Many years ago, when I was a soccer coach for a Hicksville American soccer traveling team, this particular incident occurred.

We were scheduled to play a game against Garden City on their home field. We arrived on time and waited for the referee to show, so that the game could begin. At the appointed time there was no sign of a black shirted, black short trousered official. We waited 20 more minutes and the Garden City coach and myself had a meeting of the minds.

He was an Englishman and his accent was impressive. I have always been cowed by people who speak perfect English and do not come from the borough of the Bronx.

After a short discussion we came up with this formula. He would referee the first half and I would do the second half.

It was quite a Solomonic solution and the kick-off started the action. My English friend did an impeccable job of keeping the game under control and he was more than fair in his call of the play. I was now impressed by both his accent and his handling of the first half.

Well, soon it was my turn.

I started out trying to be impartial and not recognizing my team as the boys I had practiced with all week. I truly tried to be fair and gracious. I owed it to sportsmanship and my newfound English speaking buddy.

I must confess! I could not do it! It was not a flagrantly bad job but it was not a totally good performance either. I discovered something about myself. I was partial to my boys and I wanted to them to succeed too much. I tried, but very soon into the second half I wanted to give the whistle back to the Englishman because he was fair. But I finished the second half, anyway.

I don't remember who won the game. Maybe it was a tie-game. I'm not sure. It happened so long ago. All the boys have grown up to be fine young men. I run into them every once in a while gallivanting around Long Island.

If I remember this incident enough to confess it 25 years later, it must have seeped into my subconscious. Maybe writing about it in this column will expunge my guilt and it will drift slowly out of my mind.

They say confession is good for the soul.

I hope so!