Andrew WhiteI am a soccer referee. It’s along story – I used to play a lot; then after moving over to the US I coached a lot (3 boys – what else do you expect) and I still coach little guys now. I stopped playing soccer about 8 years ago when I broke an ankle playing indoor men’s soccer – which turned out to be a little more aggressive than I had expected. At least with referring I get to see (and help) others enjoy one of the greatest sports the world has ever known; and I get a good work-out too.
Well Labor Day weekend is often marked here in the South with The Atlanta Cup. And this year was no different. Despite the harsh economic conditions attendance (as in teams registering for the tournament) was down 20%. So there were less games to referee and less referees needed. I was a lucky one. I had three games on Saturday – and when I look at my legs and remember how my muscles ached on Sunday, I don’t think I could have done more.
I assisted with a U14 boys (great game – full of testosterone) and then after a break, I centered a U-10 girls game. You might assume, wrongly, that girls of the same age as boys are “easier” to referee. Girls are in fact harder. Boys are predictable – and as a guy I have some insight on that. Since most referees (thankfully not all, and also thankfully increasingly less so as a percentage) are male, it is harder for a guy to referee girls that you don’t know. U10 girl’s – at recreation level (non competitive – apparently) are a charm to work with; they apologies to each other when the ball is kicked against an opponent. But at The Atlanta Cup, there are no recreation teams; they are all “select” level which means “very competitive”.
This U-10 girls game was very tough to work with. One set of coaches (three chaps) came from Alabama and throughout the whole first half 2 of the guys berated their team as if they had no respect for them at all! It was embarrassing. A referee has little power when the bellowing is kind of coaching related, and much was, but there were times when a few words were far more cruel than encouraging. The team from Alabama won the game; the local team from Atlanta lost. After the game, as I filled out the official paperwork, I had to sit and watch three of the girls from the losing team; under-10 remember, break down and cry almost inconsolably, into their respective mothers arms and laps. I was astonished at the degree of feeling these girls seem to experience at the point of losing.
This was a tournament – at least 3 games counted – and if you lost one game, you could always “qualify” with 2 other wins – or at least be close. These girls clearly figured out that they had “lost” and despite their tender age, they were completely without hope! I was taken aback at how these girls had reacted. What had made them react so? Was winning so important? Was winning “all”? It seems so. I heard soft tones and smoothing words from moms, and dads, and I was very saddened. It seems I have this to look forward too with my boys – perhaps a fewer tears and hugs, and more bag throwing and stuff. But what have don’t to our children? What are we doing to our youth? As I sat Sunday, a glass of my favorite nectar to help ease the aching muscles, I ruminated on what had become of our youth.
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