George Harrison played centre-half for the Beatles. An inspired centre-half, admittedly (how else can we explain Something and Here Comes the Sun?), but a centre-half nonetheless. Inside forward was Paul McCartney, and John Lennon was on the left wing, no doubt about it. With a pair like that up front, the Fab Four could even afford to keep someone like Ringo Starr on the team, their very own Terry Butcher.

When you think about it, this way of looking at things can be extended to families, work, couples, newspaper offices, associations and social clubs.

...I almost forgot: some people are natural born referees. We all know them: whenever there’s an argument, we hear their annoying whistle in our ears. Of course, we needn’t actually hear it as such – the whistle in question might be a glance, a meaningful silence, a grimace, a particular inclination of the head. A man born to be a referee – or a woman, since this is a field in which many women excel – wants to decide, lay down the law, pacify, reconcile. Or rather, settle. The motto of the referee by vocation is: “I settle, therefore I am”.

In order to settle – an activity which brings him, or of course her, an almost physical pleasure – the referee adopts a conciliatory tone, or harsh words, depending on their personality, and on their mood that day. Then they award free kicks (either direct or indirect), give warnings, yellow cards and the occasional expulsion (later they consult their conscience and decide how many games to disqualify the players for).

Every office, company, association or family has its referee. Sometimes it’s the wisest person, often the most meddling. No one has asked them, but they run over anyway, across the pitch of our lives. I had an argument with my boyfriend-goalkeeper; so what’s it got to do with you?, the left wing-girlfriend queries. But the referee arrives with a contrite smirk and a solution at the ready. And maybe the boyfriend gets sent off, when a verbal warning would have sufficed.

And what about the linesmen, you may ask. Yes, we’ve got them, too. They help the ref take decisions about other people’s lives. The typical linesman puffs up with pride when he signals a suspected offside. For example: you are out for a business dinner with an attractive colleague, and he sees you. So he reports it to the ref in charge of the match – don’t ask what match; he knows – who, at the first opportunity, tells your wife, who is neither understanding nor appreciative (possibly both at the same time).

But what can we do about it? Simple: issue a yellow card to the ref and the linesman. On the second booking, expulsion: an early bath. The nice thing about this match is that the rules let you do it.

George Harrison was the Beatles’ midfield workhorse. An inspired one, otherwise he wouldn’t have given us “Something” or “Here Comes the Sun”, but still a bit of a workhorse. The playmaker was McCartney and Lennon, of course, stayed wide on the left. With a duo like that up front, they could afford to field Ringo, the Fab Four’s Materazzi.

It’s a comparison you can extend to families, offices, couples, newsrooms, associations and social clubs.

...Another thing. Some folk were born to be referees. We all know who they are. When people start bickering, they’re the ones with the ear-molesting whistle. Obviously, it’s not an acoustic phenomenon: their warning can be a look, a silence, an expression or a twitch of the head. Ref-man - or woman, for this is a category where many females excel - wants to adjudicate, lay down the law and calm tempers. Or rather, cool them. The born referee’s motto is: “I cool”.

Cooling, a process that provokes an almost physical frisson, can involve soothing words or a Ferguson-style hairdryer, depending on the ref’s personal inclination and the side of bed selected that morning. The (wo)man in black will then hand out direct or indirect free kicks, verbal warnings, yellow cards and the odd red one: ref and conscience will convene later on to decide the length of the suspension.

No office, gathering, club or household is referee-free. The individual concerned may be fair-minded but often it’s the group busybody. No one asked, yet here comes the fusspot, trotting down the pitch of our lives. “So I had a spot of handbags with the goalie. He's my boyfriend. What’s it to you?” objects the woman in the number 11 shirt. Nothing doing. Up steps the ref with a pained look and a swift solution. The hapless keeper might even get sent off when a quiet word would have sufficed.

What about the linesmen, I hear you ask? Well, they’re in on it, too, helping refs make decisions about other people’s existences. The highlight of an average assistant referee’s day is flagging a borderline offside. Let’s say you’re having a working lunch with a good-looking colleague. Your flag-happy friend tells the match referee (don’t ask which match, the linesman knows) and at the earliest opportunity informs your wife, who will be unsympathetic, or irritated, or both.

How can you get round all this? Easy. Yellow card referee and assistants. If it happens again, show them red. The early bath. What’s nice about this particular match is that you can do the sending off.

George Harrison was the Beatles’ central midfielder. An inspired one, to be sure, otherwise it would be difficult to explain his having bequeathed us Something and Here Comes the Sun. But a central midfielder nonetheless. As for Paul McCartney, he played inside forward, while John Lennon was indubitably the left winger. With two such prodigies up front, the Fab Four could even afford to tolerate Ringo Starr, the authentic Carlos Gamarra of the situation (fastest own-goal ever in the history of the World Cup finals), in the line-up.

