Adventures in Soccer Officiating
by:posted: Fri Feb 15, 2008 at 03:13 PM
Part 1: The Clinic
In my thirty-one year love affair with the beautiful game, I’ve had my share of outstanding referees and assistant referees officiating my games. These officials know the rules, enforce these when necessary, shout “advantage” often, and remain largely behind the scenes for ninety minutes, despite the bright colors they often wear.
Of course, as not all soccer players can play like Pele,not all soccer offi cials are created in the same mold as Pierluigi Collina, the baldheaded Italian known the world over as “top referee.” Maybe we “old guy” soccer players are more critical of offi cials since we’ve played for so long and thus “assume” we understand each and every aspect of the game. In fact, many in my old guy league have such incredible eyesight they can spot the most miniscule foul from far across the pitch and are not afraid to verbally "assist" a referee with seeing it, too. Thankfully, none of us is permitted our own whistles as uniform accessories.
I am willing to bet I am not the only soccer player, while huffi ng and puffi ng up and down the field, to think, “I know I can do a better job than this ref.” So, after decades of being the top ref in my mind, I decided to put my skills to the written and physical test. In late December, I looked on the Hawaii Referee Association website, www.hsra.net, and signed up for the entry-level referee clinic to be held in early February. Could I do a better job than some of the officials I’ve had over the years?
I knew my own personal reason for taking the course, but I wondered who in their right mind would voluntarily subject themselves to seventeen hours of training to become a soccer official? I mentioned to a life-long soccer-playing friend my intention. “Are you kidding me? Why would you do that? WHY!? Listen, I’ll lend you some money if you’re short, but please, don’t do it. They’ll eat you alive out there. You’re crazy!” were his only words of encouragement.
Wednesday night at the Aiea United Methodist Church, for the opening session of the four-day clinic, I got my fi rst glimpse of the “who else” I had wondered about. Most of my fellow classmates were happily tumbling out of SUVs and Minivans into the parking area, mechanically nodding to verbal instructions from parents on what time and where they should wait for a speedy pick-up. Apparently, middle school soccer players, and lots of them, want to become referees. That made me and the other four adults in a class of thirty-fi ve students the oldest in the room by at least twenty years. Age not withstanding, we were all there for one common goal: to learn the rules of the game and become certifed. However, it appeared the younger set also had a few ulterior goals as well: to drink as much soda and juice while eating as much of the plate lunches, fast food and candy their parents had laden them with in anticipation of the grueling three-hour class ahead. I was envious. I had not thought that far in advance. My first refereeing mistake.
If soccer referees were movie stars, then elite Academy Award winners taught our class. Between the five instructors throughout the four-night course, they had nearly one hundred years of combined experience blowing whistles, signaling for penalty kicks and carding
players. In fact, most, if not all, had been offi ciating games well before their eager, hungry, apprentices were born, save us fi ve “matured” students.
The course was broken up into the different aspects of the rules of the game each night. In the first lesson, we learned the proper dimensions of the playing fi eld and
th ball, as well as the acceptable shapes of goal posts. In case you were wondering, goal posts cannot be triangular in shape. We also learned the names of the lines marking the field, as well as the names for each section of the field those lines delineated. Another night, we spent hours on the subtleties and nuances of the offside rule. I found out, much to my embarrassment, that every time I and the rest of my old guy teammates blurt out,
“But referee! He’s offsides,” we are saying it completely wrong. “But referee! He’s offside,” without the “s,” would be the proper way to draw a referee’s attention to a player committing an infraction punishable by an indirect free kick. Later, we covered the multiple minor and serious infractions that occur during every match and the appropriate punishment for each of these. In one of my favorite lessons, the instructor demonstrated the proper technique and arm positioning for issuing yellow and red cards by demonstrating on all the students who arrived late to class after our allotted fifteen-minute break.
With the last remaining laws of the official USSF Laws of the Game covered, Pro Bowl Saturday afternoon, complete with news helicopters flying low overhead toward Aloha Stadium, became the Day of Judgment for the thirty-five of us. Our instructor, grim-faced and solemn, handed out the hundred-question certification test. He reminded us that we needed to correctly answer at least seventy-five of the questions to become a referee.
It has been a while since I’ve taken a test. Fortunately for me, though, this exam was multiple choice. Nervously, I brought my answer sheet to our instructor. He immediately unsheathed his bright red pen, an appropriate color for a referee instructor. On the first page, I was only shown the red twice. The second and final page proved more difficult for him, and apparently for me, as well. He marked eight more careless errors, bringing my total score to a ninety-percent, enough to pass, according to the USSF. He shook my hand, without any secret referee handshake, I might add, handed me USSF 2007 Official’s patch, and welcomed me to the profession. To the rest of the class, he encouraged all to actively seek out assignments with the various leagues in the state. His final words of encouragement to all were, “Get out there and start making mistakes.”
The next day, while playing a game with my old guy team, I paid special attention to the referee crew: the calls they made or didn’t make and the manner in which they conducted themselves. Being an offi cial myself now, I even tried to protect them from some of the more vocal curmudgeonly oldies on my teamwhen they yelled, “But referee! That wasn’t offsides!” I pointed out the improper use of the “s.” That game, the ref called everything by the book and, in my opinion, the crew was correct on almost every decision. I was impressed. Could I do the same?
It seems it is expected and understood that no ref will get every call right during any ninety-minute match. I have yet to make my first error as a referee, mostly because I have not refereed a game yet. The time will come, though, because I now have an official patch. In anticipation of my fi rst game, I’ve practiced my “advantage” yell and accompanying hand motion in front of the mirror, attempting to get the right vocal pitch and perfect arm angle. I promise to you all that I will certainly never make the same mistake I made before becoming referee certified. I will never again think that I am the top ref, even to myself while huffing and puffing up and down the field.
