Chapter 4

: Andi

I f I had to make a list of things I’d want to see blasting all over social media regarding the world of soccer, they would be, in no particular order: coverage about the first female to referee a regulation league MUSSL game, coverage about the wage gap between male and female referees in sports, coverage about the wage—and salary—gap for women’s sports as compared to their male counterparts, and coverage from the Global Games, since I can’t afford to go.

The very last thing I want to see is video footage of Brandon “Bad Breath” Nix screaming in my face.

Over and over and over.

For the record, no one else calls him by that nickname, but I doubt anyone else has been that close recently. Seriously, if you’re going to get in people’s faces like that, at least eat a mint beforehand.

If that weren’t bad enough, the comments. The comments .

Female referees should stay in female football.

Why are there even female referees? This is a man’s sport.

She should stick to the kitchen.

She should just go be a commentator where her opinion won’t hurt the game.

It’s giving offside, I think?

He looks like he wants to kiss her.

The last comment makes me want to vomit. Or at least laugh hysterically. Brandon Nix and me? It’s a whole lot of nope.

To be sure, there are a lot of great videos of me, with inspirational songs, standing up to Nix. That’s great. I want to be a role model to young women everywhere. That’s a bonus with being a trailblazer.

But much more of the focus is about Brandon and me.

Which is not the issue.

It shouldn’t be the issue.

Yet because of this blowhard, that’s all anyone is focusing on.

And then, I check my email.

Andrea,

Please schedule a time to meet on Zoom to discuss this weekend’s match. The sooner, the better. Sydney will send you the link.

Regards, Nate

The air whooshes out of me like I’ve been punched in the gut.

This is certainly nothing to laugh about.

I’m going to lose it all before I even start. All because of Brandon Nix. It’s official. He’s definitely worse than raisins in cookies masquerading as chocolate chips.

I pace around my apartment, gesticulating with my arms and arguing with the air, pleading my case. Except there’s no one to hear me and no one to sympathize. I can talk to Benj about it when I get to Colorado, but since he doesn’t know I’m coming yet, I don’t want to call and ruin his surprise.

And I know if I get on the phone with him now, I’ll undoubtedly say something. I’m too heated not to rant, and I know I’d spoil the surprise. It’s better if I don’t make contact until I can pull my emotions together.

No one needs to hear me complain.

It’s not like I’m going to go to Mike with this.

Since I work remotely, I no longer have a work bestie either.

I’m totally alone.

I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before.

Maybe because I was always so busy traveling here and there, running to stadiums, and trying to cram my day job in, or maybe because I spent a lifetime making myself invisible, I never took the time to realize that I don’t have any close human connections anymore.

It was easy when Mike and I were married because we had each other. We socialized mostly with other male refs. Obviously, I’m not calling any of them up to commiserate.

Knowing I won’t be able to rest until I get this settled, I email Sydney, Nathan’s assistant. Waiting to hear back from her is pure agony. Lucky for me, it’s only about 20 minutes of pure agony. Nathan’s available now.

This is so not good.

I don’t know why. Even Benj said my calls were okay.

Maybe I’m getting a promotion?

My gut doesn’t say so.

Maybe Nathan’s discovered that it was a clerical error in my paycheck and not a system-wide policy of discrimination and sexism.

Even the most optimistic person wouldn’t buy that one.

I’m at a loss.

“Thank you for responding so quickly,” Nathan starts, not wasting any time the minute I join the Zoom.

“Of course.” I nod slightly, the only movement in my still posture.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Nathan says.

“I appreciate that.”

“The USSLRA has some concerns regarding the game you officiated this past week.”

I swallow hard, clenching my jaw, waiting for him to continue.

“There has been a fair amount of coverage on social media, and it’s not favorable.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He’s giving me no context clues.

“The incident with Brandon Nix.”

Oh, that. “I’m not the first official to send off Brandon Nix, and I can guarantee I will not be the last.”