If you think about it, this transfer of imagery from the world of sport can be extended to entire families, offices, editorial staffs, clubs and recreational groups, and not only in relation to team formations. Some individuals, for example, are born referees. You all know who I’m talking about: whenever an altercation arises, these are the people whose disagreeable whistles our ears are invariably compelled to accommodate. By “whistle”, of course, I do not mean an audible acoustic wave, since the piercing noise can take the form of a wink, a glance, silence, a grimace or a certain inclination of the head. The man born to be a ref (or the woman, since many females have been achieving excellent results in this area) is someone who likes to call the shots, who gets a kick out of laying down the rules, making truces and generally getting people to reach agreement. In short, it is a person who makes a vocation out of conflict resolution. The referee’s motto is: “I reconcile”.

Depending on their personality traits, or on which side of the bed they happened to get out of that morning, in order to settle a controversy (an activity, by the way, that begets a certain level of physical gratification in them), referees adopt now placatory now abrasive tones. They then proceed to mete out either direct or indirect punishment, chastisements and the occasional sending to Coventry. In the latter case, he (or she) subsequently arranges a get-together with her (or his) conscience with a view to resolving on the duration of the match ban.

There is no workplace, group, club or family that doesn’t have its own in-house adjudicator. Sometimes it’s the wisest person in the cluster, other times the biggest blabbermouth. Nobody ever asks their opinion, but they nevertheless hasten to the presumed call and prance across the football pitches of our daily lives. “I’ve just had a row with my boyfriend/goalkeeper. Why are you sticking your big nose in?” Thus the girlfriend/left winger. But despite the invitation to keep his snout out, the ref arrives on the scene with a pained countenance and a ready-made solution. The upshot is that the boyfriend is given his marching orders, when a straightforward talking to may well have sufficed to patch up the spat with a less unfavourable finale.

“And the linesmen?”, I hear you utter. Yes, they should certainly not be left out of the fray. Linesmen are people who proffer assistance to referees when these are bent on snooping into other people’s existence. Indeed, your average linesman experiences a sense of fulfilment when he gets the chance to draw attention to an offside infraction. For example, you’re at a working lunch with a good-looking colleague and you’re spotted by the linesman who then flags the arbiter of that particular match (don’t speculate as to which, since only they know that). In any event, at his earliest convenience our self-appointed moderator will be up to your wife like a shot and she, for her part, will either misinterpret the tidings or else not altogether appreciate the intrusion (sometimes both).

How is one to get round all this? Easy-peasy. Issue a yellow card to referees and linesmen and, should they commit a second infringement, swiftly pull out the red one and then holler: “Oi, you, off!” The good thing about the rules of this game is that remedial measures of this sort are in fact entirely permissible.

George Harrison was the Beatles halfback. Grant you a genius halfback (or he would not bestow on us songs such as Something and Here Comes the Sun), but a halfback nevertheless. Paul McCartney was the wing, John Lennon undeniably the left wing and so the Fab Four could afford to keep on their team Ringo Starr, the flop of the group.

When you think about it, this type of logic can also be applied to family, office, couples, editorial staff, associations and leisure clubs.

…Oh and I almost forgot: there are those of us born to referee. We all know some of them: every time there is an argument, we hear their annoying whistle ringing in our ears. Obviously, it is not a noise disorder matter. The whistle could very well be a dirty look, an uncomfortable silence, a grimace, a certain head-shake. The male-born-or female-born referee: this is a category where many women attain utmost levels of excellence - he/she will decide, establish, pacify, mediate. Or better: he/she will settle. The referee’s slogan is: «I settle».

In order to settle anything – a process bringing him/her almost physical pleasure – the referee adopts conciliatory tones, or tough words as warranted: it all depends on the referee’s personality and on his/her mood of the day. He/she then assigns punishments (direct or indirect), warnings, cautions, occasional suspensions, (then later confers with his/her own conscience to set the duration of the suspensions.)

A referee is to be found in any office, company, association or family. Ranging from the wisest to the nosiest of individuals. Nobody asked for his/her opinion, yet he/she gets involved hopping through the field of our lives. I had a fight with my fiancé-referee; it’s none of your business!, mumbles the girl on the left-wing. But here he/she comes, the referee that is, afflicted-face and all, armed with ready solution. Maybe the fiancé ends up being red-carded when a yellow card would have sufficed.

