I remember the first time I stepped onto the pitch as an assistant referee, feeling that peculiar mix of excitement and pressure. While everyone's eyes follow the ball and the center referee, we linesmen operate in that crucial peripheral space where games are often won or lost. When I came across Philippine basketball player Rey Nambatac's comment about his brother Jayson—"Hard work paid off talaga, yung ups and downs, ito na 'yun. Motivation? Si Kuya Jayson lang talaga"—it struck me how similar our experiences are across different sports. That journey of ups and downs, that dedication to getting the small things right, mirrors what we do along the touchline every match.
The most visible part of my job involves making offside calls, which requires incredible concentration. I've calculated that during a typical 90-minute match, I make approximately 45-60 offside decisions, with about 12-18 of those being tight calls where the margin is less than a yard. The positioning is everything—I need to be level with the second-last defender, which means constant sprinting and backpedaling throughout the game. I've developed what I call the "stutter step," a slight hesitation that helps me change direction faster when play suddenly switches. This isn't something they teach you in referee school; it's something you learn through those ups and downs Nambatac mentioned.
People don't realize how much communication happens between the officials during a match. We use a sophisticated system of eye contact, discreet hand signals, and of course, the electronic communication system that connects us directly with the center referee. In top-level matches, we exchange about 200-300 communications, with only about 15-20 of those being the obvious flag signals that spectators see. The raised flag is just the final punctuation of a conversation that's been happening throughout the play. I always tell new assistant referees that our flags are like exclamation points—we should use them sparingly but decisively.
One aspect that often gets overlooked is our role in monitoring misconduct away from the ball. While the center referee follows the action, we're watching for those sneaky elbows, the verbal abuse, the shirt-pulling that happens off the ball. Statistics from the English Premier League show that assistant referees identify approximately 38% of all disciplinary incidents, despite only having partial view of the field. I take particular pride in catching these moments—it maintains the game's integrity and protects players from dangerous play that might otherwise go unpunished.
Throw-in decisions might seem straightforward, but they're more complex than people think. I've developed what I call the "three-point check"—watching the ball's exit point, the players' positioning, and any potential fouls simultaneously. The best assistants get about 97% of these calls correct, which sounds high until you realize that means we still miss several per match. I'll admit I have a pet peeve about players who try to steal yards on throw-ins—I'm notoriously strict about making them throw from exactly where the ball went out.
When it comes to goal decisions, the pressure intensifies exponentially. I remember my first professional match where I had to rule on whether the ball completely crossed the goal line—my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. Nowadays with goal-line technology, some of that pressure has eased, but we still need to make instantaneous judgments about whether the ball crossed the line during open play. The data shows that assistant referees correctly call about 92% of these critical decisions, but it's that remaining 8% that keeps us up at night.
The relationship with players represents another subtle part of our duties. Unlike the center referee, we're closer to the players for longer periods, which means we develop different dynamics with them. I've found that a quiet word of explanation often prevents bigger conflicts later. Some of my colleagues prefer strict silence, but I've learned that brief, professional communication can defuse tense situations. That said, I have zero tolerance for disrespect—once a player crosses that line, they get the formal treatment immediately.
Fitness might be the most underestimated aspect of our job. The average assistant referee covers 6-8 miles per match, with numerous high-intensity sprints. We train almost as hard as the players, with specific focus on sideways movement and backward running. My GPS data shows I typically hit peak speeds of 18 mph during matches, which explains why my hamstrings are constantly tight. This physical demand is why I believe assistant referees should retire earlier than center referees—after age 45, maintaining that explosive speed becomes incredibly challenging.
Technology has transformed our role in recent years. The introduction of VAR has changed our decision-making process—we now sometimes delay flagging for offside by a second or two to allow for potential VAR review if a goal is scored. Personally, I'm ambivalent about this development. While it has improved accuracy (offside calls are now about 98.3% correct in leagues using VAR), it has slightly diminished our authority. Still, I recognize that getting the big calls right matters most for the game's integrity.
Looking back at Nambatac's reflection on motivation through family, I see parallels in what drives us. My "Kuya Jayson" equivalent was an experienced linesman named Martin who took me under his wing early in my career. He taught me that our duty extends beyond just making calls—we're guardians of the game's spirit. The essential signals we give aren't just with our flags but through our conduct, our positioning, our unwavering attention to detail. After 15 years and 327 professional matches, I still get that same thrill when I step onto the pitch, knowing that my contributions, though often unnoticed, are fundamental to the beautiful game. The ups and downs indeed pay off when you see the game flow smoothly because of your efforts.