In my thirty-one year love affair with the beautiful game, I’ve had my share of outstanding referees and assistant referees officiating my games. These officials know the rules, enforce these when necessary, shout “advantage” often, and remain largely behind the scenes for ninety minutes, despite the bright colors they often wear.
Of course, as not all soccer players can play like Pele,not all soccer offi cials are created in the same mold as Pierluigi Collina, the baldheaded Italian known the world over as “top referee.” Maybe we “old guy” soccer players are more critical of offi cials since we’ve played for so long and thus “assume” we understand each and every aspect of the game. In fact, many in my old guy league have such incredible eyesight they can spot the most miniscule foul from far across the pitch and are not afraid to verbally "assist" a referee with seeing it, too. Thankfully, none of us is permitted our own whistles as uniform accessories.
I am willing to bet I am not the only soccer player, while huffi ng and puffi ng up and down the field, to think, “I know I can do a better job than this ref.” So, after decades of being the top ref in my mind, I decided to put my skills to the written and physical test. In late December, I looked on the Hawaii Referee Association website, www.hsra.net, and signed up for the entry-level referee clinic to be held in early February. Could I do a better job than some of the officials I’ve had over the years?
I knew my own personal reason for taking the course, but I wondered who in their right mind would voluntarily subject themselves to seventeen hours of training to become a soccer official? I mentioned to a life-long soccer-playing friend my intention. “Are you kidding me? Why would you do that? WHY!? Listen, I’ll lend you some money if you’re short, but please, don’t do it. They’ll eat you alive out there. You’re crazy!” were his only words of encouragement.
Wednesday night at the Aiea United Methodist Church, for the opening session of the four-day clinic, I got my fi rst glimpse of the “who else” I had wondered about. Most of my fellow classmates were happily tumbling out of SUVs and Minivans into the parking area, mechanically nodding to verbal instructions from parents on what time and where they should wait for a speedy pick-up. Apparently, middle school soccer players, and lots of them, want to become referees. That made me and the other four adults in a class of thirty-fi ve students the oldest in the room by at least twenty years. Age not withstanding, we were all there for one common goal: to learn the rules of the game and become certifed. However, it appeared the younger set also had a few ulterior goals as well: to drink as much soda and juice while eating as much of the plate lunches, fast food and candy their parents had laden them with in anticipation of the grueling three-hour class ahead. I was envious. I had not thought that far in advance. My first refereeing mistake.
If soccer referees were movie stars, then elite Academy Award winners taught our class. Between the five instructors throughout the four-night course, they had nearly one hundred years of combined experience blowing whistles, signaling for penalty kicks and carding
players. In fact, most, if not all, had been offi ciating games well before their eager, hungry, apprentices were born, save us fi ve “matured” students.
The course was broken up into the different aspects of the rules of the game each night. In the first lesson, we learned the proper dimensions of the playing fi eld and
th ball, as well as the acceptable shapes of goal posts. In case you were wondering, goal posts cannot be triangular in shape. We also learned the names of the lines marking the field, as well as the names for each section of the field those lines delineated. Another night, we spent hours on the subtleties and nuances of the offside rule. I found out, much to my embarrassment, that every time I and the rest of my old guy teammates blurt out,
“But referee! He’s offsides,” we are saying it completely wrong. “But referee! He’s offside,” without the “s,” would be the proper way to draw a referee’s attention to a player committing an infraction punishable by an indirect free kick. Later, we covered the multiple minor and serious infractions that occur during every match and the appropriate punishment for each of these. In one of my favorite lessons, the instructor demonstrated the proper technique and arm positioning for issuing yellow and red cards by demonstrating on all the students who arrived late to class after our allotted fifteen-minute break.
With the last remaining laws of the official USSF Laws of the Game covered, Pro Bowl Saturday afternoon, complete with news helicopters flying low overhead toward Aloha Stadium, became the Day of Judgment for the thirty-five of us. Our instructor, grim-faced and solemn, handed out the hundred-question certification test. He reminded us that we needed to correctly answer at least seventy-five of the questions to become a referee.
It has been a while since I’ve taken a test. Fortunately for me, though, this exam was multiple choice. Nervously, I brought my answer sheet to our instructor. He immediately unsheathed his bright red pen, an appropriate color for a referee instructor. On the first page, I was only shown the red twice. The second and final page proved more difficult for him, and apparently for me, as well. He marked eight more careless errors, bringing my total score to a ninety-percent, enough to pass, according to the USSF. He shook my hand, without any secret referee handshake, I might add, handed me USSF 2007 Official’s patch, and welcomed me to the profession. To the rest of the class, he encouraged all to actively seek out assignments with the various leagues in the state. His final words of encouragement to all were, “Get out there and start making mistakes.”
The next day, while playing a game with my old guy team, I paid special attention to the referee crew: the calls they made or didn’t make and the manner in which they conducted themselves. Being an offi cial myself now, I even tried to protect them from some of the more vocal curmudgeonly oldies on my teamwhen they yelled, “But referee! That wasn’t offsides!” I pointed out the improper use of the “s.” That game, the ref called everything by the book and, in my opinion, the crew was correct on almost every decision. I was impressed. Could I do the same?
It seems it is expected and understood that no ref will get every call right during any ninety-minute match. I have yet to make my first error as a referee, mostly because I have not refereed a game yet. The time will come, though, because I now have an official patch. In anticipation of my fi rst game, I’ve practiced my “advantage” yell and accompanying hand motion in front of the mirror, attempting to get the right vocal pitch and perfect arm angle. I promise to you all that I will certainly never make the same mistake I made before becoming referee certified. I will never again think that I am the top ref, even to myself while huffing and puffing up and down the field.
advertisement
