Seeing Red (20 page)

So we have arrived at my story of the 2002 World Cup. I learned that I was going in January in a telephone call from a journalist, Christopher Davies. He was disappointed that I had not rung him to tip him off – but I hadn't heard. He had spotted it on the FIFA website. I ran to my computer, waited for what seemed like eons for it to boot up, found the site … and, sure enough, there it was: the official list of thirty-six referees and thirty-six assistants for the World Cup. Five referees came from the South American confederation and five from CONCACAF (North and Central America, plus the Caribbean). Africa and Asia provided five each. There was just one, my Aussie friend Mark Shield, from Oceania (Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific Islands). The rest – fourteen referees – came from Europe. On the official announcement, the European contingent was named first and listed in alphabetical order. And so the first name on the entire document was ‘Pierluigi Collina (ITA)'.

Already, you can see the seeds of resentment and jealousy. Not towards Pierluigi – the whole world knew he was the
best – but the other confederations resented the overwhelming influence and success of UEFA. That was particularly true of the Confederación Sudamericana de Fútbol.

None of that concerned me. What mattered to me was name number eleven on the list: ‘Graham Poll (ENG)'. People say moments like that are the realization of a dream, but that does not capture how I felt. This was something I had not dared dream about when I started refereeing; an achievement way beyond anything I had contemplated. It was the seventeenth World Cup, but the first outside Europe or the Americas, the first in Asia and the first to be jointly hosted by two countries – and I was going.

The kid from Stevenage, who had been so insecure at school that he had been the class clown, had worked his way up the refereeing ladder and gained recognition in his own country. He had gone on to become recognized as a top official within Europe. Now, that page on the FIFA website meant that he was one of the top referees in the world.

I know good old Freddie Reid had told me, back in 1985, always to keep my feet on the ground, and his wife had said I should retain my metaphorical cloth cap. Well, sorry Mr and Mrs Reid, at that moment in my study in Tring, if I'd had any sort of hat on I'd have chucked it in the air. And feet on the ground? No, I was flying.

The next few days were a wonderful time of celebrations with friends and especially with my family – my mum and dad and Julia, who had shared so much of my career, and my lovely kids, who were just happy their dad was pleased.

In March, the World Cup referees – and I never tired of reading that phrase – went out to Seoul, in South Korea, for a week on a course. It was like nowhere I had ever been before. Of course, the Koreans do not use our alphabet but,
unlike the Japanese, they do not have any signs for shop names which are at all comprehensible to Westerners. When I walked around I could not understand a single word. And, I have to admit, I inspected every morsel of every meal because I didn't know what any of it was and did not want to eat dog. If that is ignorant, then I am sorry, but I was entirely ignorant. I was in a completely different environment and culture to anything I had ever experienced.

It was a great week, however. It began with a speech by George Cumming, the Scot who was FIFA's director of refereeing. He sat us down and said, ‘Summa Petenda – aim for the highest. One of you thirty-six here will referee the World Cup Final.' As I have already recalled, most of us looked at Pierluigi Collina.

During that week in Seoul, our sleep patterns were all over the place and I taught some of the others an English word, ‘knackered'. When I got home, UEFA rewarded my selection for the World Cup by awarding me with the UEFA Cup semifinal second leg between AC Milan and Borussia Dortmund in the San Siro Stadium – a ground I had always wanted to add to my list. Marvellous.

Then I received an email saying that the referee appointed for the first leg could not do it, so I was being switched. Instead of the second leg, I was now due to officiate at the first leg, in Dortmund. Milan played dreadfully, Dortmund played exceptionally and the Germans won 4–0. So I thought, ‘Now the second leg will be a non-event, and so I have been lucky.'

It seemed to me that everything was going really well. Robbie Savage did his best to ruin my mood, but not even that disgusting episode quite managed it. Graham Poll (ENG) was going to the World Cup.

The seventy-two officials flew out two weeks before the tournament. We assembled in the same, massive city centre hotel which we had used for the course in March. The police closed the motorway for us every day when our coach carried us to a huge stadium for our training and there was a real sense of occasion and importance. We had fitness tests and some team-bonding and then the early appointments were announced.

We congregated in a big room and the appointments were projected onto a screen. By that quirk of the senses that occurs on occasions like that, I spotted my name immediately. I was down to referee Russia against Japan. But within seconds, the projector was turned off, the acetate sheet was taken away and hurried consultations took place while the refs sat around wondering what was going on. I subsequently discovered that because of my adventure in Slovenia, the Russian representative had objected to me. Eventually we were told to go to dinner and when we returned two hours later to see the appointments again, I had been reassigned to Italy versus Croatia.

As I now know, that game did not go well. So the badly-awarded penalty in Slovenia really did cost me. If I had not given that penalty, the Slovenia match would have passed without incident and I would have begun World Cup 2002 by refereeing Russia against Japan instead of Italy versus Croatia. Who knows how events might have unfolded subsequently? It is possible that Russia–Japan would have gone well and I would have had a successful World Cup. That would have made it impossible for me to be kept away from Euro 2004.

When God made us, he only gave us eyes in the front of our head. We can only look forwards. And so I completely
accept that there is no point in saying, ‘What if …?' No point at all … but then again, what if?

Anyway, the reassigned appointments were announced in that room in Seoul. Half the officials were staying there in South Korea but I was in the contingent flying to Tokyo, Japan. As soon as we landed, we were taken to the imperial palace to meet the crown prince. He believed it was an honour for him and his country to be our hosts and that attitude characterized the entire World Cup.

