Seeing Red (21 page)

Four minutes from time, Francesco Totti took a free-kick from thirty yards. It thumped against the inside of one post, bounced along the line, brushed the other post and went out for a goal-kick. The drama was building and the Italians kept pressing.

In stoppage time, a long-range free-kick eluded everybody and bounced into the net, but Jens had his flag up. I thought
at first that he was signalling offside, but then he indicated that he had seen a shirt-pull. Again, I had to accept his decision and disallow the goal without going over for a discussion with him. The Italians were outraged. For the second time they had managed to get the ball into the net only to have the goal disallowed – and this time, the decision had condemned them to defeat.

I expected protests at the finish, and when I blew the final whistle a minute or two later I was surrounded by Italian players. I had a good relationship with most of them because I had refereed them in Champions League matches. Vieri said, ‘Graham, it's not you … he has killed you.' I shielded Jens from the furious Italians, but their body language told me they thought they had genuine grievances.

In the dressing room I asked Jens if he was certain about disallowing the stoppage-time goal. He said he had seen Filippo Inzaghi tug a defender's shirt. He was adamant it was the correct call. He said, ‘I would not have flagged otherwise.'

What none of us knew at that stage was that disallowing the fiftieth-minute header by Vieri was a huge mistake. The striker was clearly onside. The assessor, Carlos Alarcon knew, because he had seen all the crucial incidents on television. When he came into our room, his face told us all we needed to know. I went to have a shower and Phil Sharp was in tears for me. He only managed to say, ‘You poor bastard.' He knew that I would carry the can for the errors made by Jens.

I telephoned Julia and we both cried. She said, ‘They won't blame you. All the TV pundits are saying how well you refereed and how the linesman let you down.' I kept telling myself that was right. I kept saying to myself that I
had not done anything wrong, that they were Jens's mistakes. I knew and accepted that, as the referee, I was ultimately responsible for every decision during a game, but the mistakes had not been mine.

After a sleepless night I spoke to Volker Roth (chair of the UEFA referees' committee and a member of the FIFA referees' committee). He said, ‘The World Cup is over for Jens. For you, we'll have to wait and see.'

We did not have long to wait. Carlos Alarcon led the debrief that afternoon and, for the first time, I saw the video replays of the disallowed Vieri goal. It was not even a close call. When the ball was played forward, Vieri was about a yard onside. He timed his run perfectly and headed home from close range. It was a shocking mistake to flag for offside. Jens told the debrief, ‘Graham had no alternative than to accept my signal. It was my mistake.' But, to compound the mistake, I cautioned Vieri for the way he gestured at Jens in protest.

The Vieri incident was shown over and over again. I felt the South Americans were making a point about shoddy European officials. Eventually they moved on to another incident where it was felt I'd missed an Italian player leading with an arm as he challenged. Then the stoppage time incident was shown. It began when I awarded Italy a free-kick near the halfway line. The Croatia players were trying to delay the restart to use up time and so I stayed close to the halfway line instead of moving towards the penalty area where the Italians were obviously going to play the ball. I should have ignored Croatia's time-wasting tactics and positioned myself closer to the ball's ‘drop zone'. From where I was, I had seen a bit of pulling and pushing from both sets of players in the crowded penalty area but nothing excessive.
Jens stuck up his flag, but the South Americans at the debrief were very critical of my positioning.

The inquest, covering three or four incidents, lasted three-quarters of an hour. I knew I was beaten long before the end. The South Americans were like a dog with a bone. They had found a way to blame me as well as Jens. Eventually I said, ‘We're going round and round in circles here. Can we just accept I did my very best in the game? I don't think I have anything to blame myself for. You've said what you've said, you've marked how you've marked and what will happen, will happen. Can we just leave it at that?' I added, ‘If anyone in this room feels I have let them down I will apologize here and now.'

All around the room, referees and assistants shook their heads. Someone said, ‘No, you have not let us down.'

Jens maintained he was correct about the stoppage-time shirt-pulling, but he had no defence about the Vieri ‘offside'. He couldn't have. After the debrief he said to me, ‘I know I've finished my World Cup. I feel bad about that but I feel even worse because I think I've also finished yours.' We both suspected I was not going to referee again at that World Cup. I had toiled so hard for so long to get to my second major tournament but I was probably going home early again.

