Top Drawer!

This weekend has been a good'un! I've got the feeling, as we have officially entered Monday morning, that I've just enjoyed a spectacular two days, and without anything to really do until the probable highs of next weekend, things just look good right now. How long this will last, I do not know, but I hope I have no more bad episodes of despair before the trip to Manchester next weekend. Experience tells me not to hype it up too much, as we all know the range of emotions that have been let loose in this city. This trip has the potential to be amazing, but also has the potential to be disastrous. I have experienced both.

But back to this weekend, and after rejecting a Friday night out due to considerable absenteeism, I got a relatively early night so I could make the most of Saturday. I say, "relatively early night", but what actually happened was that I went to bed at 9pm. I think that is practically unheard of these days. Even so, I still ended up waking up at 10am, and I was determined to try and make the most of it. There wasn't a lot to do however, until the afternoon, where I walked down to Mowsbury Park to watch some local football. On arrival, I saw Tiny refereeing a team who's kit looked as if it had been attacked with gunge. Upon seeing me, his eyes widened as if to say, "What the hell are you doing here?" It seemed I would have to tell my University story yet again, a story that I have become accustomed to telling. I walked around a bit, watching another cracker of a match that finished 4-4, before walking home via the shops to buy a lottery ticket and some much needed Dairy Milk. That lottery ticket ended up being aggressively thrown into the bin at 1am in the middle of the Town Centre. I'll get to that bit.

After a few hours of dossing, as I had started to get withdrawal symptoms from Football Manager, as I had been away from it for over an hour, me and Kettle decided that we were going to go to Nandos. Why not? Kettle was back for the weekend, I had more stamps to collect, and chicken was needed to be consumed by all. Abigail came along as well, and despite us sitting directly below the speakers, meaning we had to shout our conversation, a good time was had by all. It was at this point, at the end of the eating of succulent chicken, where the vibe changed. The motion was that we were going to Chameleon for, "a couple". Now. We all know what happens when you go to a bar for, "a couple". There is no need to describe the sequence of events that led to this, except for the fact I definitely had a "couple" of JD and cokes plus sharing a fishbowl full of vodka and Corky's, (otherwise known as "water"). We left Chameleon and went to the Barley Mow, to try and find Burkitt, until realising he didn't start until midnight. We did however win £5 on the quiz machine, thanks to our superior knowledge, and got in a round for free!

We then went to The Rose, a place that I have never been very fond of, but I saw a lot of people I knew in there, including none other than Sister Mitten who was enjoying a much-deserved night out after her hard working of late! I also met an old friend who I hadn't seen for years, another referee who is quite a bit older than me, and an old PE teacher from Mark Rutherford. Was a bit crazy, and by this stage, I was a little tipsy, so it was all good fun. Marriott then turned up, and we headed off to Elements. It was just your average, but good, night out, until something clicked.

I don't know what it was, but it's a feeling I am used to getting when a certain amount of alcohol kicks in. The feeling that you don't really care about the financial implications of buying alcohol. Because of this, I went to get more money out, came back, and ordered in 9 shots of Disaronno and shared them out between myself, Kettle and Marriott, (Abigail had disappeared by this stage!) What then happened, after a brief visit to Chunder Central from Marriott, was nothing short of a shot-fest. I opted out of the latter stages, as I didn't really want to catch a train to the Land of Chunder myself, but Kettle and Marriott just kept on going. It was an incredible sight. The following hour or so was spent screaming and dancing away through club classics on the dancefloor, before exhaustion caught up with us and we left.

For some reason, we didn't go home. We trekked across town once more to visit Burkitt in the Barley Mow. The only problem being at this stage, was that it was 3am. It was soon to close, and they weren't letting anyone else in. Burkitt came out to speak to us, and despite our best efforts, we never got in. We headed to the taxi rank, and got a cab home, (which Marriott kindly paid for... In fairness, he had no choice!) I stumbled in through the front door at .... Ridiculous o'clock.

I was fearful at this stage that I had gone too far once more. But, almost surprisingly, I felt no dizziness, didn't feel sick at all, and snuggled up in bed to go to sleep, as easily as you can say "Sweet Dreams". I had the alarm set to the modest hour of midday, in time for refereeing. Upon waking up in the morning, I had no signs of a hangover, (largely due to the insane amount of water I had when I got in the night before), and despite a slightly croaky voice, I left to referee an Under 17 tie. Mr.Wright had pointed out that I had jinxed myself just before I left, by stating I was yet to issue a red card for the season, (despite my small amount of games). I think we both knew that was about to change...

The game I experienced was incredible. The first half was fine, almost void of incident. Things changed at half-time however, when I cautioned a player for coming over and berating me for being useless at cutting out swearing on the pitch. He said something along the lines of, "You shouldn't be wearing that kit, with a Beds FA badge on, if you don't know the rules". That sentence itself just shows how ridiculous his reasoning was. I, as a referee, have little power to cut out swearing in general. Players are allowed to swear, (to a degree), but just not in an insulting or abusive manner at anyone else. Times have moved on from the "foul language" era of the 90s. Things kicked off from there, with the majority of decisions just happening to go in the favour of Team A*. Slowly but surely, Team B* got more and more wound up, until I awarded a penalty to Team A, and rightly so. Team B's keeper went ape shit. His words to me were words that no one in any walk of life would take without some sort of action being taken. Naturally, he earned himself a red card, and from then on, I was subjected to copious amounts of abuse from players, coaches and spectators of Team B. I was pleased to blow the full-time whistle, but also looking forward to the probable approaches from players and coaches alike.

I was right. Complaints here, abuse there, it was just amazing. I ended up just counting up the further misconduct reports out loud, until they went away. In the end, I submitted 3 more reports, but it could easily have been 6 or 7. Even walking home from the game, a player from Team B shouted out of his car at me as he drove past. No wonder grass-roots football has a shortage of referees when there are teams like that around.

It's also quite amazing that a character like mine can take the smallest bit of "banter" and think about it for hours on end, wondering whether or not it was personal, but I can have the 'Encyclopeadia of Abuse' thrown in my direction whilst refereeing, and brush it off as nothing. How strange.

This evening was spent in the company of Kettle as we attempted to do the impossible and win a pub quiz with 2 people. It was never going to happen, and with my dodgy hearing playing a factor in losing the answer to a particularly simple question, it was merely a case of "How embarrassing can we make this?" We ended up scoring a very, very... very mediocre 19. Oh well. We visited McDonalds for a trial of different things, included a spectacular "shake 'n taste" BBQ chicken thing, before heading home via taxi.

It sure has been an interesting weekend, but rest assured, this time next week, you will be treated to an equally long blog post about Manchester Round... 6? I've lost count, but it rarely ends up as un-interesting... You have been warned.

*I have put "Team A" and "Team B" as I am not too certain if I am allowed to talk about teams in such a derogatory way in public, despite it being completely justified. We received some "guidance" about putting comments on social networking sites against players, teams, coaches and the like, so I presume blogs fall under that category. In fairness, the likelihood of anyone reading this blog anymore, (let alone representatives of the actual clubs), is minor, but just in case.