Stripes as Camouflage

I don’t watch the score while I’m reffing, but based on the noise level from the crowd, either Godzilla was ripping the roof off of the building, or the score was close.  One captain had just called a time-out to stop the clock with three seconds left.  I watch my jammer intently, with only one goal and one thought in my head.  Goal: Call it right.  Thought:  Please do Not let this game rest on a call I make or don’t make.

It’s not a good feeling, making a call that might end up being –the- call.  I’ve spent the 30 seconds between jams hearing a team pump up their jammer with how this one could be The Big Power Jam, then seen the jammer send a blocker sprawling and sent her off, swinging the advantage 180 degrees.  I was comforted by the certainty of that call, knew I was the tool (yeah, pun intended) of Justice rather than the capricious hand of Luck, but still, not fun.

Zebras wear stripes as camouflage in the wild.  When I’m zeebing, I can’t be entirely invisible. (Did anyone get a pic of me jumping waving arms and screaming at the jammer heading to the box?  I’d called a minor on her just as another ref had blown a major right next to me and the skater had thought them one call…..) I do hope to be just a part of the machinery of the game rather than affecting the outcome though.  Keep the game clean, count the points, and have the skaters decide the important stuff via impressive teamwork and dazzling footwork:  Yeah, that’s the ticket!

This time, my fellow jam ref stood up and took the heat.  One way or the other, the bout would be decided on the final jam.  His jammer (who was from the team the guy had travelled with) knew if she got lead she could call it for the victory … so she pushed hard.  Too hard.  MMajor cut, with two capital Ms.  (I didn’t see it, but even That Guy who’d been yelling at us all night just called out - Oh Shoot I think he said? – before the call could get out.  Apparently everybody but me saw that one.)  And my fellow ref called it.  I got to sail around in fast circles doing unremarkable things until the final whistle blew and the joint erupted in home-town Victory.  The other jam ref watched the chaos with a tiny shake of his head.  He’d done it right – but it was going to be a long ride home.  Way to be, Zeeb!

As for my jammer -- it was sure a Major Jam in other senses, but thank you for making it a ‘no major’ jam in Zeeb-World.