Advantage Disadvantage (9 page)

Not coincidentally, after attending his first, but
worthless camp, his schedule improved mysteriously with an upgrade
to mostly sophomore games. Lesson 3: play ball with the
assigner.

At the further urging of the assigner, Billy joined
an official’s association, which met once a week prior to the
season. The most heavily attended meeting was the second. They
called this the “Rules Meeting” because they went through all one
hundred questions on the annual referee state test. He wondered if
the state cared that so many people in association clusters were
getting the same score on the test. The best part of the meetings
was the open question forums where dumb questions drew harsh
ridicule, and subtle rule situations analyzed. A new official posed
one of Billy’s favorite questions after a discussion emphasizing
the required movement of the referee along the baseline in order to
get a proper angle on the play.

“What do you do if you are trying to get in
position, and one of those cute young cheerleaders isn’t yielding
to let you pass by?”

The wily veteran on the panel answered, “What you
should do is ask her if her mom is single!”

***

Several seasons followed. By then, IIAA required
attendance at a camp at least one out of every three years for all
officials. An assignment chairperson, who had worked Big Ten and
other D1 college games, observed Billy at a certain camp. At
halftime of one of the games, Billy listened to some very confusing
advice:

“Billy, everything you called was correct by the
rule book. As far as I know, you did not miss a call.”

Rechter felt great hearing this compliment. He
prided himself on knowing the rulebook cover to cover.

“But”, continued the observer, “you ruined the first
half.”

He went on to explain this philosophy of
officiating. First, any time the referee blows the whistle he is
interrupting the game. If a referee was going to stop the play and
spoil the game’s flow, it was insufficient to do so unless the
offender was gaining an undeserved advantage or was forcing his
opponent into an unfair disadvantage. Experienced officials, he
explained, often developed the judgment to exercise
advantage/disadvantage logic on the fly during the game. In other
words, often the spirit of rulebook should trump the letter of the
law. Parents generally did not understand this principal,
particularly when their son’s opponent avoided penalty for a touch
foul. As an example, many varsity officials would not call
three-second violations in the lane unless the ball moved to that
player. Some camp observers called this a “perfect late call”.

Not subscribing to this understanding, many parents
screamed at the top of their lungs, “One, Two, Three, Four, Five.
What are you guys are looking at? Three-second violation! Can’t you
count?”

Experienced officials believed that freshman games
were often tougher to call because the lower skill level meant more
advantage/disadvantage decisions. Too many of these games turned
into free throw shootouts, doubling the clock time to complete the
game. The learning curve of good basketball officiating was long
and those lucky enough to be mentored at a good camp or by their
association elders often advanced past others.

***

Over the years, William “Billy” Rechter became more
and more committed to the avocation of basketball refereeing. He
had demonstrated great judgment and was progressing toward an
all-varsity schedule and state playoff assignments. During this
period, the real estate market collapsed because of the sub-prime
mortgage problems. Housing was overpriced and the bubble burst.
Billy’s business contracted significantly. Against his elite
attitude about officiating as a challenging avocation (not for
income), he began working summer ball for pay, along with men’s
leagues and park district boy’s games. Coming full circle, he was
an “officiating whore”.

Detective T.J. Battle, the NAU coach, called Rechter
one summer day, “Billy, I’ve got a game that’s tailored to you.
It’s in Garfield Park tomorrow in the city.”

“T.J., you know I go anywhere. However, why would
you send a white boy like me to Garfield Park? Are you trying to
get me killed?”

“Look Billy, they want you assigned to this game
because
you are white. We started the Chicago Neighborhood
Police summer basketball league this year to foster a dialogue
between gang members and the police. Each participant has signed a
pledge for no “
crippin
’” in the park. Yes, these young men
are gang bangers, but this is a sanctioned wholesome activity. The
game tomorrow will have a couple hundred spectators and we want to
go out of our way to have the game called in a fair, unbiased
manner. I thought of you right away, you are an honest, excellent
official and impartial – you do not know these guys in the city.
These young men deserve you for this game. The league provides a
way for the police to start a dialogue with them. Whadda ya
think?”

