Duct tape, to the rescue.

Yesterday was another soccer game for Man-boy. The school he plays for is part of ODACS (Old Dominion Association of Christian Schools), so we play other schools that are in ODACS. Each school is responsible for hiring officials for its home games. As you can imagine, that doesn't always work out well.

So yesterday, the host team had arranged the officiating. I'm not sure where they found these three fellows, but it may have been St. Joe's Home of the Blind.

Not to be a complainer or anything, but let me just complain. I believe it was the worst officiating I have ever seen in my life. Having played on a mediocre girls' high school soccer team 35 years ago, I could have done a better job. Pushing didn't get called. Cleating to the ankles (one of our guys got it twice) didn't get called. Handballs didn't get called. One of their guys actually caught the ball with BOTH hands, dropped it at his feet, and continued playing, and THAT didn't get called. (These types of fouls were called freely on our team.)

I'm pretty vocal at soccer games (some would call it obnoxious . . . I blame it on Ben, who taught me well), but I was maintaining my composure in fair measure. But when Man-boy took a direct kick to the ribs (he was standing and the ball was long gone) and NO FOUL WAS CALLED, I lost my mind. While my son was on his face, holding his side and panicking because he couldn't get a breath and thought his ribs were broken, I did the motherly thing and started screaming at the ref. I questioned his visual acuity. I publicly cast doubt on his intelligence level. I may have even asked how much he was paid to favor the other team. It was the worst bias in officiating I've ever witnessed. Or maybe incompetence. No, both.

I've promised I will duct tape my mouth at the next game.

Be thankful ~

Karen