Reds, Yellows and Green is the new Black

Whether or not Jagielka deserved to go last weekend, red cards are always the source of much debate, arguments which ultimately can't change anything. Yet the brandishing of yellow or red cards wasn't always an everyday occurrence.  Although launched on the international stage in the late Sixties they weren’t adopted by the Football League until 1976. Prior to that, relatively minor misdemeanours would result in the offender being ‘booked’, i.e his name would be written in a notebook carried by the ref. Something worse would mean a sending off. 

While obviously having laws of the game to uphold, refs were allowed a lot of leeway, resulting in a more affable relationship between players and officials. Nowadays I tend to agree with those who decry refs as being ‘robots’, flashing the cards with officious relish at the first tug of a shirt or ‘raised arm’. The best refs still manage to apply the laws whilst understanding context and personalities but they are often themselves punished for leniency, which I consider ludicrous.

Sendings off, with or without a red rectangle, were unusual in the early Seventies. A defender would virtually have to decapitate or shatter the leg of an opponent to warrant his marching orders. However, woe betide anyone who swore at the ref or linesman, as the big and feisty Wolves number nine Derek Dougan would famously discover. I also recall his fellow Northern Irishman George Best being dismissed for petulantly throwing a piece of mud towards the ref when playing for his country in 1970. It seems so trivial now, but it caused a storm at the time. It wouldn’t happen in 2018; there’s no mud to throw!

Coincidentally, Best received the second red card ever to be shown in the Football League in 1976, although on the same afternoon, Dave Wagstaffe, whose crosses had been so valuable to Dougan a few years earlier, received the very first. Curiously, both were awarded for abusive language. Presumably the same naughty words we can hear or lip-read every few minutes in the Premier League today. At least there was widespread respect for referees back then, For all the FA’s attempts at stamping out on-pitch swearing, including the Respect campaign, they’re fighting a losing battle. Maybe more f*@#ing red cards are needed?!

Perhaps referees would be command greater respect were they always dressed in black, as they were until the Premier League ushered in the green shirts. When the Man in Black controlled the game with just a whistle, stopwatch, book, a knowing wink and firm gesture, they tended to shun the limelight. It seems ironic that the card system was dropped in England for much of the Eighties because it apparently encouraged “demonstrative referees”. How thinking has changed! When referees are officially ranked in descending order of cards shown, I think there is a problem. Surely we should be lauding those who don’t flourish the red and yellow at every opportunity.

Then again we now live in an era of not one referee but four. The linesman is now an ‘assistant referee’ although I suppose the modern nomenclature avoids the problem of gender-specific language now that women have finally been allowed to break the glass ceiling in this field. The so-called ‘fourth official’ seems a bonkers idea. All he – or theoretically she – seems to be there for is hold up an electronic board displaying substitutions and what we used to call injury time, and soak up the bile and venom spat by managers on the touchline. In my opinion, they are superfluous on both counts; just replace them with a fixed clock and a punchbag!

Refs have a tough job as it is without having to face down a manic Mourinho or ranting wild Warnock. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. I also remember seeing poor Andy d’Urso being pursued around the pitch by a baying Man United mob led by Roy Keane ,which is probably worse. That led to the authorities clamping down on such appalling displays of intimidation, threatening massive fines to clubs whose players adopt mob rule. I guess a little coloured card can be a more effective weapon to wield than a machete when you’re a ref, but it sure helps to have the FA behind you.

The Russia World Cup expanded the number of officials still further to include the VAR – an anonymous bunch of people watching the same bank of camera angles we could see at home. No doubt this will be expanded to all Premier League games any day now. Is it a positive innovation? I reckon there are more pluses than minuses but VAR has to go hand in hand with tougher punishment for diving and bogus penalty claims.

Guidelines have come and gone over the years with new instructions to refs needed to counter insidious growth of on-pitch nastiness, such as the elbow (euphemistically called the 'raised arm'), diving  ('simulation') and the 'professional foul'. I remember applauding the 'straight red' shown to Kevin Moran during the 1985 FA Cup Final against Everton, a massive talking point at the time.

