A coworker has been giving me light hearted grief (mostly via work email) over a call he feels I missed during a high school game last season
. In light hearted retaliation, I sent the following little attempt at humor. I am sure someone else has already done this (and probably better), but here it is:
We live in a world that has games. And those games have to be officiated by men with whistles. Who's gonna do it? You? You, witty fan? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for for your team and you curse the officials. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that the rules, while not in your library, are important to read. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, does not decide games...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that field. You need me on that field. We use words like rules, mechanics, game situation...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent officiating something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very game I officiate, then questions the manner in which I officiate it! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a whistle and read the rule book. Either way, I don't give a DARN what you think you're entitled to!
