Columns of angry flesh and jersey-tee clash like competing fish under the backboard. An invisible smack, the ball on the ground, out of bounds, better think fast.

What’s the call Ref?

The call? Well, I know it’s out. On who? Green. Yeah Green.

On me? What about over the back! Reaching around! Come on ref!

Think fast ref, that’s your job right? Assertiveness and consistency. Make calls but make them evenly. Off green, red ball. That’s the call. Seconds later, there’s another dispute.

Travel! Where’s the whistle? Whaaat, no call!?

Look straight, be consistent. Hell, I didn’t see anything. There’s eight guys clustered together like angry, headless hens. As soon as one drops an egg, or the ball in this case, the world stops. All necks turn to me, the ref. My decision will dictate which team hates me more, but this is what I love the most about my job.

I’ve enjoyed being hated most of my life and I’ve become pretty good at it. In elementary school, I was the book club.  In middle school, I headed junior conservationists and in high School, I lead the History Explorers Club. Back in those days, I was simply teased for being different, though not truly hated.  Being a ref, I can receive pure anger-driven hatred; the kind smoking lobbyists and meter maids receive.

As referees, we have our own outfits that can be recognized by non-ref haters. This is an advantage we have over bureaucrats and city workers. This also works perfectly for my lifestyle, as I can wear my out fit any day of the week and be seen as the guy who made some bad calls and ruined a team’s season. Whenever I feel like it, I can be the perfect person to hate. 

With ten minutes left in the last half and the scores only a few points apart, intense anger comes from all directions. This is my time to shine. I blow my whistle, hacking on the shot. I give two foul shots to Green. Green pulls ahead, and all of a sudden they aren’t angry with me anymore; something’s wrong.

Five minutes left and Green is still ahead. Red is getting redder and beginning to accept their loss. This is when my job gets boring. At this point, the game could ref itself. There aren’t many more chances for me to make bad calls, so I hang back and wait for the buzzer.

After the game is the hardest part for me. Most referees are glad to finish, but I usually do my best to hang around the loser bench and comment on the game and why I thought they should have won. The losers go on hating me until they win, and the winners go on liking me until they lose. It’s the black and white nature of my job and I love it.