I am President of the Lucy Cavendish College Football Club this year. What am I looking forward to most about the role, you ask? Not having to referee any more college games. Under previous leadership, I was often condemned to the muddy whistle found in the bottom of a mouldy kit bag. Not anymore. Even reflecting on my experiences sends a shiver down the spine.

Every match starts the same way: me, pacing the sideline, giving myself a pep talk like I’m about to go into battle. But the truth is, no pep talk can prepare you for what’s coming. The moment the whistle blows, I might as well be wearing a MAGA hat with the amount of death stares I receive.

“Alumnus Lord Byron would be proud of the colourful and poetic language used on Cambridge football pitches”

The moment I blow the whistle to start the game, I know I’m already public enemy number one. Forget the players, the subs, or even the rules — nothing matters more than my ability to survive 45 minutes of sheer mayhem until a poor unfortunate from the other team is subject to abuse. As a referee, you’re not just calling offsides and fouls. You’re also a part-time counsellor, babysitter, and expert at dodging insults. And those insults? Perhaps a touch disappointing for supposedly creative students. I’ve been called everything from being told to “go to Specsavers” (original and dull) to… some less savoury terms. Alumnus Lord Byron would be proud of the colourful and poetic language used on Cambridge football pitches. Even close friends set aside our bond to let me know my refereeing prowess is like Margaret Thatcher being a babysitter.

The real magic happens when they start throwing out insults that make no sense. “You’re ruining the game!” someone yells, as though a single offside call has dismantled the very fabric of football as we know it. It’s almost impressive how personally they take it. Meanwhile, I’m just wondering what college brunch might have to offer today. I will admit, that there have been decisions when I have guessed, and others when I have made out of spite, but that’s just part of the game isn’t it?

“There’s something addictively chaotic about being a uni football referee”

It doesn’t take long to realise that every university football team is packed with Oscar-worthy performances, Queen’s right-back last season springs to mind. One minute, a player’s sprinting down the field with the grace of a gazelle and the next, they’re on the ground, clutching their shin like they’ve been hit by a freight train. The best part? The dramatic falls usually happen when they’re just trying to get a call in their favour. “Ref, didn’t you see that? I was mauled!” they yell, pointing to the air where no one even came close. Apparently being within five feet of another player is grounds for a personal injury lawsuit.

When the final whistle blows, I think it’s all over, but the fun is just beginning. Captains come over to have “a word,” and players glare at me like I’ve personally insulted their mothers. Yet somehow, despite the chaos, the insults, and the endless drama, I find myself back out there week after week. I have also developed my own repertoire of insults, perhaps the most devastating being when I branded Homerton’s goalkeeper ‘Mr Tumble’ last year. I still chuckle at that one. It is good character-building too, I relish an argument with a lumpy number 9 to discuss the intricacies of footballing laws while he hurls obscenities about my family in my direction.

There’s something addictively chaotic about being a uni football referee. Maybe it’s the sense of power that comes with holding a whistle, or maybe it’s because deep down, I thrive on the unpredictable madness of it all. Either way, next time you’re at a university football game and you hear someone screaming at the ref, spare a thought for us. We’re out here, dodging insults, bad calls, and the occasional flying water bottle, just trying to make it to half-time in one piece.