown high, wide and ugly, the ball – the only ball we had – missing the goal by a country mile and, instead of nestling in the top corner of the net, it was now somewhere in the long grass in the next field on the other side of a dry stone wall. No-one made any attempt to go and collect it. The pause lengthened but eventually, inevitably, it was shattered with the cry “Come on ref, sort it out.”

For the first time I began to wonder why I bother. I’d been refereeing for about six months, getting plenty of games and experience in both Open Age (adult) football and youth games. Of course I’d received my fair share of dissent and decisions questioned by those on and off the field, but on the whole I coped well with those incidents and, typically, as I blew the final whistle on a fixture most would be happy with my performance (particularly if they had won!) and I would pat myself on the back, confident that the game had been a better contest because I had been there to officiate. But this game was different, depressingly different. Before kick off I had rejected the proffered match ball as it had a 5cm split along its length, leaving only the spare to play with, and that spare seemed to spend longer in the air, lost in a bush or in a neighbouring field. Neither team could string more than 4 passes together, I doubt one side retained possession for more than 30 seconds at any one time, and the highlight was a moment of mediocrity.

I’d chosen to spend my Saturday afternoon getting moaned at by twenty-two blokes on the pitch and another thirty or so spectators who’s idea of sport was to hurl insults at the lone man in the middle, just because he was wearing different coloured clothing from everyone else. It dawned on me that in any other aspect of life this would be considered bullying, but in this corner of grass roots football it was considered normal. Time to re-evaluate how I spend my leisure time, perhaps.

But the above was an anomaly, the exception that proves the rule. My year in the middle, refereeing football at the lowest levels, has been rewarding, fulfilling and fun.

Mid-life crises manifest themselves in many ways. For me, I decided I wanted to become a football referee, a lot cheaper than buying a sports car or motorcycle and (probably) less humiliating than flirting with work colleagues twenty years my junior. So following two Sundays and a Tuesday evening of instruction I was a fully badged official, licensed to ply my new trade at the bottom rung of the footballing ladder. I arrived early to take charge of my first league game, a warm Saturday in late August, and I carried out my pitch inspection with diligence, discovering several large holes in the field of play. I sought out the home team captain/secretary/kit man/manger (at this level, it is inevitably one and the same person) and voiced my concerns about the ankle breakers I had found. “No worries, ref” he chirped as he trotted off to the boot of his car, emerging with a spade. He went to a corner of the field and began digging furiously, producing a pile of soil and turf which he then used to fill all the holes in the pitch. Football one, rabbits nil, and at 2pm, just as the first drops of rain began to fall, I blew the whistle to begin my refereeing career.

For ninety torrid minutes I did my best to look the part, appear competent and ignore the rain that lashed down for the whole game. I think I got away with it and, with a sense of relief, I signaled the end of the game, gratefully accepting any handshakes from the players before I squelched off back to my car. Recounting the day’s experiences with other debutees from my course it seems I had got off lightly: one fellow new ref had to contend with a fight, a mass confrontation and two red cards, all before half time. He hung up his whistle and retired after that game, deciding that refereeing probably wasn’t for him.

And so my first season as a referee was underway. Faces started to become familiar as I began to meet the same teams on the circuit at grounds that had become home from home. Patterns began to emerge; Under 16s produced the best football, swift and purposeful from lads who still dreamed they might make it, who would train each week, who would pass and play. The adults adopted a hoof it and hope style with Tuesday night training a long forgotten pre-season promise. I became immersed in the world of the men in black, involving myself fully in online discussions about arcane laws and interpretations (and always laws, never rules – mentioning “rules” in refereeing circles is certainly a bookable offence), attending training evenings run by my local FA. (The arrival of a somewhat bemused birdwatcher to a session titled “Foul Recognition” did elicit a smile.) It was when I found myself viewing a five minute YouTube video on how to care for your whistle (soak it denture tablets, apparently) that I realised I was maybe becoming a little too obsessive about my new hobby.

It was with some pride that I blew the final whistle on my season at a cup final, an appointment that was recognition that over the last nine months or so I had developed into a competent man in the middle (and that I was prepared to get up early on a Sunday morning and do the game for a small trinket memento rather than the usual match fee). I enjoyed the season, most of the time, and most of the time most of the people appreciated my involvement. Nobody actually wants perfect refereeing all of the time, as that would mean the players would have to take responsibility for their inability. No, much easier to blame the ref, after all that’s what we’re there for. And when you accept that and see yourself as a provider of a service, a proud lion roaming the vast, and often overgrown, jungle of grass roots football, rising above the petty squabbles of those around you, it really does become rather good fun.

I was looking forward to running the Glastonbury 10K that took place today and a few weeks ago I entered the event.

But on Monday I received an email appointing me to referee a Cup Final, an honour in recognition of my service (& good refereeing, I hope!) in the Yeovil and District Youth League.

So today I found myself in the middle, with two neutral assistants, taking charge of the U14 Division 2 Knock Out Cup, between Ash and Castle Cary. It was an enjoyable experience, albeit (or because) it was an easy match to ref. Ash were clearly the stronger side, going 4 up, although Castle Cary rallied towards the end and brought it back to 4 -2 before the end.

