You could fit a world of argument into the no man’s land between the absolute truth of a patently objective ruling and the opaque actuality of a subjective opinion. That much should be clear to any football fan who ever complained about a harsh/lenient/absolutely mind-boggling handball decision for/against their team. We’ve all been there, right?
Unfortunately, this ungovernable ground between undeniable fact and interpreted judgement is where football officiating lives. It’s a feisty sort of neighbourhood, with incoming ordinance rarely far away. And the introduction of technology has only served to highlight the logic traps and mental minefields guaranteed to ensnare the unwary adventurer.
The latest volley of complaints relating to the roles and responsibilities of Video Assistant Referees merely exposes the continued lack of consistency in how Scottish games are called, and gives the loudest voices another chance to sound off. It also allows certain learned former officials to explain why, actually, that apparently baffling decision by my old colleague was absolutely 100 per cent spot on . . .
There is, of course, an insoluble problem at the heart of how football referees are asked to reach the majority of their decisions. Since the first Laws of the Game were drawn up in the late 19th century, officials have been charged with delivering personal rulings based on their assessment of everything from excessive force to, more recently, the potentially “enlarged” silhouette of a player blocking a shot or cross.
The use of calibrated cameras and numerous replays may now give the refereeing team — expanded to include a crew watching a bank of TV screens — an opportunity to produce something far closer to an indisputable verdict on a relatively straightforward issue such as offside. Most of the time.
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But deciding whether there was sufficient contact to merit the awarding of a penalty? Locating the line between a legal show of strength and an outright bodycheck? Weighing up whether a defender’s arm was raised half an inch too high to be natural? All VAR has done is provide another set of eyes to help make a value judgement on decisions that, in some cases, could keep an entire panel of officials occupied until the next IFAB meeting.
And so we’re still stuck with a national sport where an offence one week can be waved aside the next. In an environment where too many view every cock-up as evidence of conspiracy, that cannot be healthy.
In short, the Scottish Football Association have put together a really impressive system based on state-of-the-art technology. And it has already proved its worth by picking up offences that might have been missed, delivering definitive rulings on goals scored, even clearing the wrongly accused.
But the same guys involved in contentious calls — or no-calls — at the start of the season are effectively making the same disputed decisions now. They’re just doing it from a studio. Access to replays may help a referee, just as it can assist a reporter writing a match report. It can’t make either of us any better at the basics of our respective jobs.
All the raging rows about right or wrong, meanwhile, come back to the essential fluidity of how the beautiful game is officiated. That much became apparent to me when, as part of a coaching course last year, it was necessary to sit the same Laws of the Game exam laid before referees at the beginning of their journey towards universal adoration. What really struck many of us was how often our tutors would answer a query by saying something along the lines of: “Well, I would give a yellow there. But I could definitely see why you would give a red. And that handball, it’s a judgement call, really . . .”
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In a game with so many grey areas, you can see why coaches occasionally feel that they’re getting the brush-off whenever they raise a complaint. All but the most ridiculous decisions can be explained away or justified. Because that’s how football works. And, at times, it leads to quite maddening levels of inconsistency. Especially in the implementation of increasingly confusing rules on handball.
Even if those in charge of Scotland’s VAR agree to another crisis summit with Celtic, then, few expect any substantial new understanding to emerge. The same goes for this idea of inviting (again) representatives of every Scottish Premiership club in for more clear-the-air talks. It might make everyone feel good to air their grievances for an hour or two. And it will play well with supporters. There may even be a joint communiqué promising mutual respect.
Then a ball will hit a defender on the forearm this weekend. A penalty will be awarded. Or not. The Video Assistant Referee will recommend another look. Or won’t. All depending on the subjective judgement of the same officials who inspired such confidence in the pre-VAR days. And the no man’s land will crackle to the sound of another barrage.
Onus is on clubs to fix the missile crisis
It says everything about the way Scottish football is governed — by the clubs, for the clubs — that even something as basic as player safety has to be couched in careful language, lest it upset employers. That’s why Fraser Wishart, the chief executive of PFA Scotland, deliberately shies away from using the term “strict liability”; he knows clubs will never go for it.
While owners and chief executives resist the idea of being held responsible for the actions of unruly supporters, meanwhile, Wishart’s members are continuing to be put at risk by missile throwing from the moronic element. Zander Clark, the Hearts goalkeeper, below, and the Celtic defender Greg Taylor were both targeted in the latest round of fixtures.
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There is talk of the Scottish government getting involved by licensing grounds and closing down sections where offences occur with regularity, just as your local could shut that one mad pub where all the nutters seem to gather for Fight Club. Nobody wants that. Yet everybody agrees that Something Must Be Done. Over to the clubs, then, to find a solution. It’s their game, after all.
