Death to Replay Review Forever

Referees fuck up calls. They also get a lot of calls right, even very difficult ones, but it's the fuck-ups that stand out. Those fuck-ups lead to kidultish whining and eggplant-faced ragings from fans who cannot handle and refuse to accept that an official thought he saw a ball bounce when it didn't, or whatever. These spitters and moaners seem, just judging by their reactions to the intermittent unfairnesses inherent to a game, ill-equipped to deal with the deeper and more wounding unfairnesses of day-to-day life.

This is the the worst sort of fan to be sitting next to at a bar or stadium. They are a loud and unpleasant minority, but they are also, blessedly, a minority. So why are American sports refereed as if everyone watching shares the most blinkered asshole's lack of perspective?

It is no great tragedy for a ref to make a mistake. Games involve a lot of moving parts, and it's impossible for a human being to see every foul or toe kicking up a bit of chalk, let alone process that visual information and, in under a second, come up with a properly adjudged decision every time. Occasionally, the runner beats the tag and is deemed out anyway. It's maddening in the moment, especially if you have a rooting interest or if it upsets the balance of a close contest, but this sort of thing happens. It's annoying, and then you move on.

Or you should, anyway, because the alternative is taking a position that has produced the stoppage-heavy hell that fans currently endure, where games are regularly disrupted to ensure the rules are being applied precisely. Here you were, thinking you might sit down to watch superior athletes try to outrun and outmuscle each other, and instead, you are subjected to the exhilarating sight of a middle-aged man's ass as he hunches over a monitor while an announcer kills time by asserting the most important thing, here, is that they get the call right.

Phooey. The most important thing about a game is that it is entertaining. We buy tickets and tune in for all sorts of reasons, but among the best is to enjoy ourselves. We can't do that if the dismal quality of refereeing turns a contest into a farce, but hyper-competence isn't necessary either. Leagues have always chosen what to scrutinize and what to ignore over the years. NFL refs fuss over whether a receiver has complete control of the ball as he goes to ground, but not the inexactness of ball-spotting. NBA officials will spend three minutes assessing a clear path foul, but what is and isn't a moving screen is purely a judgment call. Our sports are regulated with an arbitrary anal-retentiveness.

The only escape from this sweltering technocracy is soccer, which if a given match itself is good, provides an ideal viewing experience. The first half lasts 45 to 50 uninterrupted minutes. Then the players retreat to the locker room. You get up to take a piss and duck into the kitchen to assemble a sandwich. The second half is ready for you when you get back. It goes on for 45 to 50 uninterrupted minutes. Then the game is over. It is glorious.

You will understand, then, that when Mike Riley, the chief of EPL referees, says the league should look into using replay review, those of us who have fallen in love with a sport that flows for three-quarters of an hour at a time shudder. Riley is concerned with instances in which officials accidentally give a red card to the wrong player, which is a rare and crucial thing, but he cites the success of goal-line technology to make his point. The thing about goal-line tech is that it's an instantaneous and perfect mechanism for determining whether a shot caroms off the crossbar and into the net or just barely in front of it. All a ref has to do is look at his watch to see if a goal has been scored or not. Perhaps the EPL could figure out a way to get replay review done in under 15 seconds, but the term conjures visions of zebras in headsets milling around while the game's heat evaporates. If it can't be done extremely swiftly, it shouldn't be done at all.

Soccer as it currently exists is a delight, especially if you're coming to it as someone who suffers through three-hour, review-laden NBA playoff games or the protracted low-rent operatics of an MLB ump fixing a blown bang-bang play at first base. American sports leagues' dogged commitment to fairness is admirable, in a doofily dutiful sort of way, but we do not watch sports to observe justice being meted out in real time. We want to see the players run and jump and dive. We want as much of that as possible, with minimal intervening administrative bullshit. This whole obsession with the flawless execution of rules may be well-intentioned, but it's doomed and—most importantly—it's getting in the way of the good stuff.