Chapter Eight
One of the strikers from the Red team kicked off. Immediately there was a confused commotion as a rush of small boys charged after the ball. Maggie ran after them, careful not to get too close to the players or in the way of the ball. A Blue defender got his boot to the ball and kicked it away towards the wing. Two defenders rushed forward importantly at the same time as the Red attacking striker. Hastily one of the Blue defenders kicked the ball over the sideline. Maggie blew her whistle. She raised her arm to indicate the direction the Red team was playing and a Red defender ran forward to take the throw in. The boy threw the ball in perfectly, both feet on the ground and hands balanced. Maggie was surprised to see that it didn’t go much further than her own attempts.
“These boys are quite small,” she thought. “I guess they are still learning the game. They probably don’t even know half the rules.”
This was demonstrated a few minutes later as the Blue team went on to attack. Maggie kept up with the play as the ball was being kicked and looked across the field. There was the Red goalie standing in front of his goal, and the Blue striker with the ball. Between them, running hard towards the goal and past the Red sweeper, was another Blue player.
“Kick to me, kick it to me,” he called as the Blue Striker kicked the ball.
Offside! Maggie blasted her whistle and the boys promptly came to a stop. She raised her arm high in the air for an indirect free kick.
“Offside,” called Maggie. Several parents on the sideline clapped.
“Why?” asked the Blue striker, who had been hoping to score a goal.
“You have to have two defenders, that’s two of the Red players, between you and the goal if you are in front of the ball,” explained Maggie. “That’s a simple way of explaining it for them,” she thought. “They can all count to two.”
She blew her whistle to indicate that the Red player could take the free kick. She watched the ball sail through the air and dropped her arm as soon as another player touched it. Maggie felt exhilarated. This was fun. All those weeks of learning rules and looking at diagrams on blackboards and now it was actually happening. She was an actual ref controlling an actual game. It was harder than she had imagined, though. She couldn’t always see exactly what was happening, especially if a player ran in front of her and obscured her vision.
“Linesmen would make things a whole heap easier,” she thought. She knew that most junior games didn’t have linesmen. Her Dad had explained why.
“Rugby is so strong in New Zealand that it’s the game most of the fathers have played. Not many of them played soccer as children so they are not too clear on the rules. When I was a boy, only those who wore glasses or who had a note from their doctor could play soccer at school. Everyone else had to play rugby.” Her father had gone on to say that often the coaches would ref the games or act as linesmen but they preferred, if they could, to watch from the sideline so they could give advice to the players and see how they performed.
The game continued and Maggie was glad she had been going running every night.
“I run more than the players,” she thought as she sprinted up the field.
Red team managed to score a goal, amid much excitement. Maggie wrote it down in her notebook before starting the game again with a Blue kickoff at the centre. A few minutes later there was a scuffle of boots as the ball veered over the sideline. One of the parents picked it up.
“Whose throw, ref?” he asked. Maggie hesitated. She hadn’t seen which player had touched the ball last. What should she do? She took a deep breath and remembered Mr Strathmore’s advice. Unless it’s an offside offence, always give to the defender if in doubt. Maggie held her arm out.
“Blue ball,” she said.
“No, no, it’s our throw,” insisted one of the Red players. “He kicked it out,” he said, pointing accusingly at a Blue sweeper.
“ Blue throw,” said Maggie firmly. That was another of Mr Strathmore’s rules. Never change your decision.
“Fair enough, ref, Blue ball,” said one of the fathers and the game continued.
A little later Maggie’s watch bleeped and she blew the whistle for half time.
“Five minutes to rest,” she thought. The players streamed off the field towards their coaches for oranges and drinks of water. Maggie’s father came up to her, as she stood rather self-consciously on the sideline.
“You’re doing a great job, Maggie, keep it up,” he beamed. Maggie grinned back at him.
“I’m really enjoying it,” she confessed. “I may not be making perfect decisions every time, but I’m doing my best.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.” Her father patted her shoulder. “As long as people know you are in charge they will respect you.”
