Midway through the second half of our first game today, the ref gives a bad offside decision that costs us a goal. Before I can even begin to harangue him, our goalkeeper’s grandfather is on his feet on the other side of the pitch.
‘That goal was offside, ya bum!’ he shouts at the ref, throwing his US Air Force veteran’s cap on the grass for dramatic effect.
I’m stunned into silence. Way to step up Grandpa! The ref doesn’t know how to react as the silver fox continues to berate him.
‘Why don’t you learn the rules before you start reffing?’ The old guy is giving it everything he’s got.
The ref turns towards me as if expecting me to say or do something. I shrug my shoulders pretending to sympathise. As I do, the old guy pipes up again.
‘Why don’t you let the kids play and stop playing dictator?’ he roars. How much do I love this guy? Why doesn’t he come to all our games?
Killjoy that he is, the ref sees this as an insult too far. He walks towards me with the type of power stride they must teach at ref school.
‘I’m stopping the game until the old guy leaves the field,’ he announces. ‘He’s with your team, he’s your responsibility.’
‘You can’t eject him,’ I shout back. ‘He’s a veteran, a war hero. He’s what this weekend is all about.’ I’m quite pleased with that retort given I don’t even know if Grandpa actually served.
‘He’s a loudmouth and he has to go or the game is over,’ says the man in black.
Sometimes in life you have to make hard decisions. I can’t ask grandpa to leave. Not after the way he fought our corner today. So I dare the ref to end the game. And he does. End of game. End of our interest in the tournament. But at least the kids have learned what this weekend is truly about: showing solidarity with those who’ve worn the uniform of our country.
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