Well I guess that means I’m doing the football run this morning then. I hate football. The worst things about kids football are the parents, they turn into hooligans and start screaming from the side lines. I find it all rather pathetic, what do they think they are teaching their kids? They always end up arguing with each other about whose kid kicked who, who should’ve taken the free kick, who has the best player. It drives me insane so I refuse to go, but today I am left with no choice.
One hour later I am on the sidelines of the football pitch pretending to look reasonably interested in the game already taking place. The referee is a nasty little balding man with a hitleresque moustache, who is barking orders at the kids like they are on a military drill. I take an immediate dislike to him and make a mental note to have a word with the organiser. Surely he shouldn’t be so aggressive with these little kids, I mean we actually pay for this.
The game finishes and to my dismay I see Hitler return as arbitrator for Eleven’s game too. I feel the hairs rising on the back of my neck, I really don’t like this guy’s attitude towards these kids at all. It seems it’s not only me he is riling, I can hear the grunts and moans of all the parents surrounding me. It would seem he hasn’t refereed many games as the mistakes he is making are obvious, even to me, a football dunce.
By the end of the game Hitler has his own fan-club of haters! This is like history repeating itself. I’m happy the aggression is being directed at him and not the usual bitching at each other. The final straw is the free kick he gives away that brings about the winning goal. There is no way a free kick should’ve been given but he just holds his hands up in a gesture of “Whatever” to everyone contesting his decision.
I’m appalled by this awful little man, and as soon as he blows his arrogant little whistle, I make a bee line for the organiser to put in my complaint.
“Hi, could you tell me how I make a complaint please?” I ask in my least aggressive tone, even though I’m fuming.
“Why, is there something wrong madam?”
“Yes, I’d like to make a formal complaint about the referee, his attitude towards the children and his seemingly lack of knowledge on the game”.
“Well, I’m sorry madam but you’ll have to contact the FA to do that” he replies sounding annoyed.
Well I’m sorry but I am not leaving until you have helped me file a complaint, you are the organiser, I pay you, so you WILL help me”.
“Excuse me for a moment”, he snaps, as he leaves and heads off towards Hitler.
They stand nattering for what seems like an eternity before the organiser turns around and starts pointing towards me. Oh great, he’s gone and told him and now both of them are heading towards me. I take a deep breath and stand my ground. This little shit may think he can talk to small kids like that but he certainly can’t talk to me like that.
“You have a problem lady?” Hitler snaps as soon as he is within earshot. “Maybe you want to share it with me instead of gossiping behind people’s backs.”
Now he has really got my attention and that of a few parents gathering around to see what the commotion is.
“Well, I was hoping to do this in the correct manner to avoid a confrontation like this, but thanks to Steve here, it seems that thrashing it out verbally is a better idea”. I say, glaring directly at the organiser who quickly shifts his eyes to the ground.
I take a deep breath to calm myself down and explain my concerns in as much a lady like manner as I can muster.
“Your attitude towards small children isn’t what I would call normal behaviour. And your competence was rather lacking on the field and that’s coming from me who knows nothing. You managed to upset everyone with your bad decisions and normally this lot only upset each other”.
He cut me off mid flow by moving in 2cms from my face and spewing a tirade of abuse. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath stank of a boozy Friday night. He got so close to my face while jabbing his finger at me that I had to take a step back.
“Please get out of my face and try and talk like an adult. I am not a child on the pitch, I am a concerned parent and I am making my feelings clear.”
“And just what are you going to do if I don’t get out of your face, you whinging whine bag”.
Did he just call me a whinging whine bag? I was totally at a loss for words, the guy was a giant prick. I don’t know what came over me but I just whipped out my phone and took a picture of his face.
“I will name and shame you across the entire country you bad mannered, egotistical piece of work”.
Totally out of the blue, Hitler jumps me and tackles me to the ground. Oh my god, the shame. I never come here because the parents show themselves up in front of the kids and I hate it. Yet here I am on my first visit this year, rolling around the grass holding onto my iPhone as if my life depends on it, tackling a referee. I cling to my phone, clutching it to my chest like the Crown Jewels as the guy yells obscenities directly into my ear. I can hear Eleven shouting “knock his head off mom” and I cringe face down with this monkey on my back.
Steve, the shit for brains behind the organising, manages to peel him off me as he clings like a hungry leech.
“Jesus, get this idiot off me.” I screech, trying to scramble to my feet. I can feel the flush on my face begin at my ankles. The faces of 30 odd parents all flushed with cheering me on. I feel like a total football hooligan and my shame almost makes me skulk off, but I wouldn’t give this animal the satisfaction.
“You will be hearing from me, I knew something wasn’t right about you and you have just proved my point. A man who attacks a woman in public, in front of a bunch of school kids, should not be working with children. You are a disgrace and if I have to make it my life’s mission you will not work with kids again.”
The parents muster up a cheer in my support but I am so embarrassed I just want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I can’t believe not one of the men came to my rescue, what a bunch of pussies. I turn around and storm back towards my car with Eleven in tow giving me a running commentary on how I took the ref down a peg or two.
Pulling up at home Eleven can’t get out of the car and into the house quick enough to share the gossip.
“Mum just beat up the referee at my match” he shouts before even reaching the kitchen.
I slump at the breakfast table with my head in my hands. What a shitty morning! Hello weekend, and you looked so promising!
By Amanda Carrington – Desperate Housewife