Umpire Ray Chamberlain (centre) has some words of warning for Port Adelaide’s Sam Powell-Pepper. Photo: GETTY IMAGES

Ray Chamberlain got the boot. Not before time in my book.

I don’t know Ray personally – forgive me for not buying into the “Razor” inanity – and I’m sure he’s a dab hand on the barbecue, providing the snags don’t infringe on the grill’s protected area and no one chops his arms as he wields the tongs.

But the umpires are not buddies of the players. Nor are they on the field to be “personalities”.

Nor does any part of the game’s laws state that those officiating should instruct, encourage or cajole participants to adhere to said laws or caution them in case they appear ready and willing to infringe. They are present on the field to adjudicate the rules and otherwise keep the hell out of it.

Let me make that perfectly clear.

Since the laws of Australian Rules football were first drawn up in 1859, and subjected to all manner of scrutiny, debate, review and adjustment ever since, not once has a call for an umpire to predetermine a player’s action and caution them against it been inscribed into law.

“Danger, Danger, one more step and it’s 50 metres.”

No.

“Mitch, Mitch, I’m watching you – don’t grab, don’t hold.”

No.

“Harris, no tugs of the jumper or I’ll blow the whistle.”

No.

Apparently, though, Chamberlain is out of the finals series because he cannot bounce the Sherrin high enough. Nothing to do with unduly imposing himself on the game, barking instructions here, offering advice there.

“He is a bloody good umpire and a bloody good decision-maker, but he’s got really short arms and he can’t bounce the ball high,” former umpires boss Wayne Campbell said on radio last week. “[He] had a shoulder reconstruction and it’s only because of the bounce.”

By way of digression, the three field umpires bounce the ball only seven or eight times per game these days. In centre circles of polished marble compared to the old days.

Up until 1976 (when two field umpires were introduced) the likes of Ray Sleeth, Bill Deller, Ray Scott (WANFL) and Jeff Crouch bounced the ball dozens of times all over the ground – wait for it – on their own. Deller had 50 centre square bounces in the 1972 grand final alone. He still has both arms from all reports.

After that digression, here’s a confession: after hanging up the boots, I became an umpire in the Victorian Amateur Football Association (VAFA). One evening in March 2009, after umpires training had ended, we had a special guest.

It was none other than then AFL umpiring chief, Jeff Gieschen. And what he spoke of that night provided a mighty big clue as to why the game’s on-field governance now treats its participants like errant schoolboys.

After some updates and a pep talk, Gieschen delivered a speech that amounted to an intention to change the philosophy of umpiring.

He said that AFL research indicated fans strongly supported an adjudication of “every single contest” and that free kicks should be paid “regardless of how technical” an infringement might be.

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As such, it was now AFL policy to tighten the nature of officiating, ie. umpires would be instructed to take a more active and demonstrative role.

This was news to those assembled. The VAFA made no secret of endorsing a contrary message to its umpiring group; pay the obvious ones, let play flow, keep out of the way.
Well, Gieschen got his way and the game’s rhythm, already under attack from coaching tactics, congestion and incessant rules changes, was further disturbed. Verbose and officious determinations of the sport’s laws were in, sympathy for the sport’s fluency was out.

That’s why in playing arenas 180 long by 150 metres wide, players standing the mark are audibly harangued if they threaten to put a toe over the invisible line that is arbitrarily pronounced.

And why ruck contests around the ground are delayed while the primary school game of nominating a participant plays out. Raise your hand, son – now you can join in. Then the umpire moves into position.

Another arbitrary line is guessed after a mark or free kick and any player tilting so much as a quarter of a buttock inside the invisible protected area is penalised. If so, both buttocks are marched downfield for an arbitrarily pronounced 50 metres. Or thereabouts. And the game is held up.

The pantomime of holding the ball is cause for another needless delay. Bachar Houli’s beard visibly lengthens given the time it takes for umpires to circle, wait and peer while some hapless sod thrashes about on the deck, with three blokes pinning him, before the whistle is blown.

Then there is the calling of “advantage” after a free kick – unless players raise a hand to indicate they do not wish to take advantage – and the game is held up again.

On one hand, the AFL drafts new rules or interpretations to promote speedier play, while on the other it instructs its adjudicators to impose themselves – caution, warn, advise, admonish and explain – as they pick the teeth out of technical interpretations of rules which contain so many grey areas to begin with.

Contrast this with the style in which rugby union is officiated; the calm and thoughtful approach of its officials is a thing of beauty.

With the game’s aesthetic plummeting to new lows this season, the regimented adjudication serves to distract at best and, at worst, further impinge on any semblance of fluency. We have a much cleaner game today (kudos to the AFL) so for pity’s sake, get out of the players’ faces.
“Let our game flow,” pleaded Mick Malthouse two years ago. “Let the players play. And give the supporters back their game. Please.”

The official Laws of the Game can be studied HERE.