Chapter Seven
The next four weeks passed quickly. Maggie settled into a routine of going for a run each night after tea, apart from Mondays, when she went to the referee’s course with her father.
One evening, as she came back from her run, she saw Seth and Jacob, two of the boys from her class, kicking a soccer ball around.
“Hi,” called Maggie.
Seth looked up in surprise.
“Oh it’s you, hi,” he muttered.
“What does she want?” hissed Jacob.
“No idea,” Seth shrugged.
“What are you doing?” asked Maggie.
“Knitting – what does it look like?” replied Seth rudely, as he dribbled a soccer ball along his front yard before passing it to Jacob who promptly kicked it into a blackcurrant bush.
“Can I play?” asked Maggie hopefully.
“What?” Seth could hardly believe his ears. “You’re a girl,” he said scornfully. “What do girls know about soccer?”
“Just ignore her,” said Jacob impatiently. “Come on Seth, let’s go round the back. It’s more peaceful round there,” he said pointedly, glaring at Maggie.
Maggie fumed silently as she ran home.
“I’ll bet I know heaps more about soccer than them,” she thought. “If I keep going to this ref’s course with Dad I’ll know all the rules. I’ll bet they don’t know half of them”.
Maggie listened with frowning concentration at the next instruction session. She learned about throw-ins and the best position to stand in to judge them. She chattered to her father about direct kicks and indirect kicks and when they should be applied. Maggie was intrigued to learn the offside rule. It had always seemed a puzzle to her in the past when she had watched Nick play and the whistle had gone, but now it seemed simple.
“Now don’t forget,” warned Mr Strathmore, “it is a lot easier to see these things on a diagram than when you are running around the pitch. Sometimes a player will obscure your view and you should learn to keep an eye on the linesman’s flag. That is, if you are lucky enough to have linesmen. Most junior games at club level don’t have anyone keen enough and qualified enough to do it.”
“What’s a linesman?” Maggie whispered to her father. Mr Strathmore overheard her.
“Each game is controlled not only by the referee but also two linesmen,” he answered. “They each hold a flag and run along the lines on either side of the field. They hold the flag up when the ball goes out or if they see an infringement of the rules.”
“Are they referees as well?” Maggie asked.
“Ideally, yes. Certainly for competitions and international matches they are. In a junior game they may be coaches or parents who know a little bit about the rules. Then they would only flag when the ball goes out. The linesmen can indicate when they see infringements but the decision is always with the referee.”
On the last night of the ref course Mr Strathmore handed out the examination papers.
“This is your written exam,” he explained. “Once you’ve passed this, you'll have a practical test where you will be judged refereeing a match.”
Much to Maggie's surprise she was handed a sheet of questions.
“But I’m not doing the ref’s course,” she protested.
“Well Maggie,” said Mr Strathmore, “you’ve been here every night so far and you’ve even asked a few questions as I recall.” Maggie blushed “Why don’t you sit the exam and see how you get on?”
“Might as well,” mumbled Maggie. She looked at the first question.
“What penalty is given when an opposing player attempts to kick the ball being held by the goal keeper?”
“I know that,” she thought. “Indirect free kick.”
An hour and a half later Maggie looked up from the last question.
“Wow. I knew most of those,” she thought.
She discussed the exam with her father on the way home in the car.
“You knew all of the answers,” she wailed.
“Hey, that's hardly surprising,” said her father. “I’ve played for over twenty years now. I’ve learned quite a bit from coaching but this course was really good value. I’ve enjoyed your company too, Maggie.”
Maggie glowed with pride. She was bursting to tell someone about the course but she had decided not to tell anyone in case she hadn’t passed.
Thursday evening brought a phone call from Mr Strathmore. Maggie's father answered then gave Maggie a thumbs up signal. Her heart leapt in her chest.
“Does this mean I’ve passed?” she wondered excitedly
“Congratulations Junior Referee Maggie Johnson” said her father when he put the phone down.
Maggie screamed.
“Yahoo. I’ve passed, I’ve passed.” Her father hugged her.
