Cycling Sports

Filip Joos got the chance but I burned me not

Wednesday evening, the day on which they were arrested, I was prepared to put my hands in the fire to cross for referees Sébastien Delferière and Bart Vertenten. Thursday morning has already shown that naive.

Why I my hands, and so on, and so on…?

Because it is both good refs are – well were. Delferière I hardly know the guy, if we have a match in the tunnel all look at each other …

Why I my hands, and so on, and so on…?

Because it is both good refs are – well were. Delferière I hardly know the guy, if we have a match in the tunnel to each other, collided, fell me his cheeky look. He was not a strict policeman, football players saw him as one of the boys, which explains its popularity. Faultless he was not, that is no ref, but who is empathetic flute, the harvest understanding for mistakes.

Meetings with Bart Vertenten were equally short, but of him I got a year ago, however, a message – the number was unknown to me. It was after Anderlecht-Oostende, a contest that he had whistled and I commented. A salt-free party, only coloured by a bizarre buitenspelfase, a competition situation that is a loophole in the voetbalreglement uncovered. He thought it was offside, I don’t. I was just at home, the children were asleep already, so I called him ijsberend by the garden. A half-hour long knetterden arguments back and forth, but I remember that as a pleasant conversation. A few weeks later he sent me one more message: the verdict of the Uefa about the phase was: ‘no offside’. He was right, but his message was wars of triomfantalisme, and I thought that was clever.

Those men were passionate about their job busy. With enthusiasm. Their style was different, every bird whistle, just as he bent, but they were each in their own way the logical continuation of the ” mr. the arbitrator’ that you have on yellowed photos in krantenarchieven find: gentlemen of position.

Not so. They took a bug with the sine qua non of the referee: integrity. Integrity. Dents course you’re on, the scheidsrechtersbestaan is a bumpy dollemansrit, each match again. But crease, that is a different matter, there you are responsible for. And those are unforgivable. No men of position, men on the seedy edge.

Both referees and maintained a friendly relationship with manager Dejan Veljkovic – a sentence full of eufemismen. Delferière let him mediate in the purchase of a car, Vertenten had intensive contact with the huismakelaar of KV Mechelen, in full degradatiestrijd. In exchange for good quotes in the newspapers. Pathetic? Sure, but a contemporary aspiration, these are the times of continuous assessment, Facebook, Instagram, TripAdvisor, all of them are on the ‘likes’ built. Bart Vertenten, in shackles being beaten, because of intrigued by what the world of him think. Would it be as simple? Gave Veljkovic a little attention, a little love to a person whose decisions, and anyway, every week in full stadiums will be ridiculed it? Was that enough to tack? A given acceleration do not look in the hand? It wouldn’t surprise me, Veljkovic as Milan Jovanovic: everyone is ‘my friend’. But: a ref who craves approval, is a bird for the cat.

Mogi Bayat, I have once met, in the elevator on Staeyen. He said goodbye, with a monkellachje that anything could mean. It was a week after we in Extra Time , Herman Van leuven luc van wassenhoven for the feet had thrown that it was not kosher it was that Bayat about a real office in the Constant Vanden stock stadium had. It Was him that told? No idea. He looked derogatory, was onaanraakbaar and unapproachable, a nouveau riche, and high above the lower people – that he is a voetbalcommentator this indeelde, was clear.

Dejan Veljkovic is apparently the opposite. Always friendly, never condescending. He talks a melodious reverie, and really good English with a charming Slavic accent, looks like Gru from the movie Terrible Me, the would-be-supervillains who melts for the Minions and the orphans.

A small decade ago, I got a phone call from Dragan Siljanoski, which is half a season long my team mate had been with Lyra. He came during the winter of Antwerp, and already on the first training understood we why The Great Old was demoted, he was, to put it mildly, not a great footballer. However, enthusiastically, as he greeted me on the phone. Or I take him out of the rats could help? He had urgently require a dvd with the goals of Ibrahima Sidibé, point-of STVV, which had created a furore.

I promised to help him, for old times’ sake, in a half an hour was the dvd done – a goal or seven, so violent was Sidibé now. The day after, would the handover take place.

‘Verso, 14 hours,’ biepte my phone. Verso is an Antwerp fashion store-cum-bar for the happy few, bekakter you will find they are not. There on the terrace: Dragan. And also his boss: Dejan, the manager. I gave them the dvd. Which Veljkovic me a white box toeschoof. With a brand new iPhone, that stark couldn’t live up to my modest Nokia number.

Because that is a manager à la Veljkovic: networking, ad nauseum, smiling, people take over. It costs him no effort, lies in his nature, I said it already, he is the kindness itself. At the same time, if I have him so busy trying to see, I remember why I never got to persdiners go on foreign trips: I am already tired at the thought alone. And moreover: who network, touches not seldom in nets, entangled – I have easy talking, I realize, am exempt from the hunting firsts.

I shoved the iPhone back, said that I for that slice of Sidibé, nothing did. Drink something, it sounded. I took, really, a crème brûlée. With much fanfare at the terrastafeltje was prepared, with all application and all.

I kept my hands at home, put them in the fire. I burned me not.

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