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The Basketball Official

How many calls have we made? How many small, cramped, filthy places have served as our dressing rooms? How many small towns have we visited? How many games of no consequence have passed into nothingness from our memories? How many times have we gone onto the court when our bodies cried out for rest?

After a long career as a basketball official, I ask myself why do we do it? For the money? That certainly is a consideration, however, I rather doubt most people would subject themselves to such abuse for money alone. Just observe and listen to the fans at any closely contested basketball game. Notice the hatred in their eyes and in their curses. Officials who have worked nearly flawless games have needed police escorts from gyms. Others have had their tires slit. One friend of mine was forced off the road into a ditch by a carload of teenagers following a game. Fortunately, there was no injury but considerable damage was done to the car.

Why, then, do we expose ourselves to such abuse? Obviously, we have to love the game and be sincerely convinced our being out there does make a difference. It is because officials are impartial that both teams are assured of fair treatment and an equal opportunity to win the game. That, of course, is noble motivation, but I am not sure it is enough to sustain us game after game, year after year. There has to be something else - something personal that touches the fiber of our beings.

For me, that something is what I call my moment of truth. It does not happen in every game, but it is fairly common. My moment of truth is that crucial call that decides the game. The score shows one point of difference and only seconds remain. A collision occurs - training, experience, ability and judgment all rush together in the tiniest fraction of a second. The call is made.

One team loses the game as a result of that call. The hostility of that coach and those fans is brutal. If it is the home team that loses, there may be be danger of physical harm. I know I have been tested. I have been allowed the smallest glimpse deep inside myself. I have not been intimidated. My integrity has prevailed. That precious moment is the balm that sooths the many irritations. It glows inside. It caresses. It forms a shield to repel the insults and abuse that inevitably comes. It is the satisfaction of knowing I have been put to the test and proved the strength of my character.

Learn more about this author, Donald Hamlin.
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