Seeing Red (12 page)

Similarly, at Reading's old Elm Park ground, there was one home ‘supporter' who used to station himself at the front of one stand – in line with the edge of the penalty area – because he had worked out that was the most advantageous position from which to spit at the linesman. Nice.

At Millwall's old ground, The Den, a security official used to make a joke of the fact that the fans there liked to pelt linesmen with coins. He used to say, ‘They do appreciate linesmen here. They make a collection and deliver it throughout the game.' When you think about it, that is not very funny. It meant spectators were throwing dangerous missiles and yet nobody was going to do anything about it.

Some referees have been victims of truly ominous, threatening behaviour. Barry Knight received an aerial picture of his house after one dodgy game, for instance. That was scary for him and his family. It meant someone had gone to a lot of trouble to demonstrate that he knew where Barry lived.

Consider also the case of Urs Meier, the Swiss referee who disallowed a goal by Sol Campbell in England's Euro 2004 quarter-final against Portugal. He was put under police protection because of death threats from England. Our newspapers were even offering one of his grown-up sons all sorts of incentives to dish some dirt on Urs so that they could use it to destroy him.

Anders Frisk allegedly had Chelsea fans turn up in his village in Sweden and thought, ‘That's it. I don't need this. I am quitting.'

We are talking about decent men who have been brave enough to make honest decisions in big matches. Perhaps they did not get every decision right. They are human, after all. But we are talking about football matches, for heaven's sake.

The most frightening situation Julia and I have been in because of my refereeing was after Middlesbrough's home defeat by Arsenal in January 1996. As far as I was concerned, the game went well. I sent off Middlesbrough's
Alan Moore in the last minute for elbowing an opponent in the face but it was a clear-cut decision. Julia, who was six months pregnant, was at the game and a friend, Harry Williams, was going to drive us away from the ground. As we walked towards the car, two supporters, who had obviously been waiting for me, jumped out from behind another vehicle. One started with the ‘You f***ing southerner' routine. I said to Williams, ‘Just get Julia inside the car first, then get the boot open to let me put my kit bag inside.'

As I climbed into the car one of the fans put his hand inside his leather jacket, then withdrew it, made a ‘gun' shape with his fingers and said, ‘Bang, you're dead.' Then he threw a punch at me, missed and hit the car. Then he started to kick the car as we drove off. I said to Julia, ‘He's gone, it's over.' But he hadn't and it wasn't.

The pair ran across some wasteland and were waiting as we reached the exit road. My friend was driving at around 20 mph with the ‘gunman' in his sights and I said, ‘Just keep going.' He did, and the two supporters jumped out of the way.

It was a horrible experience, especially because Julia was with me, but for the most part I only received the sort of ordinary abuse that fans think is OK to shout at referees. I considered that it was just one of those things that went with refereeing, like a notebook or a whistle. It was part of the deal I accepted when I first wore that shirt with the Herts FA badge sewn on by my mum.

I am not saying that abuse is acceptable. It is not, of course. The referees who take charge of games on parks pitches are the only neutral people present and it takes a degree of bravery to do that, week in and week out, for a few quid and for the love of the game.

There have been too many assaults, and too many referees who have found the abuse too much to tolerate – and I believe that the climate of constant carping which referees have to endure is encouraged by people like Neil Warnock. What managers like him say about referees at the top levels of the pyramid make blokes in parks think it is perfectly all right to abuse parks referees.

More about Mr Warnock soon, but all of us who put on referees' shirts know we are going to be insulted and, thankfully, most of the insults are not particularly inventive. It is usually just the same old stuff and the more it is repeated, the less impact it has. And so, as I went through the years and through the leagues, I became increasingly unmoved by the things people shouted, chanted, sung or wrote. As I progressed from the parks to the Premier League, I became more and more hardened. I built layer upon layer of protection.

Actually, I don't really remember much offensive stuff from my early days as a parks referee, but then, when I think back to childhood holidays, my memory tells me that it was always sunny. Yet Dad and Mum used to take us to Mablethorpe, Cleethorpes, or Skegness and so the chances are there just might have been a few spots of rain – and some wind. It is just that nostalgia paints a cheerier picture than the reality. So it is probable that I did get sworn at a lot as a parks ref, but I obviously got used to it and learned to ignore it. Then, gradually, I became familiar with bigger crowds and inured by exposure to louder criticism.

Once the crowd goes above three thousand, you seldom hear the individual, personal abuse. You might have five hundred people singing something about you, but that is not the same – not as bad, in some ways. They are just abusing
the bloke with the whistle, and the role he has, not you as a person. They are booing the pantomime villain. So you shower at the end of the game, change back into civilian clothing and you are not dressed as the villain any more.

