Here I am, sitting at my computer at 11:30 at night. That's quite out of the ordinary for me. So why am I here? Because I just got back from reffing an exciting soccer match. Oh how I wish it hadn't been so exciting.
I had to make an extremely difficult decision. It was 50% popular and 50% unpopular, as decisions so often are in sports officiating. It was the type of decision that, although it was correct, I kind of wish I hadn't made. Sure, that would have been the weenie, weak-kneed way out. But it probably would have been easier to sell.
Seven seconds. That's how much time was on the clock when I made the call. Seven lousy seconds. There wouldn't have been any time on the clock if the defense hadn't been stupid and made me stop the clock so the attacking team could take their free kick. If the defensive player would have just left the ball alone, rather than kicking it off the field after I blew the whistle, time surely would have expired as the attacking team got off a hurried -- and therefore, likely poor -- kick.
But the attacker took the kick, and it went toward the mouth of the goal. Waiting for it was another attacker, who had a very good chance to put his head on the ball. Except there was a defender behind him, riding his back. And then the riding turned to an all out push. The attacker's head snapped back, and he sprawled forward onto the ground. I was right there to see the whole thing. It was probably the first time all game that an attacker had fallen in the penalty area and it hadn't been a flop to try to draw an unjustified whistle.
So there it was. The moment an entire college came to hate my guts. I had to award the penalty kick. Fairness dictated that I give the attackers another chance, since the defense robbed them of their chance during play. Heck, forget fairness; the rules said I had to make the call. That's a PK every day of the week. Even with only seven seconds on the clock. And a tied, 0-0 score.
Still, being hated isn't fun. I could have said the attacker tripped, or that I didn't see it. I would have been a lying sonuvabitch with the ethics of a Senator, but I could have gone that route. Heck, the attacking team might have even bought it. Well, no, probably not. They knew it was a foul. Even the defender who committed the foul knew it was a foul. How do I know? Rather than complaining to me, he ducked his head and hid off to the side. Players do that when they know they've screwed over their team. And I mean that seriously; I see it all the time. Not every time, but often.
But knowing that you're right doesn't make it any easier to essentially award a free goal to a team in a hard-fought, tied game with only 7 seconds on the clock. The call was correct, the call was just, and the call really makes me wish one of the zillions of mosquitos had chosen that moment to fly into my eye so I hadn't seen the events unfold.
By the way, I'm not looking for sympathy here. A good official thinks about his calls, replays the match in his mind, and tries to find ways to improve himself. I'm "writing out loud" here as part of that process. Plus, I want to make the point that sports officials don't enjoy making difficult calls, but the good ones do what they have to do. Our job is to be fair, and I think I did that tonight. Even when we think we're right, or know we're right, or whatever, we still want to get better.
That's enough reflection for tonight. I need some sleep.
The Missus is heading back to work next week, so this week she is taking Robbie to day care for half-day trial runs. Although Robbie is beginning to show a mommy preference, I think he'll be just fine. In fact, I think he'll really enjoy being around the other children, even if it means giving up a share of the spotlight. The Missus, on the other hand, would probably prefer to win the lottery in the very near future so that she can stay home with her little Ethiopian lover. (You can thank Robbie's aunt for that nickname.) Alas, that's awfully unlikely. But just in case, maybe I'll go buy a Powerball ticket or two this week. Couldn't hurt.
What sort of winter will we have this year, o soothsayers of Lincoln? My crystal ball says we will have mild temperatures and above-normal precipitation. But like every great weatherman, I reserve the right to update my prediction whenever actual conditions prove me wrong.