“It’s funny though,” Maggie went on, “People talk about refs being one-eyed or biased but I don’t see how you can be. You spot the offence and blow the whistle automatically, before you even think about what side a player is on.” Her father agreed with her.
“Most critics have never been in a referee’s situation,” he said. “If they were, they wouldn’t be so quick to abuse the refs.”
“Time to start again,” said Maggie hastily, looking at her watch. “They have had their five minutes.” She blew the whistle and ran to the centre of the field where she reset her watch.
The second half was much like the first, although Maggie took a minute to adjust to the fact that the teams were now playing in opposite directions. At one point, one of the Blue players tripped over his loose bootlaces and fell down howling as the ball came towards him. Maggie stopped the game and waited until the coach took the player from the field and sent on a reserve.
“We’ll start the game again with a drop ball,” she announced. “One player from each side come to me. Now you mustn’t kick the ball until it hits the ground,” she explained as she dropped the ball in between the players.
A few minutes later there was a group of players near the goal area as the Red team tried to score a goal.
“Hey ref, “ called someone on the sideline. “Penalty! They’re charging the goalie.”
Maggie shrugged. There had been no infringement that she could see. The goalie had been standing still with the ball and had been charged shoulder to shoulder, which was perfectly allowable. A few of the players faltered and looked at Maggie.
“Play on,” she called firmly, holding her arms out with the palms up.
“Good call, ref,” called one of the parents. Maggie glowed. This was great. She felt in control and as if she was really contributing to the game. She counted six seconds as the goalie picked up the ball.
“Goalies have a tough time,” she thought. “If he doesn’t get rid of the ball in the six seconds I will blow the whistle, but because he’s only learning I’ll explain why and let him try again.” However the goalie cleared the ball in time and the game continued.
Maggie watched as a group of Blue players managed to finally get the ball into the goal. She recorded it in her book – one goal each. Maggie glanced at her watch – two minutes to go.
“Come on Red, come on Red,” chanted the supporters from the sidelines. Red team ran forward, grimly determined to win. The two teams rejoined battle and Maggie blew a free kick for the Blue team when a Red sweeper pulled the shirt of one of the Blue strikers to stop him getting to the ball. Red team regained control again and came pounding down the field to be met by a group of Blue defenders. Maggie’s watch bleeped. Time was up. Maggie blew a long blast on her whistle as she circled her left arm then pointed to the centre of the field. A cry of disappointment came from the supporters.
“The game is a draw,” said Maggie. The Red coach hurried onto the field to shake Maggie’s hand.
“Good game ref, thanks,” he said. The Blue coach did the same, followed by a few of the parents from the sideline. Elated, Maggie walked off the field to where her father was standing with Mr Strathmore.
“How did I go?” she asked
breathlessly.
“Pretty good,” said Mr Strathmore seriously. “You missed one obvious free kick when one of the Blue defenders kicked a Red striker in the shins, but generally you were good. I like the way you explained to the players what they had done. It was simple and brief.”
“Do I pass?” breathed Maggie. Mr Strathmore laughed. He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a fabric patch. Junior Referee, JFA, was embroidered onto it.
“That’s Junior Football Association,” said Mr Strathmore. “Well done Maggie. Get your Mum to sew that on your shirt. I’ll give you a call during the week to let you know what games you will be allocated. We’ll let you do up to ten year olds this season and next season we will assess you again and probably extend it.”
“Wow, this is awesome.” Maggie hugged her father in delight. “What do you mean, games I’m allocated?” she asked suddenly.
“We’ll put you down to ref one or two games each Saturday now. I’ll make sure they are close to home for you, so transport won’t be a problem.” Mr Strathmore smiled at her.
Maggie gulped. Every Saturday! She was going to be busy.
“Thanks,” she stammered.
“Come on, it’s your Dad’s turn now,” said Mr Strathmore. They went over to another field where a group of older boys was waiting. Maggie watched her father ref the game and was impressed with his confidence and quick decisions.
“You were terrific,” she said as they went home in the car.