I was told that the next day I needed to have a telephone conversation with George Cumming from FIFA. At the appointed time I went to the function room that FIFA had commandeered as an office and took the call. I can still remember taking the phone into the corridor and can remember details of that corridor. I can remember all of the phone call. George Cumming said, ‘I am really sorry, Graham, about what has happened.'

I said, ‘So am I. But this wasn't my fault.'

He said, ‘Unfortunately in refereeing, as you well know, the referee takes responsibility for what happens during a game. That is life. I am afraid that you can have no more games at this World Cup.'

I said, ‘Is that fair? Is that right?'

He said, ‘No. Welcome to FIFA.'

At that point he told me to stay strong and that I was still young enough to referee in the 2006 World Cup. He insisted that I was very highly thought of, et cetera et cetera. I may have laughed; I very probably swore. I definitely thought that was all complete nonsense. I was being dumped from one World Cup so I was hardly likely to be called up for another.

It cannot have helped that Italy, a major football power, were involved but FIFA did not want me to tell anyone that I had been axed because of the controversy over the Italy–Croatia game. They wanted me to keep that little secret to myself. I was expected to stay strong and positive, remain with the other referees – and then go home when the cut was made for the officials for the knockout stage. If I went home before the cull, the focus would be on me and the reason for my being sent home – perhaps the unfairness would be remarked upon. If I went home at the same time as everybody else, I would just be another referee who had not survived the cut.

I went back into the FIFA office and said I wanted to go home. They told me to take some time out, play some golf, go into Tokyo. They didn't say ‘But don't go home' but that is what they meant. Although I was at a very low ebb, I knew that, if I said the wrong thing, or did the wrong thing, I could damage all my future prospects with FIFA. I remembered again, as I had at Euro 2000, that my friend Paul Durkin had
hurt his international career by reacting badly when he was sent home early from the 1998 World Cup.

Not for the first or last time at a major tournament, I was in turmoil. But, in that room in Japan with the FIFA men, I started to pull myself together. I said I'd go for a walk to clear my head and let them know what I was going to do in an hour or so. My family and close friends had been incredibly supportive and I told myself I was also at the finals representing all of England's referees. I returned to my room and telephoned one of them: my dad.

He analysed my game blow-by-blow, suggesting where I could have done better. That was the last thing I needed, frankly, but then he said, ‘It doesn't matter though. We all love you. Don't come home. I've brought you up to fight and be strong. When you eventually come home you can hold your head high.' I knew he was right about needing to show that I was strong. I went back to the FIFA officials and told them, to their obvious relief, that I'd had a change of heart. I said I would be training with my colleagues the following morning.

So, the next day, I tried to slip back into a normal routine. As usual I went for a short, brisk ride on a mountain bike as soon as I got up. After breakfast I talked to Volker Roth. He was unhappy with what was happening to me and told me that, if he thought it would make a difference, he would offer to resign. We both understood that it wouldn't make a scrap of difference and so he said, ‘It is better that I stay and fight to get you another appointment than walk away.'

I appreciated our talk, but it lasted longer than I realized and I arrived in the lobby at 9.02 – two minutes after the coaches had left for training. I got back on the mountain bike and sped off and was almost killed by one of our buses that had been sent back to pick me up. As I pedalled around
a corner, it forced me into the side of the road and I fell into a bush.

I picked myself up and finished the three-mile bike ride to the training ground. I arrived as the other referees were starting their warm-up lap – so I did it on the bike. The class clown was back and everyone had a smile on his face. Word later reached me of how impressed FIFA were with my attitude. And, thanks to Roth's influence, I did get another appointment – as fourth official to Pierluigi Collina at Japan versus Turkey. Just as I had picked myself up off the floor after my cycling accident, I felt that I was managing to end my World Cup positively. But it was definitely ending.

The time arrived when it was announced who was staying and who was going. Perhaps there were one or two were borderline cases but most of the officials knew in their hearts whether they were staying or going home. I knew I was heading for Tring.

My bag was packed but, before I could get away, all the referees were taken out for dinner on a boat in Tokyo. I felt real sympathy for Japan's Toru Kamikawa, who was a victim of FIFA politics. The South Korean official Kim Young-joo had suffered a nightmare in the Brazil versus Turkey game so he could not survive into the next stage of matches. FIFA felt that it would be incorrect to let a ref from the other host nation continue, hence Kamikawa was rejected.