So you may say, how about the linesmen? Of course, they also serve a purpose. They assist the referee in making decisions about other people’s lives. A typical linesman is utterly fulfilled when he waves his flag for an offside. Case in point: you are having a business dinner with an attractive colleague, he/she spots you and reports you to the race official – do not ask which race it is, only he/she needs to know – at his/her first chance, the race official then refers this to your wife who does not understand or does not appreciate the matter (sometimes both).

So, how can you avoid all of this? Easy: caution both referee and linesmen. At your second caution, red-card them: get them out of your hair (and of the game). The great part about this game is that you can actually do that.

George Harrison was the Beatles’ midfielder. A prodigious midfielder (how else could he have presented us with “Something” and “Here Comes the Sun”). But a midfielder nonetheless. The defender was Paul McCartney. And the left wing, no doubt, was John Lennon. With these two upfront, the Fab Four could afford to keep Ringo Starr – who acted as Gamarra (a bench-sitter) - in their team.

This logic, if you think about it, also applies to families, offices, couples, redaction teams, associations, and community centers.

…Oh, and I forgot: There are those born to be referees. We all have met one: at the first sign of an argument, their irritating whistle reaches our ears. The problem is not an acoustics one, of course, as the whistle can take the shape of a glare, a silence, a grimace, or a peculiar tilt of the head. The referee-born-man, or woman - for this is a category where women can achieve levels of mastery - wants to decide, to settle, to appease, to reconcile. Or more precisely, to resolve. The dedicated referee’s slogan is “I resolve”.

For the sake of resolving – an activity that gives him an almost physical pleasure – the referee chooses between soothing tones and tough words: it’s a question of character, and of whether he got up on the wrong side of the bed on that morning. Then he assigns penalties (either direct or indirect), warnings, bookings, and occasional expulsions (later he consults with his conscience and decides about the suspension days).

No office, company, association or family lacks a referee. Sometimes it is the wisest person, more often it’s the nosiest. Nobody asked for his services. My goalkeeper-boyfriend and I had an argument; so why do you butt in? This is how the left-wing-girl reasons. But the referee hops to it with his drawn expression and his ready-made solution. The boyfriend might eventually be dismissed, when a verbal warning would have been enough.

What about the assistant referees? You might wonder. Of course they are present too. They assist the referee in taking decisions concerning other peoples’ business. The typical assistant referee feels realized when he signals a suspicious off-side. For example: you're at a business dinner with your good-looking colleague, he sees you and signals it to the match referee – never mind which match, he's the only one to know– who at the first opportunity reports the incident to your wife, who does not understand, or does not appreciate (probably both).

How to avoid all this? Quite simple: caution referee and assistant referee. At the second cautioning show them the red card: Get Out! The nice thing about this game is that it can be done.

George Harrison was the Beatles’ centre-half. A brilliant centre-half (or he would not have given us ‘Something’ and ‘Here Comes the Sun’). But still a centre-half. At inside forward there was Paul McCartney. The left winger was undoubtedly John Lennon. And with two like that up front, the Fab Four could even afford to have in their team Ringo Starr, a sort of Gareth Southgate.

If you think about it, this reasoning can be applied to families, offices, couples, editors, associations and social clubs.

……I forgot to mention: some people are born referees. We all know some: whenever there is a discussion, we anticipate the inevitable blast from their whistle in our ears. Sound may not be involved, of course. The whistle can take the form of silence, a look, a grimace, or a certain movement of the head. The born referee – who could be a woman, for this is a category in which many women attain levels of excellence – wants to decide, to settle, to reconcile, to get agreement. Or rather: to solve. The motto of the natural referee is: “I solve”.

In order to solve – an act giving him pleasure of an almost physical nature – the referee may either adopt a conciliatory tone or utter harsh words: it depends on his personality and on what side of bed he got out of that morning. Then he administers free kicks (direct or indirect), warnings, bookings, occasional sendings-off (later his conscience clicks in again and he decides the number of days for the ban).

There is no office, company, association or family that does not have a referee. Sometimes it is the wisest person there, but often the biggest busybody. No one has asked him for anything. But still he rushes in, tripping across the field of our lives. I have quarrelled with my goalie-fiancé; what’s it got to do with you?, argues the girl left-winger. But the referee approaches with a solemn look and a solution at the ready. And perhaps the fiancé is thrown out, when a verbal warning would have sufficed.

And what about linesmen, you may be asking? There are certainly those as well. They help the referee to make decisions on other people’s lives. The typical linesman feels made up when he signals a suspected offside. For example: you are at a working dinner with a beautiful colleague, he sees you and reports it to the competition manager – don’t ask which competition, for he is sure to know – who, at the first opportunity, tells your wife, who does not understand or is not pleased (and sometimes both these things at once).

How do you get round all this? Simple: book the referee and the linesmen. On the second booking, show the red card: they’re off. The best thing about this game is that you win.