“You did very well,” he said, “and our test games will be on Saturday at ten o’clock. There are district tournaments on at the Memorial Park in the city.”
Maggie’s mouth dropped open.
“Test game!” she squeaked. “What do you mean test game?”
“You have to be assessed controlling a game before you can get your badge,” her father reminded her.
“But I only wanted to learn the rules. I didn’t want to be an actual referee. I mean, I do want to be one but I don’t want to ref a game. I don’t know what I mean,” she ended on a wail.
“Don’t stress out. You’ll be fine,” said her father. “You only have to ref a game of under nine’s. They play for twenty minutes each half so I’m sure you can manage that. They are only little boys and they won’t know if you make a few mistakes.”
“I can’t do it,” whimpered Maggie. “Their parents will know if I stuff up. What if they get angry? What if they boo me off the pitch? What if they throw things at me?”
Her father laughed.
“It’s not Argentina versus Italy for the World Cup we’re talking about,” he said. “Look Maggie, we’ll go through on Saturday. I have to ref a game at eleven and I promise you that if you feel you can’t go through with it then I will ref your game for you as well.”
“Okay,” said Maggie in relief but her heart still seemed to be pounding twice as fast as usual.
“You’ll need a uniform of some sort,” suggested her mother “How about a black T-shirt with a collar and a black skirt. Or shorts if you prefer,” she added hastily as she saw Maggie’s mutinous expression at the word ‘skirt.’
“You’ll need black socks as well,’ her father added, “and a decent whistle. We’ll buy one on Friday when I come home from work.”
Maggie spent Friday feeling alternatively excited and sick.
“What’s wrong with you, Maggie? You haven’t heard a work I’ve said,” complained Lisa at lunchtime. “I was telling you about my cricket game and you’re not even listening.”
“Sorry,” whispered Maggie, but she was relieved when the bell went for class and they all trooped in for their English lesson.
Mr Marshall asked them to give an update on their fitness programmes. Seth stood up and described how he had played cricket and been selected for the National Junior Representative team for the North Island. He outlined his training programme for soccer, where he had also been selected as a regional rep player, then gave a short talk on Balintawok and skateboarding, both of which he fitted into his spare time. One or two of the girls giggled and admitted that they had done nothing, but to Maggie’s dismay, most seemed to be in the thick of sports teams and activities in every available moment. She envied those who had parents with boats to take them water skiing, or those who did exotic sounding activities such as kayaking and tap dancing. She looked at her list of attempts and when asked to give her report she mumbled that she ‘did a bit of running.’ She didn’t want to mention the refereeing. It was so different to the things the others were doing and she still had to pass her test!
After tea that night Maggie’s father took her shopping at the sports shop.
“We need referee
’s whistles,” he told the assistant. The young man behind the counter produced a tray of whistles.
"Try these out," he suggested. Mr Johnson settled on a Thunderer each and Maggie gave hers a tentative blow. The shop assistant winced at the noise and the other customers looked over in surprise.
“Aren’t they a bit expensive?” Maggie whispered, trying to hide behind her father. “There are much cheaper ones over there.”
“Cheap whistles aren’t worth getting,” explained her father. “It’s important that your whistle is loud so that everyone on the field can hear it. It’s no good if it suddenly goes silent when the pea in it sticks. This is how you should blow it.” He put the whistle to his lips and a shrill blast rang around the shop. The assistant took an involuntary step back
“Wow,” he said, “that’s some noise.”
“That’s the idea,” said Mr Johnson He winked at Maggie. “When you go out as a ref, you have to be the big noise on the field.”
The next morning Maggie couldn’t eat any breakfast.
“I feel sick,” she wailed.
“You need food for energy dear, especially as you’ll be running around,” her mother pointed out.
Maggie moaned and forced down a banana.
“Why did I decide to do this?” she asked herself. She knew what would happen.
