Let's Hear Your Best Story ...
You’ve probably been sharing your best officiating stories at any number of postgame crew gatherings for years. Referee magazine wants to publish your favorite war story from the officiating trenches. Type up your story in 900 words or less and e-mail it to lastcall@referee.com. Sure, you might lose the opportunity to tell the story to your buddies, but now you’ll have an even bigger audience. Here’s a story about an official who lost his cool as a coach.
I Turned into One of Them
By David Knopf
It was a three-on-three soccer tournament, a “national tour stop” leading to the promised land — the finals in sunny Orlando, Fla.
I’d refereed for years, but was now coaching eight-year-olds, one of whom was my son. Our team was strong and could make the tournament finals. That singular goal, though, prompted a 57-year-old coach to act like a fool.
It was hot, and the parents had brought tents, cold drinks and snacks to keep the kids primed for several games in one day.
Before our game, I spotted a friend’s son on the field next to ours. The 13-year-old referee was crying after being yelled at by an adult coach. I don’t know what the coach said, but I was told he’d been on the boy throughout the first half and tournament officials were now reading the coach the riot act.
The damage had been done.
I took the boy aside and told him the coach was a bully. “Call your game,” I said, “and ignore him. You’re doing a great job.” He wasn’t the first young ref I’d seen in tears because an adult failed to act his age.
Much to his credit, he gathered his courage and finished the game. Feeling good about comforting and advising him, I turned to prepare my team for its own game.
It was the tournament semifinal, and a win meant we would qualify for the final and a possible trip to regionals. Our referee was tall and said little. I guessed he was in his early 20s and should’ve known better than to call the game from the halfway line, even if he was working along on a small field.
“This is for a final and these teams are busting their butts,” I yelled. “Work as hard as they are.”
I was hot.
The ref missed a call, then another. All, I thought, because he wasn’t hustling, wasn’t getting in position to see what was happening.
I was right, of course, but — as I learned later — I was also wrong.
Just as the heat of the day affected him, the heat of the moment got to me. I peppered and peppered him with comments until he told me to be quiet. He spoke calmly and didn’t show me a yellow card.
Certainly, I’d earned one. He demonstrated more restraint than I had.
My team lost what turned out to be a close, exciting game, and after the ritual handshakes, I signed the scorecard and unloaded a final volley of criticism.
It was only later that I learned what a fool I’d been.
“Do you believe that referee?” I asked my wife and daughter. “You’d expect more someone his age.”
The referee I thought was 21 or 22 was, my family said, actually 15 or 16. He just looked older.
I didn’t believe them, just as others couldn't believe Freddy Adu was actually 14 when his Major League Soccer cameo began. He, too, looked older.
There was no excuse. As a coach, I’d always preached that players should adjust to referees and play through their shortcomings. I wasn’t one to find a scapegoat.
As it turned out, I hadn’t taken my own sermons to heart.
The next day, I went up to the referee and apologized.
“I was out of line yesterday,” I said, shaking his hand. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
The tall boy stood quietly and listened.
As with my friend’s young son, my good judgment arrived after the damage had been done. It might’ve been true that our referee failed to hustle. But as an adult, I’d failed an even bigger test — not being mature enough to find a more appropriate way to vent my frustration.
David Knopf refereed high school and youth soccer, high school and college basketball and umpire college baseball. This originally appeared in the 8/06 issue of Referee. |
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