“I don’t think so. Battle, you are trying to have me
hurt.”

“Billy, the game pays $100 for a one hour contest.
How much do you make for a suburban varsity game?”

“You know we get paid $54 bucks per game, varsity
pay. Are you going to be there, T.J.?”

“No I can’t. Another guy from the Garfield Park
precinct will be there. We have been assured by high level
veteranos that there will be no
crippin
’. When you pull up
in the parking lot 2 guys will meet you and escort you to the
courts. I will not be there, but we also have undercover cops to
look after you. You must owe me a favor from somewhere. C’mon?”

Billy never wanted to back down from a challenge and
he needed all the money he could get. He pulled up to the park
dressed in workout shorts and his striped shirt. Two huge, heavily
tattooed guys walked up to the car. They greeted him and reaffirmed
that no matter how the game went, or however his calls were
perceived, there would be no crippin’ against him. After the game,
they would pay him and escort him to his car. Each guy represented
a different city gang. Billy was scared to death. Pre-game jitters,
perhaps. Garfield Park was the near west center of serious summer
basketball in Chicago. The cement main court held up well without
cracks. Backboards were free from graffiti. A ten-foot tall chain
fence enclosed the court. The park had a terrific blend of odors
from the spectators’ barbeques. Outside the fence were several
bleachers, all full.

Billy looked around the park. He heard music blaring
from the nearby pavilion. He wished he could detour over to the
smoke-belching Weber grills to grab a hot link, or maybe quench his
thirst by securing a beer out of the thirty three-gallon barrel
filled with ice and aluminum cans. Putting his primal needs aside,
he had work to do. Rechter decided to talk to the team managers at
half court (as a high school captains’ meeting) before the game
started. These were older guys, maybe team sponsors, but not
players. Would they be receptive to any pre-game admonitions?

Billy started to set down his expectations as he had
done in so many high school games, “Gentleman, I am a high school
basketball official. I am most familiar with National Federation
Rules compared to the NCAA or NBA. If you want any exceptions to
the rules, now is the time to bring those up. I am looking for
things that matter in this game, not incidental stuff that has
no…”

One of the manager’s phones started to ring. He dug
it out of his pocket and answered, “Bobby G. here. ‘Sup?... ok, ok
… 10 dimes this game? Tell him it’s a wager.”

He smiled and put the phone back in his pocket.

Billy said, “Did you just bet a hundred dollars on
this game?”

“No hommie”, he laughed, “Ten thousand, my man.”

Without another word, Billy took-off running through
the opening in the court’s fence toward his car. The two gangbanger
“escorts” tried to catch him. As he started his car engine, the
gangbangers yelled,

“C’mon you sissy mother fucker. You’ve got work to
do!”

“I’m not working a game where players are betting
thousands of dollars. Not for a hundred bucks, not for a thousand
bucks. Screw you.”

Billy drove-off as they banged on the side of his
car.

Chapter Ten. St. Marlin’s High School

The end of the school year brought only temporary
relief to most high school athletes. After a short hiatus between
the end of May and the first week in June, players participated in
camps as summer temperatures heated up. These gyms, especially the
ancient buildings, felt like adobe ovens in the Arizona wasteland.
St. Marlin’s Church construction completed in 1865 on Chicago’s
near south side and its parishioners rarely ever remodeled the
facilities.

The church supported a first grade through high
school curriculum. The gym, like other facilities built back long
ago, was on the second floor above the classrooms. This church’s
structure was a beautiful facility with a modest gym. The
neighborhood began as a German-Irish settlement, adding a post-WWII
Polish wave, followed by Hispanic (mostly Mexican), and finally
populated by predominantly black families. Despite the neighborhood
demographics, the school was predominately white. Its credentials
for college preparation were outstanding and most students hailed
from outside a one-mile radius were legacies who could afford
parochial tuition.

