Ajax–PSV Collision: When Media Hysteria Devours the Referee's Just Call

Johan Derksen rarely speaks gently. But on Tuesday afternoon, in his usual podcast, he spent three full minutes defending referee Van der Eijk's decision not to award a penalty. The incident occurred in the middle of the Ajax–PSV match, at the center circle: midfielder Ruben van Bommel charged into a duel with Aaron Bouwman. Both had their eyes on the ball; neither could avoid the impact. Van Bommel, realizing at the very last moment, turned his shoulder to protect himself. Bouwman fell, clutching his head. The camera captured the moment, and the media maelstrom began. Within 24 hours, Dutch newspapers were filled with words like 'crime', 'attempted murder', 'an undeniable red card'. The online community took sides, demanding punishment for Van Bommel, even dragging the referee into the case. Meanwhile, Derksen, one of the most experienced voices in Dutch football, calmly declared: the referee was right, no foul was committed, and Van Bommel was completely innocent. Why did a pure sports collision become a national issue? Why was a correct refereeing decision condemned by an entire football nation? To answer, we need to step back and examine the structure of collective outrage. First, there is the nature of the match itself. Ajax and PSV are two giants of the Eredivisie, and their clashes always carry historic weight and extreme tension. Every move is scrutinized, attached to stories of titles, identity, and local pride. In such a context, a slightly late tackle can be blown out of proportion into a deliberate act of harm. But there is a deeper layer. Modern media operates on emotion, not on the rules. The term 'attempted murder' is a weapon sharpened for clicks. A typical collision, with no goals, no cards, would not sustain a long article. But label it as a crime, and the story suddenly becomes captivating. An entire staff of editors, commentators, and content creators eagerly jump in, each adding their own version, until the truth is buried under thousands of emotional lines. Derksen, with his view as a former player and decades on the hot seat, sees what the crowd does not: Van Bommel's decisive moment. When two players run toward the ball at high speed, the brain has only about 200 milliseconds to process the situation. Van Bommel did not deliberately go in with his studs. He did not glance around to measure his opponent's position. Everything happened as a natural reflex of a body rushing forward. Bouwman was equally unaware of the incoming force. This was a collision born of both players moving into a blind spot – not an intentional act of harm. The laws of football are clear: a tackle is punishable only if it is intentional or reckless. To determine intent, the referee must see eye movement, body posture before the collision. In this instance, Van Bommel's eyes were on the ball until the very last moment, and when he saw Bouwman, he immediately turned his shoulder – a typical defensive movement, not an attacking one. Referee Van der Eijk had a good view; he had reason not to show a card. Derksen stressed: 'It was very sad and looked very bad, but there was no foul.' This is the standard anyone who watches football with a technical eye should accept. So why do we get angry? Because the human brain is wired to react to images of injury. When we see Bouwman fall, clutching his face, the emotional part of the brain activates three times faster than the rational part. We watch the replay in slow motion, edited from a ground-level angle, with dramatic sound effects – and each replay multiplies the horror. We forget that slow motion makes everything look more intentional, that a movement lasting three milliseconds stretched into three seconds becomes a planned attack. The media's role in shaping social reaction is immense. Online news sites need clicks, TV channels need ratings, social media needs arguments. They all have incentives to stretch the story, exaggerate the severity, and turn a minor incident into a war between 'player protection' and 'rule protection'. Derksen called it 'hysterical stories' – and he used that term deliberately. Hysteria is a collective psychological state where people lose their individual judgment, follow the crowd, and feel safe when shouting the loudest. There is an interesting detail: those who shout loudest are often those with the least understanding of the laws. They do not know that the concept of 'intentional foul' requires evidence of intent, not just the outcome. They cannot distinguish between an accidental collision and a deliberate kick. They also do not realize that if every potentially dangerous clash resulted in a red card, football would become a sport with no physical duels, and top matches would lose their inherent appeal. For the referee, the pressure Van der Eijk faced was enormous. When the whole online community demands a red card, when TV pundits keep questioning his competence, a correct decision can become a career-ending stain. Refereeing is already difficult – they must make split-second decisions but are judged for weeks. If they listen to public pressure and change their calls, the game is controlled by noise, not by rules. Derksen, with experience and candor, stepped up as a shield. He not only defended one referee; he defended the principles of the sport. Looking at a broader scale, we see the same pattern in top matches across Europe. In the Premier League, La Liga, or Serie A, every week there are collisions between two players running in the same direction, and referees are constantly criticized for not showing a card. But data analysis shows that most of these