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There is a lot of talk about professional referees, whether there will ever be such an animal is a moot point. The vast majority of referees are and always will be purely amateur, the love of the game (not going shopping) being their main incentive.
The average referee takes a few hours out of his/her busy life and spends it among people who feel the same way about the game, but he is neither appreciated nor supported by players, officials, clubs or the general public.
Refereeing by its nature is a solitary endeavour so individuals have to take what they can from each game and remind themselves that they are an integral and essential part of the game. Every now and again he/she will get a little boost, like an appointment from the County FA. We are all told that this is a great honour and of course it can be in the later rounds but in the early stages, lets face it, the appointments secretary is pleased just to get the game covered.
Every once in a while a crumb will fall from the great table and the humble referee is expected to be grateful, often we are pleased just to see our name printed alongside the FA crest. Such an appointment befell me recently, an FA Cup 1st qualifying round in deepest darkest Kent. I was to be an assistant but I was chuffed, at last some recognition from on high. I sent my acceptance card back by return and waited impatiently for the day.
On the Monday before the game the truckers blockaded the oil depots. I wasn't bothered, only a skirmish. As the week wore on it started to become serious by Thursday I realized I was not going to get any fuel and I faced a hundred mile round trip to football on Saturday. I had already cancelled some appointments, Saturday was going to be impossible. I telephoned the home club secretary and left a message saying I was having a little trouble. He called me at work on the Friday and told me he'd spoken to the FA and if there was any doubt I should call them.
I went out three times on Friday to try and get some petrol but to no avail. I looked into other ways to get there (a) drive to the referees house and go with him, but I didn't have enough petrol to get there, (b) public transport - a bus from the top of my road to Sutton, a train to Clapham Junction, change for Waterloo, walk across to Waterloo east, a train to Tonbridge then a bus and a 10 minute walk at the other end. I calculated about 3 hours, then the same back again. Leave home at 10.30am and arrive back at about 9.00pm, This was out of the question. So by 11.30 I thought I should call Lancaster gate and inform them; they still had 30 hours before kick off. I expected them to say "see what you can do and we'll try and cover the game, call back if you have any luck". Naive or what?
I asked for the referees department a gentleman answered "hello". "Is that the referees department" I asked, "yes" he said, I told him who I was and which game I was on. I explained my dilemma, he said "can't you go by public transport" I explained that there was no easy route "well you come into London and then go out again", I said "do you know how long that will take", he replied that he didn't have a train timetable, "I didn't think you would, it's about three hours each way". "Well, you'll get your rail fare reimbursed", "that's not the point, its the time". He told me that the clubs had to make arrangements and I should do the same.
I suddenly thought, hold on, this conversation is not going to plan, what happened to the help and understanding. He repeated that he thought I should use public transport, I told him "that was out of the question". Then to my surprise he said "right you're off the game" and hung up.
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