My high school careers counsellor never explicitly told me that writing wouldn’t pay the bills. This is because he didn’t consider writing a career at all, more of a pastime like smoking or drinking – both of which, rather ironically, go hand-in-hand for nearly all the great novelists.

Over a decade later, and judging by my barely-there bank balance, this man, who perversely made his living by instructing others how to make theirs, has been proven all too correct. What little money I do see from my writing inevitably goes up in smoke or is waywardly pissed against a wall.

Still I persevere though, supplementing my scribblings with a hodgepodge of odd jobs. I have at various times been an office administrator, landscaper, assembly line worker, waiter and web-designer – always part-time and always counting the minutes till I could return to my particularly vicious writer’s circle.

Hence, it is in this vein that I’ve recently taken up yet another part-time post, one that conveniently comes with a clock that does the counting down for me. I am now an indoor soccer referee and, by my own admission, not a particularly good one either.

Of course, I am only starting out so it’s really no surprise that I am not a leader in my field just yet (or should that be on my field?). My first few matches were noticeable for my inexperience with the basic mechanics of the whistle, inadvertently discovering notes beyond the hearing range of even stray dogs scrounging for scraps in the sports centre rubbish bins.

I have since improved though. Improved to the point where I believe I am beginning to truly appreciate just how difficult the role of a referee can be.

You see, unlike my previous employments, if I make an error in judgement as a referee there is nothing I can do to fix it. I cannot put in unpaid overtime to correct my mistakes as I would in an office; I cannot offer a free meal as I did when I was waiter if I took down an order incorrectly; and I can’t simply reposition a fern or sprinkler head as happened more than once as a landscape labourer.

In fact, I am somewhat loathe to admit that I have made any error at all, feeling that it would undermine my authority as an adjudicator if I dared exhibit any sense of uncertainty. While I have but a split second to make a decision, I feel I must stand by that decision, good or bad, for the rest of the evening.

All of which makes me realise how big a deal it was for Mark Shield, FFA Director of Referees, to admit that assistant referee Ashley Beecham made the wrong call on the weekend by not flagging Mitch Nichol’s offside from Thomas Broich’s free kick.

The decision to allow the second minute goal to stand was crucial as it completely changed the complexion of the two-legged contest, throwing an immediate spanner into the machinations of Mariner’s manager Graham Arnold’s match strategy.

The fact Shield was willing to admit one in his employ had made such an egregious error not only in person to Arnold, but also put this admission in print on the FFA website for the benefit of frustrated fans, should be commended.

It will bring little comfort to Central Coast supporters who quite likely – and quite rightly – still feel aggrieved by the decision, but it does show an attempt at greater transparency with A-League refereeing decisions. Something that fans and coaches have repeatedly demanded prior to this season.

However, the reverse required of such demands is for those on the receiving end of the bad decisions to accept that referees are human too. No matter how much training methods are improved or what technologies are introduced, so long as there is a person involved mistakes are inevitable.

Players perhaps accept this better than some as all have at some point scuffed a simple shot, scored an own goal or conceded an absolute howler. They may remonstrate with the referee regarding certain decisions during the game but more often than not they still shake his hand at full time.

Supporters, however, seem far less forgiving. I’ve heard all sorts of drunken, spit-spraying tirades directed at referees from the grandstands over the years – even made a few myself – yet not once have I heard a fan bellow, “Look, I just saw the replay, Mr Referee, and turns out you were correct. Please accept my sincerest apologies!”

Maybe, like me, they too don’t want to admit they’ve made a mistake, thinking it will undermine their credibility as a football fanatic within their peer group. Or maybe, it just doesn’t matter since I have already learned a thick skin is a prerequisite for refereeing at any level.

Either way, what people must appreciate is that refereeing is a demanding and too often a thankless job. Much like writing, or even being a football fan for that matter, nobody is in it for the money – they do it for the love of the game.

Well, except for your humble blogger of course – I truly do referee for the money, as piddly an amount as it is.

Then again, as my high school careers counsellor will attest, I’ve never really did make the correct calls when it came to my career, although that doesn’t prevent me from doing my utmost to make as many corrects calls as possible on the pitch.

And ultimately, isn’t that all we as fans, players and coaches can genuinely ask of our referees at any level of the game - their best?

It’s may not be the most novel of sentiments but it is still one that I believe bears repeating on occasion. Even if it does come across as shrill as the blast of a plastic whistle in my admittedly inexperienced hands.