The coach at St. Marlin High School was well known
around Chicago for developing basketball players. He had been a
teacher and coach for over twenty years and he earned a great
amount of respect for his early successes. Pressure to win came
from parents and alumni alike. The advantage of coaching in a
Catholic school was the so-called “boundary-less” territory of
potential students.

Chicago public schools also had open enrollments.
Those who lived in Chicago could attend any of the public high
schools with the exception of the Magnet Campuses. A student must
have passed stringent tests to attend the academically oriented
magnet schools. This open enrollment policy in the regular schools
had fostered dynasties of dominant high school teams. Westinghouse,
King, and Farragut were examples where top players migrated to
winning programs and better coaching. Commuting was no problem;
they took the Chicago Transit Authority buses and trains.

Catholic schools also had admissions exams, but
often waived requirements for athletes, legacies, and special
parishioners. The range of students at St. Marlin was limited only
by practical commuting times to and from the school. Many parochial
schools, like St. Marlin, had bus service from the suburban
commuter rail lines making it safer to attend the school.

The St. Marlin basketball coach craved a return to
his earlier successes. Recruiting middle school players was both
subtle and overt by the St. Marlin staff. Well-attended summer
camps, with liberal fee waivers for talented inner city players,
provided the venue to encourage enrollment. The St. Marlin high
school players were camp counselors and the youngsters looked up to
them. Counselors gave the middle school players T-shirts with the
school’s colors and logo. All campers participated as special
guests of St. Marlin during the regular season at a non-conference
game, normally a game against a patsy team to make the best
impression.

Desperate and aggressive coaches went further. They
disparaged the Chicago and suburban schools as inadequate college
preparation. They emphasized the dangers and crime statistics of
public schools. Some, like the St. Marlin coach, went even further.
They would engage in activity clearly illegal in IIAA’s bylaws. The
St. Marlin coach decided to use the services of a street agent to
encourage some of these urban kids to play for him. Bobby G.
promised that he could influence the single mom parents of two
talented players to attend St. Marlin. This would cost the coach
$1,000 for each player to ensure that these boys would attend his
summer camp. This was a good investment – these kids could really
make a difference to St. Marlin’s program. Bobby G. paid the moms
$300 each to enroll their boys in this program. He kept $1,400 –
the rest of the coach’s bribe money. Raising the money was no
object for the coach because he used the St Marlin’s Athletic
Booster Fund, which was abundant and available to the coach.

The coach arranged with Bobby G. to pay him in the
parking lot before one of the summer league games at St. Marlin. He
approached Bobby G.’s BMW as he rolled into the school’s lot.

Chapter Eleven. The Windy City Daily

Ronnie Edelman grew up as a “nice Jewish boy” in the
southeast side Pill Hill neighborhood before his parents moved to
the northern suburbs. As a high school freshman, his mother forbade
him from trying out for the no-cut football team. Her approved list
of acceptable sports included the country club offerings of
swimming, tennis, golf, chess, speech team and cross-country.
Because he was beaned on the helmet in little league, Ronnie was
not even allowed to play on the baseball team for the high school.
He was over-protected, but not neglected – a mama’s boy.

He developed a knack for poetry and writing, and
ultimately became the editor-in-chief of his high school’s
newspaper. He was the ghostwriter for a campy column that tackled
edgy issues. Only the sponsoring teacher knew that he was the
author. He wrote feature articles that discussed sensitive issues
such as attitudes about sex or drug usage in the school. He
minimized the paper’s coverage of the school’s competitive sports
teams, forcing the rest of the staff to cover topics that were more
serious.

His credentials were just enough to compensate for
low SAT scores. He applied to the best universities in the country
and was summarily rejected one-by-one. His father, Dr. Aaron
Edelman, pushed and cajoled the admission officers at nearby,
Northwestern University. They had a top-notch journalism curriculum
and it was job number one to get Ronnie accepted. His dad was a
legacy and a major contributor. What a collective sigh of relief
when his acceptance and enrollment package arrived.