Being a ref's wife means that I have a lot of whistles in my house. Libby laughs at my jewelry rack in our bedroom. It is slowly being taken over by whistles. But if I don't hang them somewhere where I know they are and I can find them, then the next time he asks me where he put his whistle, I won't be able to remember which of the thousand places he stored it. Yes, I am using the term "stored" lightly, more like left, dropped, forgot. So I find them and hang them on my necklace hooks. Right next to the necklace I wore at my wedding and my precious lockets, there hangs about a half dozen black, yellow, and maroon whistles. It's better than the desk, closet floor, closet door knob, nightstand, bathroom, car, etc...
Speaking of whistles, did you know that there are good whistles and bad whistles? You don't want a pea whistle, the kind with the little rolling ball. Yeah, those are bad I guess. Works great for keeping fifth graders in line at lunch duty, but not so good for the refs apparently. You want a Fox 40 whistle because it is much higher pitched and more freaking annoying. Ask Pixie the chihuahua, she agrees with me. Oh and apparently there is a right way and a wrong way to blow a whistle. It's a skill that good refs possess. I do have to say, that after observing kids ref and then watching official officials ref, I do appreciate when I can actually hear the whistle, so I'm sure the players do too.
Being in a relationship with a ref also means that sometimes it just makes sense for you to tag along while they get a game in on the way to somewhere else. I've visited a few gyms in the area as a spectator for two teams I have no clue about just for the promise of a "date night" dinner out on the town. This also means that sometimes a girl just wants to fit in and look like they are part of the crowd. You know what that means....
I remember one game in the local gym where Taylin and I were enjoying our soft serve ice cream treat and watching a tim and a friend of mine ref. There was a questionable moment in the game and the crowd went nuts. Tay and I quickly realized that we were the only ones in the crowd not screaming at the refs. Not wanting to stick out as the ref's family, we HAD to join in. "Awww, c'mon ref! Can't you see that? What kind of call is that?!" Our behavior may have earned us a couple of funny looks from the refs. We also had to proclaim that the refs lost the game for us. Not really sure who "us" was, but we wanted to make sure the refs knew it was their fault. He always threatens to kick me out. I'd like to see him try. Maybe I should give him the age old line, "you and what army?"
Being a ref's wife also means I don't get to see as much of my husband as I would always like. But he's doing something that he loves and I do love to watch hum ref. Something I had never really paid attention to before, the refs. I can't tell you the number of games I have been to and I guarantee you I never paid any attention to the refs. Now I do, but mostly because I'm checking him out. It's kind of a complicated dance that they do. I never really noticed and I sure do have a new appreciation for what they can and can't see. It's a lot easier for us to notice things in the stands than it is with 10 players blocking your view. Doesn't mean I still don't complain about the refs. Especially when Tim refs Sophie's games.
So here we are, kicking off the basketball season. He's done reffing volleyball and calling lifts, out and double hits. Done with football and unnecessary roughness, touchbacks and first downs. Now it is the mad dash every other night and most weekends around the tri-county area calling fouls, lane violations and pretending not to hear the hecklers (aka his own family) in the stands. Not that I'm complaining. What better way to spend a cold winter than than telling your loving husband that he needs to get his eyes check because he's so blind he clearly missed that call.
No comments:
Post a Comment