With bigger crowds, you can still hear the odd individual, or become aware of a particularly unhappy punter. In Isthmian League days, I used to answer back – in a disarming way. Once crowds became bigger still, I tried to use gestures to answer back. No, not that sort of gesture, although it was sometimes a temptation.

There was a guy at Anfield who used to stand up and bellow stuff about me and at me. So I made sure that, when a throw-in was being taken, I stationed myself in line with this wise guy, made eye-to-eye contact and blew him a kiss. His mates around him saw me do it and thought it was hilarious. They were all laughing at him and with me. Then ten minutes or so later, I made sure that I had eye contact with him again, and gave him a wink. That section of crowd thought it was highly amusing and the abuse stopped – until I gave a decision against their team.

Much of the criticism aimed at me was ill-informed because most people in this country, or in any football-playing country, do not know the Laws of the game. That comment will be dismissed as yet more arrogance, but it is a fact, and it is one with which referees live.

Let me explain. If I take someone who has never been to a football match to a fixture at say, Stamford Bridge, he or she will understand what is going on. If I take someone to a rugby match at Twickenham, lots of what occurs will be bewildering. Football is a simple game. That is its beauty and a considerable part of its appeal. But that means that, as we grow up, we do not need to sit down and learn the Laws. We
just get on with playing or watching and pick up bits and pieces of the Laws as we go along. And we pick up some half-truths and myths. I won't go into them here. That is a whole other book.

However, the situation is that many journalists, broadcasters, players and managers do not know the Laws and persistently make mistaken assumptions or draw erroneous conclusions. As a referee, you just have to accept that.

You can try to inform people if you are given the chance but mostly you have to accept their mistakes. You certainly can't get worked up when Alan Hansen or Andy Gray has a go at you on TV and yet get the Laws wrong. It's just life. It's just football.

I knew that if I took big decisions in big games honestly, and got most of them right, I would get respect – not necessarily popularity, as John Gregory pointed out, but respect. So, although this will seem like even more arrogance, I knew I was doing a good job as a referee most of the time, and so the abuse was not a problem.

Insults from players or coaches? They didn't worry me, unless they eroded my ability to control the game. I was not interested in winning an argument. I wanted to end the argument and facilitate the game of football.

Fierce criticism by the media? Obviously, I would have preferred not to have been the subject of headlines such as ‘Poll's a snivelling creep', which appeared in the
Mirror
, but I received praise occasionally as well. Still, that was better than a
Daily Star
headline about Paul Allcock. It said, ‘Allcock no brains'.

Abuse from crowds? Well, when supporters chanted, ‘
You
don't know what you're doing
', the truth was, I did know what I was doing. So I was not wounded by the shouts.
When they sang, ‘
You're not fit to referee
' I knew that I was physically fitter than most of them and that good judges thought I was one of the best referees in the country. So, again, the crowd didn't hurt me at all. When they sang, ‘
Who's the wanker in the black?
' it didn't hit home – because I didn't always wear black. So none of the songs and chants were accurate and none of them could penetrate those layers of protection that had built up over the years – not even the song which rhymed my surname with a coarse description of an anus. You'll have to work out for yourself what I mean if you've never sung it.

No, nothing got to me – until the season after I got back from Germany. Then, when crowds sang, ‘
World Cup and
you f***ed it up
', it hurt. It pierced those twenty-six years of layers – because it was true.

Until the 2006 World Cup, I was immune to most of the abuse and criticism that was routinely heaped upon me. The common judgment was that I loved the limelight and sought controversy, and I had to laugh when a friend told me of a remark made by Patrick Collins of the
Mail on Sunday
newspaper. He said, ‘The trouble with Graham Poll is that he enjoys being on television too much.' And Patrick said that on
Jimmy Hill's Sunday Supplement
, a Sky TV programme.

I happen to think that Patrick is a gifted writer. I don't always agree with what he writes, but it is always worth reading. I happen to know that Patrick could not referee a Premier League match, any more than he can resist invitations to appear on
Jimmy Hill's Sunday Supplement
, and, like everyone else, he was wrong about his assumption that I courted controversy. Whenever I whistled for the start of a game, I hoped that the match would pass without anything contentious happening. Of course I did. But I was frequently given high-profile matches and tried not to shirk the big decisions. I made those decisions honestly, knowing they might
bring arguments and conflict, but definitely not seeking that controversy.

Perhaps one reason folk thought that I thrived on controversy was that I smiled a lot during games. Often it was because I was enjoying myself and having a laugh with the players but sometimes I smiled as a bit of a defence mechanism – my way of demonstrating a strength of will and proving that the carping, sniping and abuse were not hurting. Sometimes laughing in the face of adversity can definitely create the wrong impression, however. I got it horribly wrong in 2003, in the FA Cup semi-final between Sheffield United and Arsenal at Old Trafford. And I think it would be informative to tell that story now.

