A long, long time ago, when I finally realised that my interest in sport massively outweighed my ability to play it in any form, I briefly considered becoming a cricket umpire.
I quite fancied the idea of standing in a green field on a sunkissed summer's afternoon, magisterially raising my right index finger on occasions and explaining the intricacies of the lbw law to friends and family.
Of course, there would be exams to take, but I'm quite good at those, while I wouldn't have to run around too much and wouldn't particularly need to be physically fit; it's my knees, you know...
There certainly wouldn't be any running around in the mud in the pouring rain, which is often the fate of the football or rugby official.
What was more, there wouldn't be any criticism from your audience. Football referees routinely have to put up with abuse from players and fans (come with me one winter's afternoon and stand in the Shed at Tamworth FC, behind the opposition dugout - it's a life-changing experience, I assure you), while rugby crowds sometimes seem just to offer a better class of abuse.
Certainly. the upper-class voice braying loudly at the referee's every ruling when I visited Bath's Recreation Ground in March (here) was simply a posher version of The Bloke Behind Me at The Lamb every Saturday - and without the f-words.
You wouldn't have managers second-guessing your every ruling and ranting at you from the touchline, nor the media dissecting every decision in a bid to prove you wrong.
As an aside, have you noticed that even when Hawkeye seems to disagree with an umpire's decision, there isn't uproar in the television commentary box?
If, like me, you're a fan of Channel 5's baseball coverage, you'll know it's the same with America's national summer sport. Cable broadcasters ESPN have something called K-Zone which uses the same technology as Hawkeye to determine balls and strikes (Confused? Read this.)
If Hawkeye/K Zone doesn't agree with the umpire's ruling, you shrug, put it down as just one of those things and get on with it. Perhaps it's something to do with summer sport.
Or I thought it was. Then, I read my colleague Ged Scott's shock revelations in Wednesday's Post about fear and loathing in the Worcestershire County League (here).
Apparently, verbal abuse of players and umpires is commonplace, clubs have been posting nasty comments about the opposition on their websites (isn't the web a wonderful thing?), games have been called off in dubious circumstances and (shock, horror) dressing rooms have been left in a state after matches.
It's all got so bad that WCL administrator Chris Marsh says they are having trouble finding neutral umpires. "Umpires are giving up. We're losing them in droves and we're not finding it easy to get new ones who want to stand in the middle, given what they hear goes on," he said.
"We're not going to sit here and do nothing or umpires will disappear from the game. No club wants its own team supplying their own umpire. They all want neutral umpires, so they have to be treated with more respect, not be the victims of abuse."
Amen to that. But this has changed completely my perception of the club game. Not having attended a club cricket match since my cub reporter days on the Sutton Coldfield Observer, I thought it was still all cucumber sandwiches, cream teas and generous applause when the opposition batsman cracked a four. How wrong I obviously was.
Now, I've got an image of bats being flung, Dennis Lillee-style, across the outfield; sledging that would make your hair curl and umpires being abused (are red and yellow cards on the horizon, I wonder?). It's all rather worrying.
And what on earth would Dickie Bird make of it?