I can’t say I have ever drawn up a list of my favourite referees. As mentioned earlier, they are supposed to be largely anonymous, upholding the laws of football as required of them. In the Seventies, Clive Thomas of Treorchy (why were refs always named with their home town in brackets?) was probably the best known. I don’t know whether he was the most prolific when it came to taking names of offenders but he was always known as ‘Clive the Book’. I once saw him living up to his reputation cautioning the Exeter City ‘keeper Len Bond for tapping an obstinate forward with the ball, thus conceding a penalty! Thomas was not popular with us City fans that day.

The aforementioned Mr d’Urso is remembered by me not only for that Man Utd incident but for the fact he came from Billericay (those brackets again), while Uriah Rennie made waves as the first top-flight black ref in England. I do have a soft spot for Mark Clattenburg (Consett) who overcame an early ‘rabbit in headlights’ appearance to become one of the world’s finest. If a top PL manager singled him out for criticism, then maybe he was doing his job particularly effectively. However, I shall never forget the first time I saw Pierluigi Collina (Bologna). In the Nineties, Dad and I sometimes watched Channel 4s Sunday afternoon Italian football coverage, and the sight of ‘baldie ref’ used to liven up even the dullest Serie A encounter. We used to cheer every decision and he thoroughly deserved the accolade of best ref in the world. No automaton, he. With those scary, starey eyes, he wasn’t a man to mess with either. That's what you really want from a ref!

World Cup Memories - 1998 and 2002

Two years after football ‘came home’ for Euro 96, the World Cup was hosted just across the Channel in France. Buoyed by the fun and euphoria from the previous tournament, England fans expected great things from Glenn Hoddle’s squad after missing 1994 altogether. Baddiel and Skinner updated their lyrics to the Lightning Seeds’ stirring anthem ‘Three Lions’ and pipped ‘Vindaloo’ to the number one spot. The comedians’ daily live BBC2 show “World Cup Fantasy Football” was required viewing in our household, too. And everyone wanted to see how David Beckham, Alan Shearer and 17 year-old boy wonder Michael Owen would fare on the greatest stage.

Expanding to include 32 countries, this World Cup would be bigger and brighter than ever and, with many matches scheduled for peak time viewing over here, interest and audience figures were high. I particularly enjoyed the spectacle of colourful walls of fans, from the vivid orange of the Dutch to the red-and-white chequerboards from Croatia. Nigeria (green/white) and Cameroon (green/yellow) were typically exuberant and it was great to see Jamaica’s ‘Reggae Boyz’ represented for the first time. They didn’t get very far but nobody seemed to care very much; everything was irie, man.

There were shades of 2018 in that England faced both Tunisia and Colombia but as usual, we bowed out to one of our two wartime nemeses, Argentina, this time in the first knockout round. The commuter trains home that Tuesday evening were full of blokes anticipating the clash determined not to miss the kickoff from St Etienne and it was certainly a classic. Two dodgy penalties inside the first ten minutes ignited the blue touch paper on a footballing firecracker. It wasn’t always pretty but young Owen’s carefree gallop into the area to fire England 2-1 ahead in the sixteenth minute really got the nation buzzing. However it was even-stevens again by half-time. Afterwards came one of the most infamous incidents in England’s World Cup history, although I was on the phone when it happened! A floored Beckham flicked a petulant kick at Diego Simeone under the very nose of ref Kim Nielsen. Up thrust the red card, Gabriel Batistuta nodded his approval and the floppy-haired Man U winger trudged off to a summer of ridicule and castigation. Still, it didn’t exactly wreck his career, did it?

Down to ten men, England reverted to the much over-rated Dunkirk spirit and battled away admirably in a ten-man defence to survive extra time, after which penalties awaited. The nation uttered a collective groan the players could probably hear in the middle of France. Ince and Batty duly missed theirs and we were out.

The tournament didn’t end, of course. There were some strong sides and outstanding individuals on show that year. Chile had Ivan Zamorano and Marcelo Salas up front, JJ Okocha (Nigeria) and Denilson (Brazil) performed some breathtaking tricks and flicks, Denmark boasted Peter Schmeichel in goal and the Laudrup brothers, while Rekdal and Tore-Andre Flo combined well for Norway to beat Brazil 2-1 in the group stage. My diary also lauded Norway’s opening draw with Morocco (“That’s what football‘s about”) and Iran’s “exciting” 2-1 revenge on USA.

