For the love of rugby: Hats off to those who sacrifice their time out of love

On Wednesday afternoon I took some time off to watch a school rugby match for the first time in decades.

The rugby wasn’t great – it’s early in the season with overweight, unfit players and rusty skills.

But my, were the parents entertaining!

Judged by remarks heard in the pavilion, each of the players on the bench were exceptional talents destined for greatness and their competition for a spot on the starting XV were only on the field because “the important thing is who you know, not how well your child plays”.

The players who did run on the field – or jogged, waddled or strolled, depending on their level of fitness – were certain future selections for the green and gold.

The most interesting, however, was the discussions revolving around the referee. It takes a very special human being to make a schools’ rugby ref.

I have so much respect for the men and women who choose to take tough courses and sacrifice their time out of love for this brutal, elegant game… only to be peppered with abuse and snide comments from people who haven’t read a rule book in decades, if ever.

“The ref in Pretoria last week missed a great game,” said a skinny mom with a cigarette.

Suddenly the referee blew hard on his whistle right in front of us.

“Free kick for early lifting,” he said. “He jumped unassisted!” exclaimed a father.

“Possibly,” said a father from the opposing school. “But he hovered in the air for a long time… is he a drone?”

“What’s the fool doing now?” shouted a mom. “I wonder how much money the other school paid him?” complained a dad.

Eventually, a kicker placed the ball for the final kick. The score was 21-19 and the result hinged on this kick.

One of the officials indicated that the kick was over, the other shook his head. It was up to the ref to give the final verdict.

No, it missed, he indicated after looking at the parents first.

“Great call!” shouted some parent.

“Idiot!” screamed the others. The referee blew the final whistle and ran off the field.

“Wonderful match,” said a father. He turned around and walked to his car.

When he passed me, I could hear him mumbling under his breath: “Stupid ref. He cost us the game.”

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