Wayne Barnes had a heart operation during the last World Cup

...I woke up the following morning thinking my World Cup was probably over, which was a devastating feeling. I’d muddled through Wales-Australia, but it wouldn’t have been fair on the teams to referee another game in that kind of condition. However, I thought I might still have one trump card up my sleeve: Richard Schilling.

When I called to tell him what was going on, he replied saying he thought I’d looked fine. When I told him I hadn’t felt fine, he told me to get hold of an Apple watch and send him an ECG reading. I did so and he replied saying my heart was in tachycardia again, but that he could see me in London the following day. He made it sound as if it was nothing more than a cold, which put my mind at rest.

As luck would have it, Wednesday was our day off, so I booked myself a 6am flight and was back in London before breakfast. I shaved my chest at the request of the nurses and got all garbed up when Richard appeared with the anaesthetist.

“Here’s the guy who’s going to knock you out,” he said, casual as anything. “Everything will be fine. I’ll see you in a few hours.” The anaesthetist asked me what game I was meant to be refereeing next, and I replied, “If I wake up again, it’s Scotland versus Romania on Saturday.”

While I was out for the count, Richard restarted my heart, and when I saw him again, he told me it had all gone to plan. Richard told me my left ventricle was still enlarged, that he might have to perform another ablation somewhere down the line, but that I’d be OK for the rest of the tournament.

I had decided not to tell the bosses what was going on because I thought they might panic, and they’d have had every right to stand me down.

After all, if a player told their coach that they’d just had a heart operation under general anaesthetic, it’s highly unlikely they’d let them play a game a few days later.

I got myself back to Paris and, the following day, I travelled to Lille for the pool game between Scotland and Romania, hoping that the heart incident was a one-off.

Richard had given me a special pill, so that if my heart did start racing during the game, I’d take it, my heart would calm down and I’d hopefully make it through to the final whistle.

I managed to conceal my shaven chest and the burn mark from the paddle that had been used to jump-start my heart from my fellow referees in the changing room – it was an Aussie and two Kiwis this time – and got lucky with another one-sided affair, Scotland trouncing Romania 84–0. I didn’t even have to pop Richard’s special pill...