At 9.20 last Saturday morning, I received a call from the Football League asking me to act as assistant referee that afternoon after one of my colleagues had gone down with a health scare.

I accepted the appointment before crying off the Blackburn Combination game I had already agreed to referee. Protocol demands that the senior league takes precedence, but you still feel you are letting people down at very short notice.

At the time of writing, I do not know if a replacement was found, but I am aware that on previous occasions this season, local games have taken place without a qualified official.

The funny thing is that no matter how bad you think we are, you always prefer to have one of us there than nobody at all.

Of course the problem is numbers. We do have a large number of teenage referees cutting their teeth on Saturday morning junior football, but we are, in general, unwilling to expose them to the open age game because of the intimidation, threats and abuse to which they were routinely treated.

Similarly, at the other end of the age scale refs are packing it all in for the very same reasons.

Seventeen quid is scant reward for a fractured eye socket or the prospect of some thug burning your house down while your kids sleep.

Last week I listened to an interesting radio debate about the respect shown to match officials in football and rugby union. Traditionally rugby players accept decisions even when suspect, as do the spectators.

Yet on Saturday I was faced with some of the most vitriolic and hateful abuse you can imagine for actually calling something right.

I suspect no player or manager or fan will ever call me 'sir' or merely shrug their shoulders if I drop a clanger.

But if every one of you out there just engaged your brains for a second before opening your gobs, you might just find a few more of us poor refs out on the park next week.