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Moose hadn’t been kidding. Eighth-grade girls were a lot faster than the seventh-graders had been, and Sandra decided that she was going to start a petition to ensure that the fast kids always played first.
With every step, Sandra was sure she couldn’t take another, but the steps just kept coming. She dug into reserves she didn’t even know were there.
And perhaps it was this exhaustion that emboldened her to hand out her first card.
An angry-looking fullback on the blue team definitely committed obstruction as she protected the ball long enough for her keeper to scoop it up, but as the keeper went for it, it squirted away from her, and white took it away and headed for the goal. For reasons Sandra couldn’t imagine, the Lisbon coach went ballistic. He wanted her to call the obstruction, even though that would mean forfeiting his girls’ breakaway. Almost laughing at the man, she tried to ignore him.
But he wouldn’t stop. One of his strikers got a shot on goal, which she blew, and the ball went out of bounds. As blue set up for a goal kick, his screaming got louder and more obnoxious. Sandra finally allowed herself to look at him, and what she saw alarmed her. His face was as red as any face had ever been and he was jumping up and down like a toddler mid-tantrum.
Sandra knew how to deal with a toddler tantrum. She knew she had to be more stubborn than the child. She looked at Moose, asking permission with her eyes, and he gave her a slight nod.
She blew the whistle, held her arms up to stop the clock, and then headed toward him.
He stopped shouting and glared at her, his hands on his hips. He knew what was coming. A hush fell over the crowd. They knew what was coming. She couldn’t even believe what she was doing, but she was going to do it, no matter what. No way was she going to let a toddler best her.
She stopped twenty feet short of him and took out her little black folder. Then she pulled the yellow card out and held it up in the air.
Then she restarted the game, trying not to smile when Moose winked at her.
The coach was quiet for the rest of the first half, and she steered far clear of him for halftime.
“Well done,” Moose said when she trotted over to him.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it. It takes most new refs a while to get up the courage to card a coach.”
She was surprised to hear this. “Well, he was being a psycho.”
“Yes, he was. But still, good job.”
She tried not to beam with pride, but she was feeling pretty good about herself, like she was finally in control of something, and like she’d found a way to stick up for herself. It was a heady moment.
During the second half, she had to stop the clock for a different, slightly more peculiar reason.
A chubby black cat tried to join the game.
Sandra first caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye while the ball was on Moose’s end of the field. He strode out onto the eighteen and then lay down in the sun. Sandra glanced at the goalkeeper, they shared a giggle together, and Sandra thought that was the end of it. She refocused on the game, figuring the cat would flee the scene as soon as the ball headed his way.
This was not the case. The cat seemed completely fearless as twenty eighth-grade girls bore down on him at full speed. Maybe he didn’t see them coming? Most of them definitely did not see him there. Sandra didn’t know what to do. She panicked. She couldn’t stop the game for a cat, could she? But she couldn’t let the cat die, could she?
She blew the whistle and stopped the clock. Everyone stopped running and stared at her. Now what? Nothing in her meager training had prepared her for this. It hadn’t been on the test. It wasn’t on the YouTube videos. But there everyone was, staring at her, waiting for her to move. She glanced at Moose, but he was still a hundred feet away, and though he would reach her eventually, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
So, she approached the cat. He watched her coming, but he didn’t move a muscle. Until she bent over to scoop him up. Then he leapt to his feet and sprinted a mere three feet away—just out of her grasp. A few of the girls giggled, and she thought about carding them too. But she tried to be a good sport.
Moose finally reached the action. She looked at him and mouthed, “What do we do?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Great. She strode toward the cat, who waited until she reached him and bent over before running away again. This was getting embarrassing, and she was losing her patience. Perhaps God was trying to humble her after her first-half pride surge. She went for the cat again, faster this time, and he scurried away, disappearing for a moment among a bunch of shin guards. “If anyone else wants to grab him, go ahead,” she said.
No one moved.
She lunged for him again. This time he let out a cry that made it sound as though he were being tortured. No one had touched him. This was not funny anymore. She thought about telling all the girls to run at him at once, but he didn’t run away from them—only her. Maybe she should just let them play, let him get run over.
The goalkeeper who had begun this journey with her came alongside her. “Can I try? I’m really good with cats.”
Sandra nodded eagerly. The petite goalie got down on all fours and started making a clicking sound with her tongue. A few girls laughed at her, and Sandra shushed them. She crawled toward him, holding one limp hand out toward him. Much to Sandra’s shock, the cat edged toward her and then nuzzled against her outstretched fingers.
The goalkeeper let out a little grunt as she dove for the cat. He tried to dart away, but her body blocked his path as she landed beside him, nearly surrounding him with her body, and holding him to her stomach with one hand.
All the girls cheered. The crowd cheered. Even the yellow-carded coach clapped. The goalie stood up, holding the wayward feline in her arms. She looked at Sandra as if to say, “What do I do with him now?”
Sandra had no idea. She looked at Moose, but he appeared to have no idea either. They all stood around for a minute just staring at the cat. Finally, the away coach hollered, “I can just have someone on my bench hold him.”
Sandra glanced at the cat, who did seem content to be held. That was lucky. She nodded, and the goalie delivered the cat to the waiting coach like a maternity nurse hands off the newborn.
Sandra gave her favorite goalie ample time to return to her goal, and then she started the clock, fervently hoping she wouldn’t have to stop it again. Ever.