I knew I was a bit of a loser at primary school, but I never appreciated just how much until I remembered something about my school years recently. Whenever there was a break time kick-about, I always enthusiastically volunteered to be the referee. Nobody asked for this to happen. I just instinctively thought this was how I wanted to spend my break time. I didn’t have the black shorts, but I think I had a whistle. I did definitely have a pair of homemade red and yellow cards – wrapped in thick walls of gunky Sellotape by way of a waterproof laminator – so committed was I to keeping order and upholding the rules. It’s as though, from the age of nine, I’ve wanted people to shout “who’s the w****r in the black?”. In some ways, it was great training for becoming an opinionated columnist with a lively comments section.
To be clear, I’ve never, ever been a football fan. I just really like the idea of someone being fair and impartial, laying down the law when need be and then quietly (and slightly romantically) just getting on with it amid a torrent of chaos. Oddly there was quite a lot of respect for referees in my house growing up too. My dad’s primary school headteacher in Ilford, Essex, was referee extraordinaire Ken Aston, who officiated many great matches, including the 1962 World Cup. He was also the man who single-handedly invented the red and yellow card system, linesman’s flags, as well as making refs switch from wearing tweed (yes, apparently they used to wear tweed) to the familiar black and white.
