Storyline: We hardly give thought to umpires and referees until they make a mistake, miss a call. We forget how well they tend to manage games. They are sportsmen, too.
Courtesy: philly.com
Umpiring (or refereeing) requires an impeccable surge of emotion one can hardly imagine. A referee should make no bones about any decision on the field. The craft surely demands knack and dexterity of supreme class. Yet, we remember the one who stuck the ball into the net (player) more than the one who whistled its confirmation (referee).
The respect–this hard earned respect of being the most loyal personnel on the field–is hardly ever encouraged or brought into limelight. I wonder many times, too, if they’re the unseen sportsmen in the field of play? Aren’t they, ladies and gentlemen? I echo my thoughts with what Brayden King and Jerry Kim wrote “What Umpires Get Wrong” for The New York Times: “Technologically, Major League Baseball is in a position, thanks to its high-speed camera system, to enforce a completely accurate, uniform strike zone. The question is whether we, as fans, want our games to be fair and just, or whether we are compelled to watch the game because it mimics the real world, warts and all.”
Courtesy: dailymail.co.uk
A few days back, on the field, I was beefing and fluttering on the left wing (Hang on! I play Hockey, too) until fate kicked a fatal blow to my left tibia. Wonder what happened next? I lied down, moving deep into my pain, when an antagonist worth his steel (the referee) came running towards me, halting the play, and calling for the medicos. Not a big thing, eh? For me, it seemed big, generous, and monumental. I saw in him a human par excellence, for whom, I’m writing this article.
I moved away from the field of play to get my wound treated before my lads, and the kind-hearted opposition, moved on with the game. Yes! I was in pain. But, yes, I’m proud to be a part of sports, for which I am indebted.
Another such instance happened on a field that measures 112-122 by 68 meters (122.5-133.4 × 74.3 yards), that is, a rugby field. The hooker and the blindside flanker were running like a hungry horse if only to put the ball to the ground on the other end. I was enjoying the game at my apartment with pals over a few pints. To the mischief and agony of all, in the ludicrous shell of time, an unfortunate thing happened. The hooker of one team brutally collided with the fly half of the other, damaging both their noses and disturbing a few muscles on their cheeks.
For someone like me, who was fed up on a diet rich of cynicism, criticism, and helplessness, I could not but stand in shock. Then, the protagonist in this article–again, the referee–did the unthinkable: rather than allowing the game to move ahead, he halted the clock and whistled to the paramedics to offer immediate assistance. You, wonder what I did? I closed my eyes and remembered my favorite lines: “If sport is big, then, sporting spirit is the biggest.” Isn’t it true, ladies and gentlemen? Does what really happened demand rich accolades?
Courtesy: difiplccricket2009.blogspot.com
I get electrified and petrified, and see my nerves breaking to the heavens in anger, when I see anyone bashing the umpires in the media for their mistakes. I feel bad that these humble and hardworking lads are not celebrated as richly as we celebrate our heroes. I, to the best of my understanding, have arrived at an answer: Aren’t they sportsmen, too? Aren’t they individuals in blood and flesh, like us, who busy themselves in maintaining the spirits of the game?
I wonder too, readers, if we are underestimating huge talents. I would dally myself in maudlin regrets over the lack of recognition that our umpires get in the sport. Phillip Brooks once said: “Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small ones.”
Speaking and writing about the art and officiousness of umpiring, I remember two people who justify what Brooks said. One gentleman is, David Sheperd and the other, Raghu. Well, to the aficionados in cricket, Sheperd cuts a rich and an appreciable figure. But, the latter (to be precise) is an Indian who officiated more than 150 international matches in field hockey. Crystallizing about a common nucleus he belongs to the humble folk of the National Game of India–Field Hockey. For me, on a personal note, he is the star that’s hardly approbated. Full of dreams, refinements, and intense abstractions, referees lend no countenance to the insensate prattle that prevails on the field. Reality, eh?
The landscape, the Earth, and the sunshine will run, laughing, downhill to the seas that never end. I am sure, if not pessimist, that a referees (or say, umpires) achieve every accolade they truly and richly deserve.
Regards, A Left Winger.
