My 15-year-old son refereed his very first game of football today. His first game — and his last. Will there be a second? No. In just one match he was shouted at more times than I could keep track of. And I don’t mean the usual “ref, how long?” kind of stuff. I mean full-on screeching, screaming, and being called “stupid,” “thick,” “blind” — and those were the polite words. He was called a cheat. He had expletives thrown at him by grown adults. Why? Because he gave a throw-in the “wrong” way. Because he didn’t see a foul the way someone else thought he should. Because he dared to make a call that somebody didn’t like. He’s 15. He’s learning. He’s not perfect — no referee is. But he was fair. He went out there with no bias, no agenda, just a love for the game and a willingness to step up so others could play. And the abuse broke him. After just one game, he walked off and said, “I’m done.” So to everyone who shouted, screamed, and tore into him today: don’t dress it up as “passion.” Your “passion” has cost the game a referee. Your “passion” has driven a young lad away after just 90 minutes. One less referee.