After trying to avoid eating dog, and so consuming nothing much other than boiled rice for a week, I had lost weight and was starving. At the palace in Tokyo, there was a huge buffet laid out and Peter Prendergast, a referee from Jamaica with whom I had become friendly, cajoled me to start being a little more adventurous and to actually try various foodstuffs. I had just persuaded myself to put a portion of raw jellyfish in my mouth when I heard a perfect, clipped, Oxbridge English accent enunciate, ‘Where is this English referee I would like to meet?' It was the crown prince. So I gulped down the jellyfish – which was probably the best way to deal with it – and shook hands with the prince.

The reason we had gone straight to the reception became apparent when we left – and made the two-hour journey to the referees' base which was in the middle of the countryside. In Korea we had been able to walk out into shopping areas or get a free bus to other areas of the city. We were in the middle of bustling city life. In Japan we were in the middle of nowhere. But we were there together and I made some really solid friendships.

I was lucky enough to be a spectator when England played their opening game, a 1–1 draw against Sweden in Saitama – and I do mean lucky. The nation was watching at home, half
way around the world, but I was there. All the referees who were not involved elsewhere were given tickets for the England game, and I kept thinking to myself, ‘I am watching England in the World Cup!' It was extraordinary to see so many Japanese people, who had ‘adopted' England as their team, wearing England shirts with either of ‘Beckham' or ‘Owen' on the back.

My first appointment was two days later in the same stadium – as fourth official for Japan's first match, against Belgium. The stadium was built especially for the World Cup and had been open less than a year. It held 63,000 and because of the home country's involvement, most of them had Japanese shirts or flags. The atmosphere was tremendous, although somehow it was completely unlike a British crowd. All the goals came in the second half. Japan fell behind, equalized and then grabbed the lead before conceding a goal sixteen minutes from the end. It finished 2–2.

On the Thursday, two days before I was due to have my first ‘middle', I sent this email home to friends and family:

When I re-read that, I can recapture the feelings I had of excitement and anticipation. I was thrilled to be a part of the World Cup. After twenty-two years of refereeing, I had climbed the ladder from taking charge of Woolmer Green Rangers Reserves and here I was making myself at home in Pierluigi Collina's room, for heaven's sake! And I was looking forward my own first game. ‘Quietly confident'. Yep, that summed up how I felt.

One of the reasons I had gone to watch Ireland's 1–1 draw with Germany in Ibaraki was to have a look at one of the assistant referees, Jens Larsen of Denmark. He was going to be part of ‘my team' for my game, with Phil Sharp from England. Jens had run the line at the Euro 2000 final and was regarded as one of Europe's leading assistants. But he was poor in the Ireland match. When I discussed his performance with other refs and assistants who were at the
game, most of us thought he was too intrusive: he looked like he was trying too hard to make his mark.

That was the view as well at the FIFA debrief for the game. Jens was criticized heavily by the match observer, Carlos Alarcon of Paraguay, in front of all the other refs and assistants at our rural Japanese base. The bad news for Jens was that Senor Alarcon was to be the observer at our match. That was bad news for me as well, because it put pressure on Jens and I did not want him trying to demonstrate what a good official he was. I did not want him making a big, dramatic decision just to show that he was up to it. I needed him to feel positive and part of the team – not someone desperate to prove something.

As we travelled back to Ibaraki in a people carrier on the Friday, the day before the match, we listened to a CD of party music Jens had compiled. The three of us sang along and built up a rapport. At our hotel we watched Paraguay lose to Spain (which did not improve the mood of Senor Alarcon) and then watched England beat Argentina with a David Beckham penalty. Phil Sharp and I tried, without a lot of success, to keep our celebrations restrained.

I went to sleep easily enough, still quietly confident. I woke at 6 am because I thought I'd heard a noise in the room. I even asked, ‘Who's there?' There was no answer and no more noise, so I went back to sleep. In the morning I discovered that it had been Phil pushing good luck cards from home under my door.

Jens was nervous as we left for the stadium. So we put his CD on again. It seemed to do the trick – until we got out at the ground. There, Carlos Alarcon, who had travelled separately, came over. He shook my hand and wished me luck. He did the same with Phil Sharp. He did the same with the
fourth official, William Mattus of Costa Rica. But to Jens, he said, ‘Be strong.'

I rolled my eyes in disbelief and dismay. Of course, Alarcon thought he was doing the right thing, but Jens's mood changed straight away. He was nervous again. All the painstaking confidence-building Phil and I had done had been wiped out by one misguided remark. As I believe subsequent events proved, Jens felt he now needed to prove that he was a top assistant. He believed, subconsciously no doubt, that the way to do that was to make a big, brave decision. So, subconsciously again, he started the match waiting for a big decision. Over the years I had learned not to look for them – they come along without you seeking them.

Five minutes into the second half, Italy's Christian Vieri scored with a header from close range. Jens stuck up his flag for offside. There was no way I could go against his decision or ask him about it. I had to disallow the goal.

Vieri scored a legitimate goal five minutes later with another header and Italy sat back, content that they could hold onto the lead instead of pressing for another goal. Yet, after seventy-three minutes, Ivica Olic got in front of the Italian defence to reach a Robert Jarni cross and equalize. Three minutes later, Milan Rapaic's volley was deflected into the Italian net by Italy's substitute, Marco Materazzi. Croatia were winning 2–1.