Whistling in the Dark: My Referee Blackout and Loss of Appetite

Last weekend plunged me into another U19 match, a distant hour's drive into the depths of eastern Holland. Unfamiliar clubs greeted me with raised eyebrows at the sight of a referee journeying from afar.

Adding to the spectacle, an announced assessor appeared oddly early, introducing himself at the pre-game rendez-vous. I waved farewell to deciphering their sour critiques and instructions after my cataclysmic first seasonal report in November. Another report followed suit recently, and so today, the third one will soon land in my mailbox. They will stay there, unread.

The match unfolded as per usual, with customary comments and minor dissent within my grasp. Two early goals within the opening ten minutes and a leveled score at halftime promised a balanced encounter. I dispensed verbal warnings liberally and decreed in the second half: no more warnings, just cards. Five minutes into the latter half, I implemented my strategy, brandishing three yellow cards in total.

One yellow card particularly incensed the home team assistant referee, who openly protested, lamenting the financial toll on the players. "Well, dear AR," I retorted, "without these, I'd kiss my badge goodbye." I urged him to stand in solidarity with me, rather than just waving a partisan flag.

Yet, amidst the routine, a disconcerting revelation surfaced: a lapse in my typically keen observation and instinct. In the second half, an attacking play saw the ball venture into the box, where a defender appeared to commit a handball. The attackers clamored for a penalty kick. In what must have been a momentary blackout, I blew the whistle, only to realize I hadn't witnessed the foul myself.

The home team erupted in premature jubilation, but I had to openly retract my decision. I hadn't seen it; it was merely a peculiar instinctual blunder. I apologized to their captain and resumed play with a neutral ball for the defending goalkeeper, leaving the attackers in disbelief and despair.

Have I lost my touch? My sharpness of observation and adherence to the cardinal rule of "if I don't see it, I don't whistle for it"? I'm genuinely uncertain.

Perhaps it's time to blow the final whistle myself. Five more games, and this season draws to a close. No one in my corner, just lackluster assessor reports. Men lacking the backbone to confront me afterward and seek clarity on their reports.

A Dutch FA that glances over reports without scrutiny, brushing aside complaints with a dismissive (legal) tone. If this is the FA's modus operandi, then count me out. No more investing 5-6 hours on a Saturday, only to return home empty-handed, devoid of satisfaction or commendation from impartial observers. Let the FA seek out a new generation of refs, still gazing upward, willing to sacrifice time and invest (gear) money for a slim chance at professional refereeing glory.