There was a karaoke machine on the boat and Kamikawa sang a Japanese folk song with tears in his eyes. A sense of honour is a central strand of Japanese life. He felt he had let down his country. Of course he had not, but seldom can a song have been delivered more mournfully. I gave a terrible rendition of ‘Delilah' – with special emphasis on the line ‘
Why, why, why?
…' – but it had far less effect on the room.

The next day those of us who were going home were paid our fees – in cash. I received $22,000 in notes, which I then carried in my hand luggage all the way home. Well, not all of it – I handed over a sizeable amount to pay for the excess weight of my cases, which were stuffed with souvenirs for my family and friends. I was too weary and deflated to argue or put the souvenirs into my hand luggage. I just paid up and then flew home alone. It was a long, long journey.

There is one more observation to make about the 2002 World Cup. When Jens flagged for a foul, and forced me to disallow Italy's late goal, it was because he had seen Filippo Inzaghi tug the shirt of a Croatian defender. That defender was Josip Simunic – the man I was to show the yellow card to three times at the 2006 World Cup.

By now you will see that my final years as a referee were punctuated by the big, set-piece tournaments: the World Cups and European Championships. After the 2002 World Cup, there came two seasons in which I was building towards Euro 2004 – or so I believed. But 2002/03 did not start well.

Footballers often suffer ‘hangovers' after European or World Cup finals. So do some referees. A major tournament takes its toll on players and officials. Whether they perform well or badly at the tournament, whether luck is with them or deserts them, the vast physical and mental commitment involved makes it a draining experience. Inevitably, once the tournament is over, they relax and try to recuperate. Then, when they return to domestic action the following season, it is difficult for them to pick up the pace again. The summer ‘break' is never very long, of course. England's professional referees are only allowed two weeks of complete inactivity before starting training again – gently at first. In week one of pre-season training, I only did a bike ride and a jog. In week
two I did three activities and made them more strenuous. The amount of exercise built up and I expected to be fit by the second week in July, because that was when we normally went away somewhere for a training week and usually underwent the fitness tests.

I never got the opportunity to build my momentum and form in 2002/03 because, after one game, I knew I could not finish top of the English refereeing rankings. Well, more accurately, after two games. Because of my commitment to my local clubs, I refereed a friendly between Tring Athletic and Tring Corinthians, but I shouldn't have. I was due to take charge of my first ‘official' fixture – Nottingham Forest versus Preston – the following evening and should have cancelled my local fixture, but I did not want to let them down. So we got home from two weeks' holiday in Puerto Pollensa, in Majorca, on the Sunday, and on the Tuesday I did my Tring thing and on the Wednesday I took charge at Forest.

I still maintain that I had a decent game at Forest, and yet the assessor stuffed me. He gave me such a poor mark that I knew my average for the season would not be, could not be, high enough to make me number one. If a football team lose their first game, they don't think that their season is over, but for a referee, one bad mark in August can put him in a position from which he cannot recover.

Let me explain about this business of wanting to be number one. George Cumming's motto for referees at the World Cup was ‘Summa Petenda – aim for the highest'. When I was growing up, the adage that was drummed into me by my dad and mum was, ‘Good, better, best. Never let it rest, until your good be better and your better best.' Perhaps because of that little verse, or because of something in my
own character, I had to strive to be the best at refereeing. When I was working my way up, I would look at those who were getting better marks and think to myself, ‘What are they doing better than me? How can I improve my performances to overtake them?'

That was competitive, but it was striving to improve myself, not to damage them. That was a very different attitude to the one I encountered once I was number one. Then some of those ranked below me thought, ‘What can we do to undermine Pollie? How can we knock him down?' I hope you can understand the difference in the two attitudes, because I believe the difference is profound.

Anyway, in 2002 I had been England's World Cup referee and by then I knew that, if I performed at my best, I would continue to be the number one referee in England. The marks are not published, and so I cannot tell you accurately how often I was top of the ranking, but referees always had a good idea who had the top average and I wanted it to be me. I wanted to have that number one position because anything less meant that I was not performing at my absolute zenith.

Although I felt hard-done-by about my mark at Nottingham Forest's City Ground, as the 2002/03 season progressed I knew I was not refereeing to the standard I had set myself. I could, and should, have asked for some low-profile matches at the start of the season so that I could build up my form, but that wasn't my style. Like the kid who used to burst into rooms at school, I met the challenge head-on and relished being given big matches.