“Actually, I was pretty nervous for the first few minutes knowing I was being assessed,” confessed her father, “But I quickly got into the swing of it. I’ve had to ref games before when I was coaching. You get a much different view of the game than you do as a player.”
Maggie filled in her journal that night. It was starting to look impressive. She decided she would keep up her fitness level by running at least three or four nights a week.
“I ran so much during the game, I’m going to have a day off,” she decided.
Maggie startled her family by recording all the soccer games that were shown on TV. She then watched them with the sound off and blew her whistle and called out the infringements.
“Does she have to do that?” asked Nick plaintively. “It really gets on my nerves.”
“She’s only practising,” laughed his mother. “Maggie, perhaps you could take pity on our ear drums and pretend to blow the whistle,” she suggested.
Maggie was surprised to get a phone call from Mr Martin.
“I hear you are a qualified referee now, Maggie,” he said. “Look, I was wondering if you would do me a favour?”
“Sure,” said Maggie. “What is it?”
“I’d like you to come along to my team practices,” said Mr Martin. “You can explain one of the rules to the team every week and then ref our practise game. You can even join in the skills practise as well if you like.” Maggie thought for a few seconds.
“I’d love to,” she answered.
“You’re never home,” complained Melanie at school a few weeks later as they sat eating their sandwiches together by the library. “If you’re not out running, you’re at soccer practise or soccer games.”
‘It’s brilliant and I really enjoy it,” said Maggie happily.
“I’ll bet you win the prize for the best journal,” said Lisa. “How can my cricket compare with all the things you have done?”
“I hope I win as well,” confessed Maggie, “but it’s weird. When I started I was doing it because I wanted to win a prize. Now I’m involved in sport because I really enjoy it.”
A few weeks later there was a sports exchange between Maggie’s school and a school from a neighbouring district. Lisa was playing in the indoor cricket team and Melanie agreed to watch the First Eleven soccer game with Maggie.
“Not that I’ll understand much of it,” complained Melanie.
“I’ll explain the rules to you,” said Maggie kindly.
“I was afraid of that,” groaned Melanie.
Maggie’s father had been asked to come along and ref the match and Nick was playing centre half. Two of the Second Eleven boys were acting as linesmen and most of the school turned out to watch. A few minutes before the game was due to start, disaster struck. Mr Johnson was walking past a classroom on his way to the soccer field when he tripped on a loose cobblestone and twisted his ankle.
“I can’t run on this. I can’t even walk,” he groaned. The PE teacher was sympathetic.
“I’ll see if the visiting coach can ref for us,” he said. “Hey you two!” He called to a couple of Year Eleven boys who were walking past. “Help Mr Johnson to the sick bay and ask Mrs Carruthers to put ice on his ankle. I’ve got to go.”
Mr Smith raced over to the field where the players had assembled.
“Our ref has had an accident. Are you able to do it?” he asked the visiting teacher. The teacher shook his head.
“Sorry mate, I’m filling in for the usual coach today. The only game I know anything about is squash, so that’s no good to you. I’m only here to keep the boys in order on the bus.”
“Oh dear.” Mr Smith shook his head. A few of the team crowded around him to ask about the delay and he explained the problem.
“Why don’t you ask my sister Maggie? She’s a qualified ref,” suggested Nick.
“Maggie?” Mr Smith was incredulous. “She’s a ref?”
“Yeah, she usually does a couple of games each Saturday,” answered Nick. “She’s over there with her friend Melanie.” Mr Smith walked over to the sideline where Maggie was sitting.
“Maggie, we need a ref. Your father has twisted his ankle. Can you do it for us?” he asked. Maggie’s heart nearly stopped beating as she turned an aghast face to Mr Smith.
“Of course she can,” said Melanie. “ She’s even got her boots and gear with her for soccer practise after school. You’ll do it, won’t you Maggie?”
“But I’m only qualified for ten year olds,” bleated Maggie.
“That’s okay, it’s only a friendly game,” said Mr Smith. “A couple of the Senior boys will run the lines for you so that will be a help. Get your gear on as quick as you can, we don’t want to wait much longer.”
