Officiating was fun last night. An interesting game, finishing 2-2 and a few important decisions for me including the awarding of a marginal goal, that recieved no complaints. As I sprinted towards the halfway line, (not for the first time in the evening), I sensed a lot of testosterone-filled gents running towards me, complaining. Not a word though. Mixed in with the occasional offside decision and a complete turnaround in roles at half time due to an injury, it sure turned out to be a night full of incident.
But this morning, (I'll get there...), I am aching, so much. I feel like I've just run a marathon. Dealing with substitutions in the 2nd half, involves many sprints from corner flag to halfway line, and I mean, sprints. Ended up doing 6, including the 90 minutes of fast-paced action, mostly going through the Kempston Rovers Number 10. Who is the junior Usain Bolt. Although it hasn't helped that I've been sat here for the last 7 hours catching up on Waterloo Road and generally jamming. And yes, it is the morning. Proper morning. Half 6. And it's that time of day where I think we're gonna go back to the days of being half-baked and not quite with it as I battle the need for sleep for as long as possible.
This is good. And also bad. Good, because I will probably give up at around 5-6pm, meaning a fantastic nights sleep before the big assessment, of which I have only just found out about today. Bad, because I will most probably miss training before the big semi-final, and probably won't be forgiven by the team-mates and gaffer. However, I am less concerned with the attitudes of the team I play for these days. My interest in playing is waning horribly, while all of my power is going towards the refereeing and getting ready for a summer of cricket.
As for these assessments. Well, going for promotion in refereeing takes a whole calendar year, starting on 1st March. So I wasn't expecting a phone call saying I was being assessed 4 days in, plus finding out I have another one the week after. So, my 3rd adult match of the season is being taken over by doing everything horribly properly in the hope of getting a good mark from a probable traditionalist who wants to see everything done right. The nerves are already visible, taking me back to my amateur acting days. The butterflies nesting in my stomach are already multiplying, and the fact that it's only just turned Friday means that they may just get the better of me come 2.30 on Saturday.
I tried to get to sleep at around midnight, but the optimism was soon shattered by the thoughts drifting round my head, as if they were involved in a twister of some sort. The conversation earlier with Mother Mitten, the impending thoughts of a huge weekend of football, letting down Ridgway who I had promised to spend time with for some of the weekend, seeing as he is home from Sheffield for 3 days only. Problems.
And to compound my misery, that stupid French song just popped up in my headphones again... I really should delete it, but the barking-like sound of the bassline is just mesmorising..
But these minor problems are just shadowing the bigger picture at the moment. As I was thinking earlier, in the pitch black silence of the night, I thought about what I need to do. Have I been putting in enough effort to end these long days? Have I been helping myself as much as possible? Have I been looking after myself as best I can? No. I haven't. I can accept that opening up and talking of these problems will take time, but looking after myself is something I can do instantly. It's just laziness not doing it. Gaining a promotion in refereeing is a good thing to aim for, but I think my happiness and sanity are more important.
The BBC need to stop making such good, thought-provoking programmes that relate to my thoughts at the moment. It's making me think.
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