On Thursday, I ran the line for our U14s in the Somerset Schools County Cup – for these games a neutral ref is appointed, but schools must supply their own lino, so I swiftly volunteered and enjoyed a day out of school, running the line at Bridgwater FC. Although the score was also 4-2 (to Millfield v Beechen Cliff) it was certainly not a one sided affair – either side could have won, BC spurning a great opportunity to peg it bag to 3-3 with 3 mins to go.

In the first half I ruled out a Beechen goal as off-side, which if it had stood would have put them 2-1 up. Very happy with the decision, although I am still waiting for the video to be uploaded so that I can confirm I was right.

You don’t get paid for finals, instead getting a memento – the two pictured above. Perhaps I’ll need to build a trophy cabinet …

A busy four days for me and my kit that has seen me officiate every day from Saturday through to Tuesday, 3 middles and 1 line:

• Sat 8th April Yeovil & District League Open Age Manor v Oddcombe  4-0
• Sun 9th April Yeovil & District Youth League U16 Wessex v Aller Park 5-0
• Mon 10th April Somerset Floodlight League U18 Glastonbury v Elmore  3-9 Assistant Ref
• Tue 11th April Yeovil & District League Open Age Pen Mill Athletic v Stoke 2-1

Enjoyed them all, I was a late replacement for Saturday’s game (my original game having been postponed earlier in the week) I’d been to my Friday night spinning class and gone for a run on Saturday morning – my legs were feeling heavy when I got a text asking me to do the game as the “original” ref had had to go to hospital.

A good game to ease back into the OA arena, Oddcombe have lost all games this season, and didn’t upset the form book, despite playing the team only one place above them – one place in the league, a huge chasm in ability. I take my hat off to Oddcombe, many players and teams would have packed it in long before now, but 20 games in, 20 defeats and a goal difference of -92, they are still turning out each week. An easy game to manage and referee on a beautifully warm afternoon.

Sunday morning saw me at Glastonbury FC to referee Wessex Youth in their final home game of the season, which they won comfortably. With one game left to play, their destiny is in their hands – win it and they win the league, lose, and their opponents of the day will be crowned champions. I took it as a compliment when the home team manger expressed disappointment that I shan’t be officiating that game (we refs, at this level, are pretty regional – hence I do a lot of Wessex games as they are so local to me, I’m unlikely to be appointed to their final game in distant Sherborne!)  Another really enjoyable game – the standard of football at U15 & U16 in the Youth League far exceeds that in the Open Age (men’s) league – the boys tend to pass and play, the men hoof and hope.

Monday evening at it was back to Glastonbury to run the line in a Somerset Floodlight U18 league game. I really do enjoy working as a team of 3, it not only helps with the officiating, but it is that – working as a team – that makes it so much better, a much less lonely experience!

I don’t do it for the money, but it did make me realise that Monday night’s endeavours were below the minimum wage! As a lino, you get £15 + mileage (ref get’s 22 + mileage) – ref asked us (quite rightly) to arrive at 6.30 for a 7.30 kick off so we could do pitch inspections warm ups, player checks, briefings etc. Add in 90 mins of football and (not allowing for a slightly delayed kick off, added time, half time) that works out at £6 an hour. It is expenses, not wages, but an example worth keeping should HMRC ever try to suggest that we are being paid to officiate. (Plus we did get a nice plate of sausage & chips in the bar after the game!)

Tuesday evening and it was back to Yeovil for a 2nd division encounter in the Yeovil & District League, on a pitch that a few weeks ago was a bog but has since baked rock hard following the recent weeks of hot, dry weather. The corners where fine – full of lush, long grass, but the centre circle and both penalty areas were devoid of greenery and solid as cement. Had it been winter and this hard due to freezing, we wouldn’t have played, but for some reason its OK to do so in the summer (someone did give me a very good and convincing explanation as to why, but sadly I’ve forgotten their logic.)

For some time I thought it might turn out to be that elusive beast – a nil nil draw but shortly before half time, probably against the run of play, the visitors took the lead. Ten minutes into the second half the home side squared it and suddenly it became “interesting” (read: competitive, read a little feisty, read: tougher to ref) but I think I kept a good handle on the game, managed it well.  With a number of vocal supporters & players, it could have become another Keinton v Braddford, but I’ve learnt, I was consistent (although reds may disagree!), I did my best and my best was good enough. I don’t know if it was despite the more challenging nature of the game, or because of it, that I enjoyed it more than Saturday’s one sided encounter.

And this time, rather than be riled by inane comments from the sideline I ignored them, or smirked inwardly at their foolishness. Hanging on to their 2-1 lead, whites were constantly asking “how long ref”, to which I would reply with the number of minutes to go. “Where’s he getting that time from?” howled a harridan from the side lines every time.

One felt like going over and explaining one’s detailed time keeping arrangements: like all refs, I’m a little paranoid about time so I wear two watches, and my fitbit, which also tells the time. I note the time we kick off, and add 45 mins so I know, if both my stopwatches fail, I’ll still know when to end the game. Then, on one watch, I have a countdown timer for 45 mins – this I don’t touch and so I know when the half is finished, and I can guess any extra time needed if my other stopwatch – which is counting up from zero, and I stop for stoppages – fails. So I had three ways to work out the time, all of which were giving me the same answer – that’s where I was getting the time from.

Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned the perils of the Archery club holding their Tuesday evening practice behind one of the goals. The joys of grass roots football … you couldn’t make it up!