So, just before Christmas, I was really pleased to be given Liverpool against Everton at Anfield, one of the ‘golden games' referees look out for when the fixtures are announced. The game was goalless and went well enough –
until the eighty-seventh minute. I was aware of Liverpool's Steven Gerrard making a challenge on Gary Naysmith but, although I was in a good position in terms of keeping up with play, it turned out to be a poor position to see what happened. An Everton player – I think it was Mark Pembridge – ran across my line of vision at the crucial moment. The assistant referee on that side, Phil Sharp, was watching for an offside or whether the ball was out of play and did not get a good look at Gerrard's challenge either. The fourth official, Neale Barry, later said he saw nothing untoward.

But in the
Guardian
the next day, Kevin McCarra called it a blood-curdling challenge and when I saw the incident on video, it was, indeed, horrific. Naysmith slid in and took the ball. Gerrard, realizing he was about to lose possession, lunged in with both legs outstretched, and both his boots hit Naysmith's legs. I had missed a red card foul. Fortunately, I had not even shown him a yellow card. If I had, I would not have been able to ask subsequently for it to have been upgraded to a red.

On the Monday morning, I sent an email to Joe Guest, at the FA. I said, in part, ‘Having viewed the video of the game I can confirm that, had I seen the incident, I would have sent Mr Gerrard from the field of play for serious foul play. Mr Gerrard did come to my dressing room after the game to offer an apology.'

Incidentally, it was very unusual for a player to come and say ‘Sorry' like that and I respect Gerrard for doing it, but because of my email the England international was charged with misconduct. He asked for a personal hearing, which was held at Bolton. The video evidence was clear. Gerrard was given a three-game suspension, as he would have done if
I had sent him off during the game. I'd had a twelve-hour day, with nine of those hours spent driving through snow flurries to and from Bolton's Reebok Stadium, and I think Liverpool only went through the charade to show Steven Gerrard how much they cared about him.

There was certainly no residual resentment between Gerrard and me. In fact, in my last season as a referee, he gave me one of his Liverpool shirts, which he signed and on which he added the message, ‘To Graham, top ref'.

I have quite a collection of shirts. I have one each from Fabio Cannavaro, Patrick Vieira, Steve McManaman and Luis Figo, among others. Most of them were offered to me by players without my asking. In fact, I never targeted any player until Pierluigi Collina, an avid collector of shirts, told me that he usually decided which one he would like before a match and then set about getting it.

Before Collina refereed England versus Argentina during the 2002 World Cup, he said, ‘Which shirt would you like?' I picked David Beckham's shirt, as you do. Sure enough, he returned with it and I was delighted – until I realized that he had not acquired it for me. The purpose of his question had been to show that he could get whichever shirt he wanted – and he wanted the Beckham souvenir for his own collection.

During that 2002/03 season, as I gradually shrugged off the World Cup hangover, I successfully persuaded Zinedine Zidane to give me his shirt. His team, Real Madrid, were away to Borussia Dortmund in the European Champions League. After four minutes, Dortmund took the lead. Then, on the half hour, Ronaldo was sent scampering away by a pass from Zidane. Inside the Dortmund area, the Brazilian was tackled. From my angle it looked a clean challenge, but as we left the field at half-time Ronaldo was waiting for me,
shaking his head. He said, ‘Very bad referee. Very bad. Penalty.' Players are usually honest in such circumstances so I asked Andy D'Urso, who was the fourth official, about it. He said he had seen a TV replay and that it should have been a penalty.

The tunnel at Dortmund is narrow with a tight staircase and, as we all came out for the second half, I made a point of getting alongside Ronaldo so that I could talk to him. I said, ‘I owe you an apology.'

He said, ‘Ah, the penalty. So now you owe me a favour.'

I replied, ‘Up to now I have made one mistake. If I give you something you don't deserve it becomes two mistakes.'

Zinedine Zidane was listening to our chat and smiled. He said, ‘That is the right answer.'

So I said, ‘Thank you. At the end of the game is it possible to have your shirt?'

He said, ‘If you are good.'

