Chapter 3: Andi
My alarm sounds, wakingme for my flight home from Baltimore to Boston at way too early of an hour. I was so keyed up after the game last night that I could barely sleep, let alone analyze the day. Even with the lack of rest, I am still on cloud nine.
I am officially part of history.
Someday, sometime in the distant future, some inebriated dude will feel like a million bucks because he supplies my name during a heated round of trivia at a pub.
I will forever be seen and remembered.
That’s not the reason why I wanted to officiate a MUSSSL game. I was just doing a job that I loved. And then, I saw I had more room to grow, so I grew. It’s just gravy that I got to shatter a glass ceiling in the process.
I might even get to quit my day job.
Now that—that—would be a true victory.
Only the most successful and upper-tier referees get to do this full-time. Me, I’m working for a health insurance company, reviewing letters of medical necessity and either approving or denying coverage whenever I’m not on the pitch.
I actually went to school for physical therapy, but it’s hard to have a practice when you have a second job that requires lots of travel. Plus, it wasn’t a job I loved. My parents thought it would be a good fit for me, and not knowing what else to do, I became a physical therapist. That is until I started traveling so much for soccer.
So, I went to work for the enemy because I can read letters and write judgments anywhere.
My day job is the antithesis of everything I wanted to do in life. But maybe, just maybe, things will change now.
And also, maybe, since the game was a success with no incidents or controversy, the MUSSL will employ me more frequently in the head position. The salary rate is higher for MUSSL games than for WUSSL games.
Don’t even get me started on that.
Maybe it’s hazard pay for dealing with all those uber inflated egos.
I get that the MUSSL has better viewership and better sponsors, but it’s not like the game is less work. It’s the same amount of time. The same amount of running. It’s the same amount of physical training. The same amount of prep work. Just for less money because it’s women’s sports.
But with the higher salary rate the men’s games pay and more games, I might be able to swing this as my only job. Maybe.
It’s a lot of maybes to base my life on.
It’d be nice though. I’ve burnt my candle at both ends for so long, I’m not sure I even have a wick left.
I definitely don’t have time for dating or a social life or anything fun. The expression “I am the job” was meant for me.
Once I’m through security at the airport, I have a few minutes to think, but I’m interrupted as my phone dings with a text alert.
Benj: Not too many boos.
Of course, my brother would lead with that. There were only a few when I emerged from the tunnel, game ball in hand, to perform the coin toss at midfield to start the game.
Me: I expected more.
Sad to say, but I totally did. There’s a reason there haven’t been female referees in the MUSSL. Good ole misogyny at its finest. This sport, and this league especially, don’t think women are equal to men.
Me: Mike tried to talk me out of doing it.
Benjamin is not a fan of my ex-husband. On more than one occasion, he’s offered to “accidentally” run Mike over with his power wheelchair. One of these days, I may take him up on it.
Benj: That made it better, him running the lines.
Considering the closest to a traditional wife I’m ever going to be is a Petty Crocker, I totally agree with my brother. It was great to be the official with Mike being the assistant ref.
Me: Pretty spotless game, I’d say.
