Webb - The Man in the Middle: the Autobiography of the World Cup Final Referee

To my dad: my mentor, my coach, my fiercest critic, my biggest supporter, my chauffeur and my best friend. This ones for you.

Its 5.55 p.m. on Thursday 8 July 2010, and Im sitting in a meeting room at Kievits Kroon, the Pretoria country retreat thats been the FIFA match officials World Cup base camp for the past six weeks. The nine remaining referees teams are gathered together for the most important announcement of the tournament which will see, in five minutes time, one lucky trio being awarded Sundays 2010 World Cup final in Johannesburg. The conversation in the room is friendly enough weve all become quite close as the weeks have passed but the rivalry, unsurprisingly, is intense.

Im flanked by my assistant referees (Darren Cann on my right and Mike Mullarkey on my left, as our Ant and Dec-like superstition dictates), both of whom are calmness personified. I, however, am a fidgety bag of nerves as the minutes tick by, tapping the floor with my foot, squirming about in my chair and popping Tic Tacs like theyre going out of fashion. I also happen to be desperate for a pee, but I darent leave the room at this late stage for fear of getting locked in the toilet. Daft, I know, but I dont want anything to jeopardise this most crucial of days.

You all right, Howard? asks Darren as my tics and twitches go into overdrive.

Yeah, Im fine, I reply, clasping my clammy hands round the back of my head and glancing anxiously at the clock on the wall, invoking positive thoughts as the minute hand edges slowly to the top.

I just need to know, mate. I just need to know.

Exacerbating my nerviness is the fact that the lads and I feel that we are definitely in with a shout for Sundays final. The tournament has treated us well so far: weve won plaudits for our handling of Spain v Switzerland, Slovakia v Italy and Brazil v Chile in the previous rounds and weve survived a pretty brutal cull which has seen twenty officials teams being sent home at various stages. Some have been told by an uncompromising FIFA to pack their bags due to substandard fitness levels, others as the result of unfortunate errors.

The Uruguayan, Jorge Larrionda, for example, has been given his marching orders after controversially failing to award Frank Lampards over-the-line goal against Germany, thus denying England the equaliser that could have kept them in the World Cup. Roberto Rosetti, the eminent Italian referee, has been disregarded for the final stages after allowing Carlos Tvezs offside goal to stand during a tense contest between Mexico and Argentina. Its all been very cut-throat.

I, like all England fans, am totally gutted that Fabio Capellos men are no longer in the mix, despite the fact that their exit may have actually accelerated my progress (I wouldnt have been able to preside over any latter-stage England games, of course).

Whats taken me aback, though, is that some people at home now seem to be transferring their patriotic loyalties to us, effectively pinning their England Expects hopes on to a 38-year-old ref from Rotherham, a linesman from Norwich and another from Exeter. William Hill bookmakers are quoting odds of 5-4 that well land Sundays plum job, and the national media has run stories alongside my photograph, bigging up our World Cup final chances and proclaiming that ENGLAND CAN RULE THE WORLD . As a Premier League ref of seven years standing, Im not generally used to attracting a groundswell of public support but hey, Im not complaining.

So, while were not taking anything for granted, Darren, Mike and I know weve got a decent chance. Since our arrival in Pretoria our tight-knit little unit has worked ridiculously hard, both on and off the pitch. Weve maintained our fitness levels, weve projected the right attitude, weve integrated well with the other officials and, without being arse-lickers, weve forged good relationships with the all-important FIFA committee. Deep down, we believe that were a worthy selection for the flagship game. We think we deserve it.

The final being an all-European Spain-versus-Holland affair definitely helps our cause. FIFA favours continent neutrality, whereby refs have a better chance of an appointment if both teams hail from your home continent (other than your own country, naturally) or if both teams belong to another, thus reducing any accusations of bias. Mixed continent finals can be an issue: had Uruguay overcome Holland and reached the final against Spain, for instance, that may well have reduced our chances and pissed on our European chips.

Also weighed in our favour is the fact that the two officials teams who presided over the semis are unlikely to progress to the final, as that isnt generally the done thing in FIFA-land. So, realistically, we reckon weve got a one-in-seven chance.

My main rival for the final is Benito Archundia, a highly competent, well-respected Mexican referee who oversaw the 2006 Germany v Italy World Cup semi-final in Dortmund. Based on our recent performances and our levels of expertise, the English and Mexican contingents are probably on an equal footing. Benito, as it happens, is sitting directly in front of me in the Kievits Kroon meeting room, looking decidedly more cool and composed than his edgy English counterpart.

At precisely 6.00 p.m., a FIFA committee representative from Algeria, Belad Lacarne, sweeps in, and the low hum of chatter peters into silence.

The first announcement, he solemnly informs us, will be the appointment for Match 63, the third-place game between Uruguay and Germany in Port Elizabeth. It is, of course, a great match to officiate though not on a par with the razzmatazz of the opening game or a gung-ho semi-final but I know full well that if I hear my name called out Ill be crestfallen. On the other hand, if I dont get a name check in the next few seconds, I might end up going home with nothing. Its like some Who Wants To Be A Referee? quiz show presented by an Algerian Chris Tarrant.

Match 63, Uruguay versus Germany, pronounces Mr Lacarne, will be refereed by Archundia, Mexico.

My head goes a bit woozy at the realisation that my closest competitor is out of the reckoning. I lean forward and tap Benito on the shoulder to wish him well; he turns round and gives me a friendly smile, albeit one tinged with disappointment.

So its now all or nothing for me and the lads. My hearts pounding. My bladders bursting. My restless legs are almost Riverdancing. The three of us exchange fleeting glances as the unsmiling FIFA official casts down his eyes at his sheet of paper. I pop another Tic Tac.

Match 64, Spain versus Netherlands, he declares, lifting his gaze and scanning the room, will be refereed by Webb, England.

Oh my GOD. Weve got it.

Darren and Mike simultaneously grip my left and right thigh. A surge of adrenalin courses through my body and a rush of blood gurgles towards my head. The staidness of the occasion doesnt lend itself to me leaping up, punching the air and yelling FUCKIN YEAAAAAAAH!!!, so I just stay rooted to my chair, tensed up like a steel girder, suppressing the urge to grin like an idiot.

Im reffing the World Cup final , yelps a voice in my head. IM REFFING THE WORLD CUP FINAL.

There follows a restrained ripple of polite applause, before a member of FIFAs technical team, Jean-Paul Brigger, takes to the floor. For the next hour he meticulously outlines the suggested tactical approaches to both games, replaying video clips of the final four teams tournament highlights.