It was a turbulent match, with several flashes of controversy, and Neil Warnock, the Sheffield United manager, was his usual agitated, noisy, demonstrative self – and, as usual, most of his ire was aimed at the referee. So, as I left the field at half-time, to a chorus of vociferous criticism from Warnock and his club's supporters, I smiled broadly. It was a very big smile and a very big mistake.

My intention was to show people ‘I ain't bothered.' Perhaps if they saw that they were not getting to me, they would ease up. But to Warnock, my smile signified that I didn't care, that it was all a joke. This was one of the biggest matches in the history of the club he had supported and now managed, but I was not taking it seriously. My smile infuriated him.

Now let me set the record straight about that match, which ought to be remembered for a superlative, point-blank save by England goalkeeper David Seaman. It was Seaman's 1,000th senior appearance and he crowned it with that save. Carl Asaba hooked the ball into the middle and Sheffield
United substitute Paul Peschisolido was only a few feet out when he directed a firm header away from Seaman. Yet the thirty-nine-year-old goalkeeper flung out an arm and palmed the ball up to prevent it crossing the line.

However, sadly, the match will be recalled by Warnock and some others for my part in the afternoon's drama, which began when I did not blow for a foul by Arsenal's Sol Campbell on Wayne Allison in the first half. My honest assessment was that the first challenge by Campbell was a fair one. Immediately after that, in a second challenge, it is possible that Campbell did make illegal contact. I did not think so at the time, but later on the endless television replays convinced some people that there had been a foul. Show the incident to a dozen referees and there would be several slightly different opinions. That's life, and that is certainly football. I called it as I saw it at the time, without replays.

Allison stayed down after being tackled but I did not know whether he was hurt or just making a point. I did not stop play and nobody kicked the ball out. Then, as I turned to move away from looking at Allison and follow play, Sheffield United's Michael Tonge and I collided. It was like going around a corner in a supermarket and accidentally clashing trolleys with someone – nobody's fault, just one of those things. When it happens in a supermarket, you both apologize and get on with your shopping. When it happens in a football match and involves the referee, usually the crowd hoots with laughter. Not this time.

The collision stopped Tonge getting across to make a challenge and enabled Arsenal to build their attack without much hindrance. That attack ended with Freddie Ljungberg scoring what proved to be the game's only goal. Warnock
went into a vein-popping, apoplectic frenzy – and I made the mistake of smiling at half-time.

After the game, Joe Guest, from the Football Association's referees' department, told me that an FA councillor had given him stick at half-time about my performance and had said, ‘If this is the best you've got, we're in trouble.' Joe Guest cheered me up further by adding, ‘And you won't believe what Neil Warnock has been saying about you in the press conference.'

Yet the Sheffield United manager appeared perfectly calm when he came to the referees' room. He had put on that reasonable, avuncular smile he uses on TV. He asked, ‘Graham, can you explain the incidents to me please?' I told him I did not believe Wayne Allison had been fouled. He replied, ‘You will when you see it on video, Graham.'

He asked me a couple of fairly insignificant questions before he started to berate Alan Wiley, the fourth official. Throughout the game, Alan had been the target for Warnock rants, which were apparently inspired by a decision Alan had made in the League Cup semi-final, three months earlier. Alan and I both felt that it was astounding that a manager should harp on all day about another match and another incident instead of focusing intently on the job in hand – the FA Cup semi-final. Yet he was still festering about a decision made three months earlier. ‘I'm glad I'm retiring in two years,' said Warnock. Alan and I immediately began counting the days.

Neil Warnock was not abusive, rude or even overcritical while he was in our changing room. When he left I wondered why he had bothered. But later that evening I received a number of calls from reporters seeking my reaction to Warnock's criticism of me at the press conference. This is
part of what he had said to reporters, as recorded on the BBC's website:

One month later – yes, a whole month later – I received a call from the FA asking whether I thought Warnock should be charged with misconduct over his remarks. The FA wondered whether I was bothered one way or the other. I simply said that it was their decision. The FA were obviously hoping that they would be able to sweep the whole business under the carpet. But why should that happen? Warnock had been a serial critic of referees. He constantly belittled officials and, by doing so and getting away with it, he encouraged the climate of abuse and insults which every referee has to suffer.

I have said, and I believe, that everyone who pulls on a referee's shirt knows that criticism is part of the deal, but that does not mean it has to be encouraged. By letting the Warnocks of football get away with repeatedly and deliberately chipping away at referees, the authorities charged with looking after the game in England fail in their duty of care.
For instance, the sight of managers racing to the touchline from the technical area to berate a referee or an assistant has almost become an accepted part of English football. It does not have to be like that.

