The Pain of Being a Ref

The most stupid thing I have done in a while is to agree to referee a community soccer match. You only get a feel of how tough a referee's job is if you have ever tried refereeing a game yourself.

The place was Ndola near the the rugby club. We had gone to play a social match of our own, only to find that only me and a friend had pitched up. In order to while away the hours, we decided to watch a match between Shoprite workers and students from a local nursing college. Despite players from both teams having taken up positions, the match  could not start owing to disagreements on who would be referee. That was when some "genius" settled on selecting an "impartial" member of the public, randomly selected, as the only means of ensuring fairness. The unfortunate "impartial" member of the public turned out to be me.

It wasn't because I had overtly solicited for the job, it was just one of those things, were someone comes to you, thrusts a whistle in your hands and asks you to ref the game, perhaps much in the same way some people will thrust a baby in your arms before you even have a chance to excuse yourself. The words "will you hold the baby for me" merely qualifying as a formality. As I trundled towards the centre circle, whistle and watch in hand, I kept telling myself that it was going to be easy. Besides, I reasoned, I was being of service to these two teams.

I was about to whistle for the beginning of the match when I realized I did not have any cards on me, which for some stupid reason made me start patting my pockets in search of them. Is it not a strange human behavior, the fact that we normally search our pockets even when we know we don't have something. Just think back and recall the number of times you have had to check your pockets for money, even when you well know that your pockets are empty. Pathetic.

Not having any cards felt like a hunter without bullets. I entreated the players for anyone who could have a yellow or red card but none seemed interested, save for some mocking giggles from some players. I should have known that letting the players know I had no cards was a massive mistake. How was I going to punish offenders without any cards?

At length and with extreme reluctance I blew for the start of the match. Immediately 22 grown men started chasing the inflated ball, knocking it about, dribbling and engaging in some rather thunderous tackles that had me blowing for a foul more times than would have ordinarily made me comfortable. Within the first fifteen minutes, a player from Shorpite went down under a heavy challenge from the students, near the centre circle. I blew for a foul, while watching the offended player writhing in agony like a snake whose head had been cut-off. Meanwhile the fellow's team-mates surrounded me, baying for the offender's blood. What do I do? I had no cards on me to caution or even send-off the offender, and frankly I didn't want to annoy anyone.

I frantically waved away the players, drew closer to the injured guy and asked whether he was fine, to which he nodded while ostensibly wincing with pain. I later called the offender, asked him to take it easy and awarded the offended team a free kick without any further action.

That single action opened the door to the verbal abuse that I was to suffer for the rest of the half. The Shoprite captain approached me, his sweaty face almost brushing against my own. He must have read the fear in my eyes as he hissed that he would "cut off my balls" if they lost, or if any of his team mates got injured. I am not physically imposing and at this exact time rued the fact that I had not devoted any time to body building.

At length the match restarted to a chorus of abuse flung at me from both on and off the pitch. I was just getting to a point were I felt I was doing ok, having only had to deal with goal kicks and handballs when something significant, that convinced me I had no business being a ref happened. During a momentary lapse of concentration, the ball had dribbled out for a throw-in but without the aid of a line-man, I had no idea who had the last touch. All eyes turned to me seeking guidance on which direction the play was going, my only response was to embarrassingly point in one direction, then the other and lastly, stupidly ask the nearest player (in a barely audible whisper) which direction the throw was supposed to go.

I was still in this perplexed state, when a quick-thinking Shoprite player, having realised that the ref (me) was an utterly incompetent bumbling novice, decided to take a quick throw. Three moves later with the other team protesting that it was their ball, Shoprite scored and without even thinking I allowed the goal, and immediately regretted as a horde of players even those on the bench and match officials from the nursing school surrounded me, vulture style.

Before I knew it, someone had shoved me in the back, I staggered forward and landed on some barrel chested sweaty guy. I smiled sheepishly, in vain trying to calm the players. In the meantime my mind was racing. In fact at that precise time, I was cursing the devil in me that had decided that refereeing a football match was a fun way of spending a Sunday afternoon.

By some miracle I managed to extricate myself from  the mass of angry bodies, by an even greater miracle got the match to restart after which I immediately blew for half-time. I quickly approached the guy who had "honoured" me with officiating duties and threw the whistle at him like it was some poisonous bug. I was on my way home. The startled guy came running after me, begging me to reconsider my decision, but I was having none of it.

In fact at that exact time, I made a vow never to ever referee a football game in my life, even if it involved monks or little harmless children. That decision can only be reversed the day I am granted super-powers that enable me to see the whole pitch at the same time, provide me with swift mobility to be as close to the point of incident as possible and give me enough muscle to strangle any player who dares raise their voice against me.  I am sure you get the point.

Yet it is amazing how many of us remain intolerant of football referees. They have been the target of the meanest and cheapest shots you will ever know, if you are a follower of football. Little is said about how incredibly difficult their jobs are. I have been to matches were referees have been beaten up, while recently one was killed because they made a decision that one team thought was unfair.

The truth is that referees are only human, who apart from having a great deal of courage are prone to a mistake or two (who isn't). Their jobs are difficult enough without having to fear for their lives every time they make an unpopular decision. Some like Anders Frisk, a brilliant referee who made a controversial decision against Chelsea in the Champions League some time back, have had to resign due to death threats against them and members of their family. He like me, reasoned that there was more to life than clinging on to a career in match officiating when your family is being threatened.

So next time you are at a soccer match, cut the ref some slack. And if someone asks you to officiate, hightail it for the hills. It might just be the wisest decision you ever made.