Nathan pauses on the screen. For a moment, I think there’s a glitch in the connection and he’s frozen. But then I notice the pendulum of his wall clock moving back and forth. Back and forth. It’s not an internet issue, it’s him.

Damn, I could learn a lot about maintaining my poker face from this man.

Finally, he speaks. “Brandon Nix has quite the reputation on and off the field.”

I don’t often follow the personal lives of soccer players, unless it blows up huge, like with Xavier Henry and that Ophelia girl from ClikClak. “My only concern is with how a player conducts his- or herself during the game, on the field. The rest is none of my business. I don’t want to enter a game with preconceived notions that will affect my ability to call a proper game.”

At last, Nathan raises his eyebrows a fraction. If I hadn’t been staring so intently at my screen, I might not have noticed.

My nerves fray the last tiny bit of my patience. “Please just spit it out. I obviously have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“After analysis of the altercation with Brandon Nix, there are quite a few people who are speculating that there is some sort of romantic involvement between you and Mr. Nix.”

My internal self breaks out into a side-splitting guffaw, laughing so hard that my entire body convulses, and tears roll down my cheeks. My external self raises one eyebrow a millimeter and the corner of my mouth quirks with incredulity.

Apparently, that was too much emotion to show. Dammit. A quick glance at the screen shows that my boss does not appreciate my response.

“I’m glad you find this amusing, but we must take this seriously. It could have grave consequences. If you need to be refreshed, I’d advise you to review Policy 3.4-7 in our conduct manual which prohibits fraternization with players.”

Fraternization? Nathan is not kidding. I steel my expression. I’ve got my game face on. “Right. Of course.”

“This game garnered extra attention and coverage due to your role as head referee. There have been many critics who do not think a woman should be officiating in the men’s league. That they have no business being together on the field because something might happen with one of the players.”

If I were letting any muscles in my face move, it would be the ones that roll my eyes at this antiquated thinking. Of course, if a man and a woman share the same space, there must be some sort of sexual attraction happening. There’s no way a woman can exist outside her role as a sexual creature.

Nathan keeps talking, unaware of my distaste for this reductionist, chauvinistic train of thought. “As well as that women cannot keep up with the pace of men, or that they do not know the game as well. Giving even the slightest hint of impropriety only adds fuel to that fire. Samuel Fredericks has given the directive to expand our DEI, which is how your name got brought up to fill Calvin’s vacancy.”

This revelation feels like a punch to the gut. I thought I was given the job because I was the best suited for it. As a USSLRA referee, I participate in and am graded on my physical fitness three times per year. Like every other referee, my games are reviewed and scored. My tallies on both the physical achievements as well as the game scores are solidly average for a Level 3 ref.

Not a Level 3 female ref, but of all referees.

I’d thought the patriarchal views that held the USSLRA in a tight grip were from upper management. I never realized Nathan was part of that.

“If you are to be given this opportunity again, you will need to make sure that you are presented as a professional referee first and foremost, both on and off the field. We do not want to draw attention to your gender at all. It cannot be the focus of the game. And there certainly cannot be any sort of flirtation or smiles or coy looks to players. If you want to be successful with the USSLRA, please do not let something like this tarnish your otherwise stellar record.”

I don’t have to worry about my reply because I am too stunned to speak. I believe I nod as Nathan ends the call, but then I sit there in silence. His words replay on an endless loop in my head.

Flirtation. Smile. Coy.

There was none of that during the game. Not one single iota. And for Nathan to suggest that there was is way out of line. All because ... what? Why? Oh right. Those stupid comments on ClikClak. I cannot believe that some lowlife bottom feeders on an app could skew reality so completely that now my boss is involved.

Another word he said joins the loop in my brain.

If.

There’s no other way to interpret it other than a thinly veiled threat. Or not so thinly veiled. It’s like he’s looking for a reason for me not to succeed. My career could be over before it starts, all because some jackhole can’t control his temper, and I happen to have been born with a uterus. I cannot believe in this day and age we’re still thinking like this.

This is complete and utter bullshit.