I’m riding shotgun in a gun-metal grey SUV, barreling down an expressway located in the heart of San Francisco.

It’s five in the morning. I became a sports writer to avoid waking up at five in the morning - but here I am, bleary-eyed and cranky, while my buddy Matt weaves us in and out of traffic in an attempt to get us to the airport.

We can’t be late. Well, I can be late. If I miss my flight out of San Fran - where I spent a weekend earlier this month for a college buddy’s bachelor blast - no big deal. I just hop on the next one and pull into Bradenton a tad later than expected.

If Matt misses his flight, the one that leaves an hour before mine, the one that forced me to cut short a dream featuring a walk-off home run at Yankee Stadium and a post-game celebration with Sheryl Crow and Eliza Dushku, he’ll miss his big test.

His high school wrestling officiating test. He wants to lord over prep wrestling in his home state of Massachusetts.

Apparently, not just anyone can throw on a striped shirt, slip on some wristbands and spit into a whistle. Refereeing requires one to run a mental gauntlet, one that includes two written tests, a two-hour business meeting and a practice match.

I planned on spending my cross-country flight back to Florida with rock music in my ears and stale cookies in my stomach. Matt, meanwhile, had to study a manual as thick as it was boring, learning the intricacies of a sport he thought he knew. Matt isn’t exactly a novice - he came within seconds of winning a state championship while he was wrestling in Maine. The guy knows his stuff.

Upon hearing all this, I decided to mount a crusade in the name of all high school wrestling referees. These guys take more abuse than tackling dummies, and I think that should stop.

No one takes as much of a pummeling as wrestling officials. Maybe it’s because dual meets typically have one referee, meaning if the fans have a complaint, they only have one sounding board to bounce it off. Maybe it’s because wrestling refs are confined to a small circle, or because everyone who attends a meet has his own idea of what’s a takedown, an escape and an illegal slam.

Everyone knows their stuff, it seems.

Matt did pass his test and has already officiated his first match. He’s a friendly, mellow guy, someone who’d laugh if an irate parent riffed on his eyesight or peppered him with a gaggle of expletives.

But not every official is so accommodating. So please, be good to them. The next time you feel like adding or subtracting to a wrestling ref’s anatomy or you find yourself praying he accidentally gets stuck in a heavyweight’s half-nelson, remember what it took for him to get there.

Once you’ve done that, scream yourself hoarse.

After all, he is a referee.