European champions Germany only squeezed into the quarters thanks to a late brace by Klinsmann and Bierhoff before being taken apart 3-0 by Croatia, for whom Davor Suker was excellent up front. They went out in a niggly semi-final to France but deserved their eventual third place. Meanwhile a fine Dutch side was also progressing to the last four. Unfortunately they succumbed to Brazil in a shootout but there will always be this fabulous winner against Argentina converted by Dennis Bergkamp. I think the commentator liked it, too!

And so it all came down to a Final between the host nation and perennial favourites Brazil at the Stade de France on 12^th July. After all the pre-kick-off hoo-hah over whether Ronaldo would actually play – more ins and outs than the hokey-cokey – it wasn’t only the star striker who looked lacklustre and mentally out of sorts. France dominated the scoreline thanks to Zinedine Zadane’s two headers and Petit’s coup-de-grace but for me the over-riding memory was of right-back Lilian Thuram thwarting every attack that came his way. For all Rivaldo’s eye-popping stepover sequences, the defender gave a masterclass on how concentration on the ball can frustrate the fanciest of fancy-dans. Hours after Didier Deschamps lifted the trophy, I wrote “I still have an inane smile on my face”.

Four years later, when the World Cup was shared by Japan and South Korea, France flopped miserably. I didn’t see much of the early games as I was on a Mediterranean cruise holiday. However, I do recall buying ice cream in a small Sorrento café where the owner was diverted by a TV in the back office. I heard some tinny cheering so asked him who had scored. It was Senegal, taking the lead over the champs in the opening fixture. Things didn’t improve and they finished bottom of Group A, goalless!

For a change, England found themselves in the ‘group of death’. However, against the odds, they survived. They even gained revenge by beating Argentina. I’d already taken the whole week off so, with Billericay bedecked in flags of St George in place of the recent Jubilee bunting, I was able to watch it on the telly. Typically I missed the only goal, David Beckham’s 44^th minute spot-kick.

Because of the eight-hour time difference, most matches took place in the morning or early afternoon. When England met Brazil in the quarter-finals, I had the game on whilst preparing for the Friday commute. Michael Owen pounced early on but Rivaldo equalised whilst I was donning my shoes. The rail journey into London was already affected by football fever. The newsagents were closed and trains had been extended earlier in the morning to cater for those intending to watch in the office. Approaching my Broadcasting House destination I recall strolling up Regent Street and hearing cheers from an open window. Surely England hadn’t won? No, they hadn’t. Ronaldinho’s audacious free-kick over Seaman’s helpless ponytail had settled the match despite the flamboyant Brazilian’s red card with half an hour remaining. I noted that evening: “Now I can enjoy the World Cup without the interminable hype”.

There were other moments to savour: for example, Senegal’s stunning counter-attacking goal against Denmark. Robbie Keane’s late goals also carried Ireland into the last sixteen before Spain sent them packing on penalties. However, the tournament will be remembered more for some disgraceful bent refereeing and players’ play-acting. In particular, South Korea’s progress to the semis was eased considerably by an easy group and appalling decisions against Italy and Spain in the knockouts. A shame because they had a decent side and brought out several saves from Buffon in the Italy game. As we had witnessed at the Seoul Olympics, the US satellite nation were notoriously prone to corruption to gain sporting advantage.

I also remember my incredulity at Rivaldo’s disgusting histrionics against Turkey. Obviously a boyhood influence on Neymar, the Brazilian’s reaction to a ball kicked against a thigh (rolling around clutching his face) would have been laughable had it not resulted in Hakan Unsal’s straight red. In the end, the two best sides, Brazil and Germany, met in the final, with Ronaldo’s finishing against Oliver Kahn proving decisive. And let’s not forget the referee: the peerless Pierluigi Collina, surely the most famous official in football. Respect to his bald head, alien eyes and good humour. He was often more watchable than the football!