Thirty minutes into the second half, as Real Madrid prepared to take a free-kick, I talked to ‘Zizou' again. I asked him, ‘Am I good yet?' He made a gesture with his hand – maybe, maybe not. Roberto Carlos was extravagantly off target with the free-kick (which Zidane might have taken if I had not distracted him) but, in stoppage-time substitute Javier Portillo equalized. As the relieved Real players trotted back for the restart, I said to Zidane, ‘Chemise?' He smiled, possibly at my French.

Of course I would not have done anything partisan in favour of Zidane or his team. The exchanges between us were just banter – part of the rapport with players which I felt was important and useful. But I did want that shirt, so at the end of the tie I ‘just happened' to be next to Zidane. He started to take off his ‘chemise' in full view of the spectators,
television viewers and the UEFA delegate. I said, ‘Not now. In the dressing room.' He gave a Gallic shrug and, to my horror, swapped shirts with Jan Koller, of Dortmund. I thought to myself, ‘You are no Collina, Pollie.'

After the match we were actually given replica shirts by Real Madrid. I was given a ‘Figo'. But later, after I had showered and changed, there was a knock on the door. In walked Zinedine Zidane and he handed me a shirt. It was the one he had worn in the first half. He'd given his second-half shirt to the Dortmund player. He said, ‘Thank you very much. Excellent referee.'

I gave the Figo replica to Peter Dahlgren, the Swedish UEFA delegate and an ex-referee, for his son – but I like to think that was not why he gave me a good mark. He asked me about the conversation he had seen me having with Ronaldo at half-time. I said that I had been told that I had missed a penalty and that I managed the situation by speaking to Ronaldo. I explained to Dahlgren that I was telling Ronaldo I knew what had happened and that he appreciated my honesty. Dahlgren said, ‘That is exactly what I had hoped was happening. It shows me what an excellent referee you are, as well as being a good communicator.'

As season 2002/03 progressed, the recovery from my World Cup misadventure continued. The season finished with me refereeing that special anti-racism game between Russia and a team of players from the Russian League which I mentioned in Chapter Seventeen. That fixture helped me wipe my slate clean with Russia, and the season had helped me recuperate from the World Cup. By the time season 2003/04 kicked off, I was flying again – on top of my game and 100 per cent motivated. I was making my good better, and my better best.

Yet halfway through that 2003/04 season, I learned that Mike Riley would be the only English representative at Euro 2004. I will deal with that crushing, devastating disappointment, of course. But, to put it into perspective I need to tell you about another landmark moment in my life and my career which was not a low point.

The 2003/04 season ended with my refereeing what is said to be the most valuable club fixture in the world: the play-off final which determines who is promoted from the Football League to the Premiership. In some ways, being awarded the play-off final in 2004 was a consolation prize for missing out Euro 2004. If I had been selected for the European Championship, I would not have officiated at the game in Cardiff between West Ham and Crystal Palace. It is true, as well, that the play-off final led to some nasty moments, but overall, I would still rate it as a positive experience and a definite highlight of my domestic career. At the age of 40, I had achieved everything I could domestically. I had refereed the Community Shield, FA Cup final, League Cup final and now the Football League's top play-off final. That was a full set.

One of the best things about play-offs in Cardiff, while Wembley was being rebuilt, was that the stadium was almost entirely filled with genuine fans. There was a buzz in the city and the noise inside the stadium was so loud that you could almost feel it as well as hear it.

It did not matter to me who won, but I had a suspicion that Palace would triumph because I sensed a tension among the West Ham players and staff. When the manager, Alan Pardew, came into the referee's room at 2 pm with the team sheet he looked anxious. In noticeable contrast, Palace manager Iain Dowie was relaxed and chatty. I'm sure this confidence communicated itself to his players.

Before the national anthem, Pardew said, ‘Don't fall for the old Tomas Repka trick, will you?' Loosely translated, this meant that I should not assume every tackle the Czech defender made was a foul, despite opponents giving that impression.

I said, ‘Alan, don't try that one on me again.'

‘Well, he's not as bad as they say,' he replied.

Perhaps not, but Repka was bad enough to be the first player I cautioned. My game plan was to let the match flow within the Laws, and to avoid any cheap cautions. Players were aware of the importance of the occasion and that led to a few mistimed early tackles, but nothing nasty and so I man-managed these situations. However, after about half an hour, Repka took a poor throw-in that went straight to a Palace player who headed off towards the West Ham goal. Repka set off in pursuit and felled him with a bad challenge. I cautioned him. In all, I took eight names – three from Palace and five from West Ham.