“All right,” whispered Maggie. She pulled her boots on, trying to lace them up with trembling fingers that felt like swollen bananas. Melanie finally took pity on her and tied them firmly in double bows.
Maggie ran onto the field and looked around her in dismay. The players were enormous, towering head and shoulders above her. These were not boys, these were men!
‘What have I let myself in for,” gulped Maggie. “I can’t see over their heads and they are bound to run much faster than I can.” She tried to look confident as she took the toss and marked the team names in a page hastily torn from her science exercise book. Nick retrieved his watch from his schoolbag and handed it to Maggie with a whispered “good luck.”
Maggie blew the whistle to signal the start of the game. She was right. The players did run much faster than she could. Maggie pounded down the field after them and the ball was kicked out.
“Oh help. Which way?” she thought. She looked across at the sideline and to her relief the linesman was standing at the point where the ball went out, his flag indicating the direction.
“Wow, this makes it easier,” thought Maggie as the Yellow team threw the ball in. The sweeper’s foot lifted from the ground as he threw the ball in. Maggie blew a piercing blast on her whistle, tapped her raised foot behind her and reversed the direction of her arm. The Yellow player scowled at her as the Green team clapped and cheered.
The game continued. Maggie soon settled into a running pattern. These players did a lot more passing of the ball and kept their positions well. It was different from having to run around with a mob of small boys to keep an eye on them. Maggie soon found that she could run a diagonal across the pitch, keeping an eye out for the linesmen’s flags. She knew it would be the full ninety minute game, not the forty minute g
ames the young boys played. She blew for free kicks, corner kicks and goal kicks. She penalized a Green player, Nick, for kicking his opponent’s legs as he went for the ball, and she awarded a penalty kick against Yellow for handling the ball in the penalty area. The Green team was delighted, and the spectators groaned, as the Yellow goalie made a brilliant save and rolled along the ground in front of the goal.
“Didn’t think you’d spot that hand ball,” grinned Nick as he ran past her. “You’re better than I thought you’d be.”
Tempers rose as half time approached and no goals had been scored. A Yellow defender ran forward to tackle his opponent and elbowed him in the back. Maggie awarded a free kick against him. The player looked annoyed. He was even more annoyed a short time later when the ball came her way and Maggie couldn’t move aside fast enough. The Yellow defender swore at Maggie. Maggie promptly blew the whistle.
“I am cautioning you for the use of foul and abusive language,” she said, raising her arm to indicate an indirect free kick.
“You can’t do that!” exploded the enraged Yellow captain.
“Yes, I can,” said Maggie calmly. “It’s actually a send-off offence so tell your players to watch their language or they will all be taking early showers.” Shortly after this Nicks’s watch bleeped and she blew for half time and retired, trembling, to the goal line where she collapsed on the ground. Melanie raced up.
“You are amazing, Maggie,” she breathed. “Here, I flogged you an orange from the players basket.”
“Thanks,” said Maggie breathlessly. This was horrible. She could see so many people she knew watching the game. Still forty-five minutes to go and she was already feeling tired.
“Seth says you look really good,” went on Melanie. “He says you look like those refs on TV, really professional.”
“He said that? Gosh.” Maggie brightened up. She blew the whistle to signal the end of half time and was further cheered by Nick giving her the thumbs-up as he ran onto the field.
The rest of the game passed in a blur of yellow and green. Maggie made a note each time a goal was scored, and was grateful to the linesmen who faithfully helped her out with their flags. At last the final whistle blew. The score stood at Yellow team with four goals to Green team's three.
“Thanks, ref.” The players of both teams filed past her shaking Maggie’s hand.
“They can’t say you were biased, anyway,” whispered Nick. “We lost.” The Green team cheered the Yellow team then both teams cheered the ref. Maggie felt so proud she hardly felt the ground as she walked back to the sideline where she had left her bag.
“Fantastic, Maggie,” said Mr Smith. “You are a credit to the school.”
A Year thirteen boy approached her.
“Hi. I’m Gareth,” he said. “I’m the editor of the school magazine. Is it okay if I write a feature article about you?”