In Europe, UEFA take a much tougher line with managers and so, in European games, managers and coaches have a less aggressive attitude. They know that if they step out of line UEFA will hammer them. Similarly, UEFA punish any manager who criticizes an official through the media.

But in England, it is always open season on referees. I wonder how the players' union, the PFA, would react if referees started criticizing players – if we said, ‘So-and-so is inconsistent. He had a terrible game. And he's a cheat.' I wonder how the Managers' Association would feel if a referee said a team's tactics were wrong, the substitutions defied belief and how so-and-so was ever selected is a mystery.

Yet Warnock and those like him routinely carp at match officials, their level of performance and even their neutrality. So I hoped that Warnock would be taught a lesson – not for my benefit but for the good of the game. Yet when he was charged with misconduct, he remained unrepentant. Now, there's a shock.

In fact, he said he did not want Premier League officials in charge of his games. He got his way on that to some extent for a few years, because his team lost in the promotion playoff final that season and so stayed in the Football League. Inevitably, he blamed the referee, Steve Bennett, for losing to Wolves in the play-off final.

And so, in August 2003, Neil Warnock was handed a four-game touchline ban and fined £300 – that's 300 whole pounds – for two misconduct charges. One related to his
comments about me; the other was for insulting Steve Bennett during the play-off final.

Fast-forward three years and Sheffield United won promotion to the Premier League from the Football League. Promotion was confirmed for them before the season ended, and so their three remaining fixtures should have been party time, you might have thought. But the match immediately after winning promotion brought a home game against local rivals Leeds United. That fixture was given extra significance because Leeds were pushing for a play-off place and because their manager was Kevin Blackwell. He had been Warnock's assistant at Sheffield United and the manner of his ‘defection' to a rival Yorkshire club had angered Warnock, as a lot of things seemed to do.

Blackwell and Leeds coach John Carver were aggressively vocal in the other dugout but Warnock behaved himself until just before half-time when Craig Short of Sheffield United and Leeds' Gary Kelly went for a 50-50 ball. Paul Robinson, from Hull, was the fourth official. I had told him that if there were any problems with anyone in the technical areas, he must call me over. He did call me over, and he reported that Warnock had shouted, ‘Next time I hope he [Kelly] breaks his f***ing leg.'

What a viciously spiteful thing to say about any player. I sent Warnock to the stand, which was one of the easiest decisions I had to make in twenty-seven years, but he complained that the fourth official had it in for him and refused to go. He was out of control. He had lost his composure completely. I got a police officer to help ensure that Warnock left the technical area. But at half-time in the tunnel Warnock tried to have a row with the fourth official and there was another confrontation with Kelly, who was
visibly but understandably angered by the comment about hoping he broke his leg.

During the interval, Warnock sent a message that he would like to see me, but I was not going to give him an opportunity to cause another scene. I sent a message back saying he could talk with me thirty minutes after the finish of the match, as the regulations permitted. And that is what happened.

At first, he tried a bit of psychology. He tried to split the team of officials by praising me and being critical of Paul Robinson, the fourth official. But I had already told Paul not to get involved in any discussion and that I would be the spokesperson for all four of us. I reminded Warnock that he could only ask me to clarify any decisions made during the game.

He said, ‘I've no need to. I know why you sent me off. You told me at the time.'

I asked, ‘So why are you here?'

He pointed at the fourth official and said, ‘I want to ask him why he has it in for me and why haven't Blackwell and Carver also been reported for their behaviour. You've only done this because I'm Neil Warnock.'

I said I would run through the things he wanted clarified. I said, ‘One: yes, you are Neil Warnock. Two: yes, you are being reported to the FA for improper conduct and your reluctance to leave the technical area when asked to do so. Three: I cannot confirm or deny whether Kevin Blackwell or John Carver or anyone else is being reported to the FA because that is confidential.'

He said, ‘So are they being reported then?'

I said, ‘I've just told you I cannot confirm one way or the other. It's confidential and nothing to do with you.'

He then started to round on Robinson, but I stopped him and he left. But he said, ‘I know I'm going to get done.' He was right about that. I reported Warnock for his comment. He was charged and he watched Sheffield United's debut in the Premiership from the stand.

By coincidence, his touchline ban ended just in time for a game at Fulham, when I was the referee. Fulham won 1–0 thanks to a superbly taken free-kick by Jimmy Bullard but guess who Warnock blamed for United's defeat? Me, of course.

You must make up your own mind about Neil Warnock. Some of you might enjoy his nickname, which is an anagram of his real name and which begins ‘Colin'. Or you might side with him in his feuds with, among others, Stan Ternant, Gérard Houllier, Gary Megson, Joe Kinnear, Nigel Worthington, Wally Downes, Gareth Southgate and, of course, Kevin Blackwell. I would only seek to sway you about one thing, and that is his abuse of referees damages the game about which he is so passionate.