‘Our reporter is down at Memorial Park where a riot has just broken out. Young Maggie Johnson was attempting to referee a junior soccer match for the first time. Her constant incorrect calls annoyed the supporters to the point where they began throwing bottles onto the pitch. Maggie’s father intervened at this stage and started blowing his whistle. The supporters turned on him as well and began exchanging blows. A passing group of teenagers rushed to his aid. Before long the police arrived. So far we have heard of two people unconscious, three broken bones and numerous cuts and bruises. Mr James, the President of the local football association saw it happen.
Mr James your comments on this?’
‘It was disgraceful. I have never seen such a poor display of refereeing in my thirty years connected with this sport.’
‘Er, I meant your comment on the fight?’
‘Yes, well, if Mr Johnson insists on throwing his weight about then he has only himself to blame....’
“Come on Maggie, get your gear, it’s time to go,” said her father cheerfully.
“Do you want me to come and watch?” asked Nick with an evil grin. “I can judge your performance if you like. I’ll hold up score cards out of ten like they do for gymnastics.”
“No!” shrieked Maggie. “If you come then I’m not going.”
Mr Johnson laughed.
“Calm down, it’s only the two of us. Nick is staying home to mow the lawns. Aren’t you Nick?” He fixed his son with a stern eye.
“Okay. I was only joking, Maggie. I think it’s awesome what you’re doing. Most people I know wouldn’t have half your guts.”
Maggie’s mouth fell open in astonishment. A compliment from Nick! That was a first.
“Thanks,” she said sincerely, then rushed to the bedroom to collect her boots and put on her uniform. Nick came up to her before she left and offered to lend her his watch.
“It’s got a stopwatch function on it and I’ll show you how to set it if you like,” he offered.
“That’s brilliant,” beamed Maggie. “I was just going to use my ordinary watch and I was worried I would get the time wrong.”
Memorial Park was crowded when they got there and Mr Johnson had trouble finding a parking space for his car.
“Why don’t they have special reserved parks for the referees?” inquired Maggie.
“We’re not that important,” answered her father. “People think we get paid but it’s just a voluntary thing. Some of the senior grade refs get a tiny amount of petrol money but only a handful get paid for refereeing. Come on.”
They walked down the street to the park.
“There are the junior fields over there,” pointed Mr Johnson. “I’ll come and give you moral support.”
“I don’t think I can do it,” whispered Maggie.
“Just give it your best shot,” said her father comfortingly.
Mr Strathmore called “Hello” and beckoned them over.
“How are you feeling Maggie?” he asked
“All right,” whispered Maggie
“Gosh that's amazing,” said Mr Strathmore. “I was so nervous the first time I had to ref that I spilt my coffee down my front and had to run around with a big wet patch on my chest.” Maggie managed a weak smile.
“Now don’t worry,” he continued. “All I do when I watch you is to see if you know what you are doing. Then I grade you for whatever level I think you are capable of. That means that you might be graded as up to ten years so you can ref games of eight to ten year olds. Have you got a whistle?”
Maggie held out her Thunderer on the cord around her neck.
“Excellent. What about a stopwatch?”
“My watch has a stopwatch function,” said Maggie. “It's my brother Nick’s actually. He lent it to me. And I’ve got a notebook and pencil to record the goals.”
“Great. You are well organised,” smiled Mr Strathmore “Ok, it’s time to get started. Your teams are on the field now so off you go.”
Maggie walked onto the soccer field. It felt a long, long way and she hoped Mr Strathmore couldn’t see her knees knocking together. She asked for the captains to step forward then told them they would be tossing a coin to see which direction they played. A coin. Maggie panicked. She didn’t have a coin! She turned an agonised, pleading glance to her father who strode forward with a grin.
“Here you go,” he said and handed Maggie a 50c coin. Maggie tossed the coin. “Heads or tails?” she asked the visiting captain.
“Heads,” he called. The coin landed at Maggie's feet with the Queen’s head showing.
“Which way do you want to play?” she asked
“That way,” the captain pointed and the two coaches hastily arranged the players.
“Right!” thought Maggie. “This is it.” Taking a deep breath she set her watch then blew a loud blast on her whistle to signal the start of the game.
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