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February 15, 2006
Finessing the Refs when You’re Getting Hosed: Papa Fool Style!
Let me take you back to a time when I was in the eighth grade. Like many future attorneys, I was involved in lots of extracurricular activities, including (but not limited to) playing the piano, playing baseball, serving as president of the student government (my administration was about as effective as Jimmy Carter’s), touching myself, touching myself again, playing basketball, wagering on dog races, and touching myself with the other hand (young dogs can learn new tricks and at that point, I was still a fairly young dog).
One afternoon, my school was playing basketball against our arch-rival, the evil public school down the street. Because my school didn’t have a gym or any Catholic priests from Boston, no young boys were molested underneath the stands, our coach always volunteered to play our “home” games on the road (as long as our opponents had gyms).
So, there we were, the “home” team on the road playing against the evil public school at the evil public school’s gym. The game was close throughout, a true seesaw battle! Two students from the evil public school were at the scorer’s table. One operated the scoreboard; the other kept score in a scorebook.
The high intensity must have been too much for these two geniuses because they started making more errors than Dick Cheney on a hunting trip. (Hey, cut me some slack; I’m studying for the bar and at least it’s timely.) Of course, it’s possible that they purposefully added points to their school’s score instead of rightfully awarding points to my school. However, I hope that wasn’t the case because I tend to think that people don’t truly become evil until they reach high school. (With that stated, it still wouldn’t surprise me if these two individuals went on to become serial killers.)
Regardless of whether the mistake in scoring was intentional or not, one thing was clear: my team was basically being forced to give the public school a rim job. (This week only, the first law student who answers a professor’s hypothetical by inserting the phrase “rim job” into your answer will win a free t-shirt from the Thinking Fool. Yes, t-shirts are in the works and you will definitely want to have one! Trust me on this.) Needless to say, our fans were not pleased. By “not pleased,” I mean our fans started acting EXACTLY like a bunch of militant Muslims who just saw an offensive cartoon depicting Mohammad as a terrorist WITH THE EXCEPTION that our fans did NOT burn any flags, buildings, or people, and they also did NOT beat or kill anyone. In other words, they acted nothing like today’s militant Muslims because although perturbed, nobody behaved in a psychotic fashion.
Because he was as agitated as anyone, our coach called a timeout to see if he could straighten things out. The referees didn’t seem overly receptive to his pleas.
Coach W: Guys, they’ve got the wrong score up there. They gave points to the other team after we made two baskets.
Referees: (After consulting with the two student geniuses) Well, what they’ve got down in the book matches what’s up on the scoreboard, so there’s not a lot we can do.
Coach W: I’m telling you guys; they’ve screwed it up! That’s not the right score!
Referees: (Sternly) Coach, we’ve got to go with the official book.
At that point, the referees walked away and it seemed like we had lost the battle... that is until Coach W suddenly had a revelation!
Coach W: WAIT A MINUTE, GUYS! We’re the HOME team today! We’re the HOME TEAM!!! (Apparently, he thought this little realization was game, set, match for his argument.) That means I’m responsible for paying for you guys, and it also means (pointing to the stands) that my guy up there is the official scorer!
Anybody want to guess who “my guy” was?
Yup, that’s right, Papa Fool.
It should be fairly obvious that Papa Fool wasn’t seated at the scorer’s table. To the contrary, he was sitting with all the other parents while he kept score in a scorebook. For an official scorer, this was pretty unconventional behavior, and unsurprisingly, the referee called us on it.
Referee: (Quite perturbed at this point) IF HE’S THE OFFICIAL SCOREKEEPER, THEN WHY ISN’T HE SITTING AT THE SCORER’S TABLE?
After saying that, the referees turned their backs to the bench and started walking away. They probably thought they had gotten in the last word. After all, the question was a great one. Official scorers do usually sit at the scorer’s table and almost always introduce themselves to the referees before games. Papa Fool had done neither of these things. However, that didn’t stop him from offering a very succinct, yet memorable explanation, which is probably still reverberating off the walls of the evil public school’s gymnasium, as to why he wasn’t sitting at the scorer’s table.
Papa Fool: (Yelling loudly enough to be heard down the street) BECAUSE THERE’S NOT ANOTHER CHAIR DOWN THERE, YOU IDIOT!
That pretty much silenced the gym. Well, it didn't silence me. I started laughing.
For reasons that still baffle me, the referees didn’t give my team a technical foul at that point. (True, it wasn't quite like Dennis Hopper wandering out on the floor in Hoosiers, but had I been in the striped shirt, I would have T'd up my team's coach.) Unfortunately, the referees didn’t give us any close calls the rest of the game. (Shocking, huh?) And yes, we lost. And yes, I still touch myself. And yes, I'm glad we lost - I probably wouldn't remember the story had we won. And yes, I still touch myself (but not with the other hand).
Comments
"[H]ad I been in the striped shirt, I would have T'd up my team's coach."
I saw you ref. You'd probably T somebody up just for ______ [FILL IN THE BLANK, you'd do it].
Posted by: NYU Jew at February 16, 2006 10:33 AM
