At the peak of David Beckham mania in the 2002 Fifa World Cup, when sales of “Becks’ haircuts” were at an all-time high, ten-year-old Tom Sylvester decided to buck the trend. Instead of going with a hairdo The Guardian described as “tough, mini-mohawk” or “Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver meets Mr T ,” young Sylvester went with the haircut of England manager Sven-Goran Eriksson: semi-circular bald patch, middle of his head.

It’s unknown if Sylvester ever thought of becoming a rugby league referee. But a similar other-minded, outlier nature would be advantageous in taking up a role so thankless and poisonous that the NRL’s best referee has decided to give it away. And while it’s rare and unfortunate that a referee would be the focus of a game, Cecchin’s decision to quit could be rugby league’s line in the sand when it comes to the plight of referees.

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Are we at the time rugby league decides enough is enough? With Cecchin’s raw admission on Friday that he received death threats following the Tonga-England World Cup semi-final, one can only hope this becomes a turning point in what constitutes acceptable behaviour towards referees.

Cecchin officiated his 300th first grade NRL game in Penrith on Sunday with typical aplomb. Round 21, Panthers-Raiders, with Canberra’s season toast and the home side (probably) limping into the finals wasn’t likely to evoke high passion and dudgeon. But both sides threw it around, chanced arms. It had the potential to be messy, ambiguous. In parts it was. But Cecchin made his calls, and that was it.

In the opening minutes he made a strong call on a strip by Nick Cotric. Then Joey Leilua barged over from a tap penalty five metres out and barrelled over James Maloney who fronted him to complain. Cecchin gave him short shrift: you’ve got nothin’, son. Talk to the hand.

In the twenty-second minute Maloney grubbered. The winger regained, and was thrown into touch but launched a behind-the-back flick pass inside that was gathered by a team-mate who planted the ball. Cecchin found a knock-on. It probably was not, but he ruled it thus. The commentators were near-silent. The people looked at the replay and booed, but it was as if they weren’t really into it. Jimmy Maloney threw a hand at the big screen. There weren’t multiple replays. The game moved on, we all moved on.

Australian rules’ officiating does receive scrutiny, of course. Yet on the field, in the course of the play, the play moves on. An umpire could call a push-in-the-back when a play was “clearly” holding the ball, and fans will vent and launch invective across the boundary line that, out of context could count as slander and defamation, even hate.

But Australian rules’ advantage is that the action moves on. The free kick is issued and the ball is booted 50 metres up field. Out on the great wilderness that is the Australian rules field, attention follows the Sherrin.

Rugby league is largely like that. Except the game stops after a penalty, even more after a try. When it’s followed by dozens of replays, each calling into question the penalty or try, the referees are in stark relief. That’s not how you want referees.

At half-time Cecchin was booed off, as referees often are. But the fans’ hearts didn’t seem to be in it. And anyway, Cecchin is not brushing the NRL because of being booed at half-time. Top-level referees have more bark than that. You don’t become the game’s best referee if you let booing affect your psyche. If you’ve got it right or mostly right, being booed by home fans is almost a badge of honour.

When Cecchin talks of “noise”, it’s more that as the game’s widely-acknowledged best referee, he isn’t feeling the love. He officiated three Origins, the grand final and a semi-final of the World Cup. There followed death threats so serious New Zealand Police and the Australian Federal Police gave him protection. Since then, others have been preferred for prime-time gigs, while Cecchin sees a therapist twice a day.

Rugby league – as other sport – is often in “crisis”. The world is falling in because the latest thing has happened. League fans’ “passion” often spills into illogical rant. NRL CEO Todd Greenberg this week called it “immaturity”, which is certainly one way to describe it.

If there is a legitimate crisis it’s in the impact this current state of affairs has on the future of refereeing. Any young, potential whistle-blower watching events would ask: do I really want to do this? Ask yourself if you’d do it: what’s in it for a referee?

Fame? The best referees are anonymous. Well-known referees know only infamy. Money? Hedge fund managers aren’t quitting en masse to be referees. The main reason referees do what they do is for love – because they love the game, and love the job. There’s a buzz in it, being part of the game.

But the best referee there is has had enough. Can love find a way? Perhaps, but it can only go so far. Such negativity can’t enamour anyone to the job. There’s only so many kids willing to shave a monk patch onto their heads.