The eyes have it

With one minute to go in today’s game, we are clinging to a one-goal lead when our opponents hit a long ball over the top.

‘Offside, Offside!” I shout, knowing the moment the referee hears my roaring he’ll call it too.

As they are trained to do, all my defenders stop in their tracks. Only one problem. The ref ignores my attempted call and waves play on. They score, the game ends in a tie, and, of course, I go ballistic. I jump up and down on the sidelines and offer a selection of the greatest hits from my insults repertoire.

‘I didn’t see you put on one of their shirts ref. It’s supposed to be nine against nine not nine against ten. You do understand what offside actually means right? Are you legally blind or is it just short-sightedness? Does your village know it's missing an idiot?’

The kids are loving my display of passion, and, as one of my boy’s fathers starts to drag me back towards the bench, I give the piece de resistance.

‘Are you saving up for laser surgery ref?’ I roar while throwing a fistful of dollars in his direction. ‘Here’s my contribution to that fund.’

At this point, the man in black walks towards me and brandishes a yellow card. ‘There you go, for your trouble,’ he says in that annoying authoritative voice.

‘A yellow card? A yellow card? Oh that’s going to hurt me. Remember this pal, yellow cards are the Oscars of my profession! The Oscars of my profession!!’

I’m so spent from shouting I don’t even have the energy to berate my defenders for failing to play the whistle. That dressing-down will have to wait until the next practice.