collisions do not constitute fouls. Why don't we see that? Because we are obsessed with the 'good vs evil' concept. We want a villain to blame, a story to hate. In a collision, the real villain is modern football with its ever-increasing speed. Derksen, at 70, still possesses a rare clarity. He does not get swept away by the wave of outrage, not afraid to side with the referee when it is unpopular. This comes from the confidence of a man who has witnessed thousands of matches, collided hundreds of times on the pitch, and knows exactly what it feels like to run at full speed without being able to stop. As he said: 'This was a very unfortunate collision and looked very bad, but no one is to blame.' That statement should be engraved in any debate about refereeing. So what is the difference between a foul and a non-foul? It is the distance between observation and judgment. The referee does not have the privilege of slow motion, nor multiple camera angles. He must decide based on one look, in an instant. Van der Eijk looked correctly because he placed himself in Van Bommel's shoes, understood that the player could not have done otherwise in a split second. Fans, sitting on the sofa or watching a short clip, have the advantage of reflection – but they do not use it to understand, they use it to accuse. One question arises: if the referee had shown a red card, would the media be satisfied? Perhaps, but then they would change to criticizing the harshness of the decision and demanding VAR intervention. It is an endless loop. Referees will always be the enemy of the majority because they can never please everyone. But society needs to recognize that the referee is the only one protecting the integrity of the game. When they are stripped of respect, football descends into chaos. Back to Ajax–PSV. After the media storm subsides, people will remember Derksen as a voice of reason in the midst of a sea of emotion. But there will be more similar collisions in the future. There will be tackles where player A accidentally hits player B, and the media again screams 'murder'. And each time, we need another Derksen to remind us that football is a contact sport, and not every collision is a crime. The most important thing is not the referee's decision, but how we accept it. We can continue to feed the hysteria, turning every match into a courtroom, creating a tense environment where players fear to tackle. Or we can listen to knowledgeable figures like Derksen, accept that accidents are part of sport, and direct our attention to the true values of the game: technique, tactics, and sportsmanship. From a personal view, I recall contracts broken because of collisions like this. Not that the tackle broke someone's leg, but the social stigma attached to a player labeled 'murderer'. In the transfer market, reputation is an intangible asset, and a clean tackle can still cause a player's market value to plummet if the media leads a negative narrative. Van Bommel may face many questions in the dressing room, from the coaching staff, from the fans. Bouwman, too, is a victim of circumstance, thrust into the center of an unnecessary controversy. We live in an era where an uncontrolled moment can define a person. But to become a true football civilization, we must rise above momentary noise. Let us learn to view a move at real speed, with the referee's perspective – the only person who has the duty to decide and take responsibility. And when a referee makes the right call, we should bravely defend it, even in the face of a social media storm. Derksen did that. He did not need to read VAR reports or watch slow-motion replays. He simply looked at how the players' bodies moved, understood the nature of the challenge, and spoke out. That is the wisdom of a man who has lived with football for seven decades. His message is not only for Ajax, PSV, or the Dutch league. It is a lesson for every football culture drowning in anger: do not let emotion overrule logic, do not let a moment destroy a career. Finally, the match ended. The scoreline is not what people remember. They will remember the debate about the red card, Derksen defending the referee, and the absurdly inflated 'attempted murder' narrative. Will there be a time when we stop and ask ourselves: are we watching football, or are we watching a soap opera? Football is still beautiful, still passionate, but it also needs calm and fairness. Respect the referee, respect the rules, and respect the accidents no one wanted. That is the only way for this beloved game to remain clean and humane. We will continue to follow Van Bommel and Bouwman in the next rounds – whether they suffer psychological effects from the incident, whether referee Van der Eijk remains confident or becomes hesitant in sensitive decisions. The answers will not come soon, but they lie in the movements of the transfer market, in the interviews, in the way officials handle similar situations. And if anyone tries to repeat the 'attempted murder' story, remember Derksen and remember that truth, at a specific moment, is best seen with the eyes of experience, not with angry status lines. We need more journalists like Derksen, independent voices willing to swim against the current, to keep Dutch football and the world from falling into the abyss of irrationality. They are as rare as gold, but every time they speak, they act like an anchor keeping the ship from the storm. And in the recent media storm, Derksen was that anchor. In the cycle of football, such incidents will recur. But that is not what is scary. What is scary is that we too easily forget the first principle of this sport: play with your heart, but let reason lead the way.