Seventeen-year-old Alex Shultz sent me an unsolicited manuscript that he’d written about his experience refereeing basketball games for 7-year-olds and how it has affected his search for a summer job. I’m here to say that young Alex has himself a future as a wordsmith — if he’s dumb enough to choose that route. I offer his essay, unedited, for your reading pleasure:
Technical Foul By Alex Shultz
I’m a 17-year-old high school junior searching for a job.
Truth is, I’d love to call up ESPN writer Bill Simmons and ask to be his designated sports-viewing couch potato for the summer, especially after an intense school year of AP tests, college prep classes, and basketball refereeing. My parents tell me that’s nothing but a fantasy though.
My original plan to make money was to referee basketball. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea a few months ago when the opportunity first arose. Heck, I survived baseball umpiring the summer before with my knowledge of the game coming from XBOX 360, so how bad could kindergarten through second grade girls and boys be? Not as bad as their parents, as it turns out.
My first warning came during ref training for the Plano Sports Authority league. Experienced referees were required to attend the meetings along with the newcomers like myself, and they asked an unusual number of questions regarding technical fouls. I figured such a problem wouldn’t apply to me, unless an unruly first grader decided to start “Malice in the Palace Part Deux.”
At first, the games weren’t too tough. I practically swallowed my whistle out of fear of messing up, and never received a complaint from those in attendance. Scores usually ended at 10-8 or even 6-4. As the assistant ref to a hardened veteran, my main objective was to tell the kid picking his nose and/or describing the latest episode of Dragon Ball Z to his friend that he needed to throw the ball in. After I completed my games, I shook hands with the coaches and earned my first paychecks.
After a few weeks, I gained more confidence in blowing the whistle. Since I was no longer simply standing on the court like a deer in headlights, I opened myself up to making the wrong call, which was probably the first mistake. One game, I called a shooting foul when a kid was hacked at the three-point line. Once I lined the kids up for three free throws (which is like telling a new puppy to sit), their coach eyed me incredulously and said:
“He was at the three-point line! How could he even shoot the ball that far? What do you think this is, the NBA?”
I looked at the other ref, who simply shrugged knowingly. Things went downhill from there.
In another game, the blue team scored a miraculous layup with ten seconds left to give them a two-point lead. The black team, led by a kindergarten point guard who did not feel it necessary to throw the ball in, immediately took off dribbling towards the other basket. I started blowing my whistle feverishly, waving my hands like a madman. The people in attendance were already going nuts because the other team had made a layup, and my whistle-blowing skills were subpar at best. And, of course, as the buzzer sounded, point guard who prefers not to take the ball out of bounds made a jumper to tie the game. I was stuck in the precarious position of explaining to the coaches that the shot did not count, and endured the looks from little Timmy wondering why there was no overtime.
Fast forward to the next weekend. I was sitting in a designated ref chair between games, and spotted a confrontation between two middle-age women, one a ref, and one a mom, at the conclusion of their game. It went something like this:
Ref: “Are you talking s***?”
Mom: “I’ll say whatever the **** I want to say to you.”
The mother then ran, channeling Napoleon Dynamite in her movements, glancing back as she distanced herself from the other woman. That’s when the ref turned to me, the wide-eyed, brace-faced 17 year-old, and uttered, “what the **** did she say to me?” and took off after her new archenemy.
A few weeks later, I did a game with the two “best” first grade boy’s teams, which means they fouled each other so much that I could play a tune with my whistle and probably accurately call the game without looking. Both teams were already in the bonus situation (more than six fouls) at the very beginning of the second quarter. Each period is six minutes, making the feat more impressive. Despite my dozens of attempts to keep the game under control, the parents and coaches in attendance continued to ride me for what they deemed were missed calls. By the third quarter, one dad was yelling, “foul them!” to his kid. Not only was this statement completely contradictory as to what the parents were complaining about, it also sent 10 seven year olds headhunting. By the fourth quarter, players were toppling over left and right, egged on by their parents. It was complete pandemonium. Once the final buzzer sounded, both coaches angrily approached me and declared that what they had just witnessed was a “rugby game” due to my “absolutely terrible officiating.”
And you know what? They were partially right. It was a rugby game out there. But who shares the blame? Who is the role model? I just call the games; they encourage the unruly atmosphere. The way I see it, parents today are encouraging even the kindergarteners to win all costs. It’s as if the aggressiveness they pass on to their kids is a release for all their latent hostility.
Heads up, parents. Childhood sports are about more than winning. They’re about being a part of something bigger than yourself, and having fun along the way. And the snacks after each game. Those might be the best part.
So yes, I am looking for a summer job. If you’re reading this, take a lesson from a teenager on the verge of adulthood. You’re only young once. Rechannel your competitiveness to a fantasy sports league. And let kids be kids. Trust me, it’ll go a long way to reestablishing sportsmanship between all sides of the game. Even better, it allows children to enjoy themselves, and for teens like me to ref for the love of that orange ball. That and college tuition money.
22 comments
Take this from a parent who has been banned for life from both PSA and YMCA.
“YOU ARE AN IDIOT and I’LL SEE YOU IN THE PARKING LOT AFTER THE GAME”
Really well written. Reminds me of when I used to umpire girls softball games for the PSA when I was 14. Almost had to throw Deion Sanders and Tony Dorsett out of a game for their colorful dugout commentary.
Not surprised. I play in an adult hockey league — also known as Beer League. It is not serious. Just a bunch of 25-40 year olds playing bad hockey, falling down and drinking beer after the game. One season we had a new team in the league with several 20 year olds who brought their parents to the game. They. Brought. Their. Parents.
From the taunts and comments coming from the parents (and these kids), you would have thought they were playing for the Stanley Cup. Hell, some of our players were older than these parents.
Now I find myself coaching soccer (a sport I know nothing about) for 6 year olds. And, the very first practice one mom was already showing signs she will be just another youth sports parent — for first grade soccer.
I LOVED this essay ! Alex, you ROCK !!!!!
My son played basketball in a Y League a few years ago. His coach was a notorious screamer and complainer. As I was sitting at the scorekeepers table before the first game, a referee was standing there looking around and saw our coach.
“Oh no, not him” he said as he turned to me. “I had to deal with him all last year and I am not going to put up with his BS this year.”
The boys stood at mid-court for the Y Pledge and then the teams position themselves for the tip-off. The ref tosses the ball up and our team controls the tip. Our coach stand up to say something to his son who has the ball and the ref proceeds to blow his whistle and then give
our coach a technical foul. Walking over to the startled dad/coach, the ref leaned over and told him “don’t even think of trying to say anything to me today.”
One of the funniest things I have ever seen at a Y game.
I agree Alex, you ROCK!
That piece brings back memories. It will be a shame if someone with this much snap doesn’t stay in basketball officiating. He’ll be a good one, if he doesn’t get run down in the parking lot by some idiot parent. Most of the good college officials are successful at a real job, and this kids appears to have what it takes. Jerkish parents we got in plenty. Good young officials are in short supply.
Well written article Alex. This was a valuable life lesson I am sure you soon will not forget. All I can really say is welcome to Plano and their mentallity of Big I little you. This is exactly whats wrong with society. Parents have to remember it is the kids game not theirs. Just because you did not make the cut as a child do not put others children, your children, or the officials through this.
Excellent writing. But more, excellent lessons to tell parents of all ages about what sports are really about. Parents who live vicariously through the successes of their children are missing the mark. You have many paths to travel ahead of you. May you write as eloquently about them as you have this one. Good luck with your job hunt. The company that discovers you will be fortunate, indeed!
If I were running the league, I would have an announcement made at the start of each game that if the officials deemed it neccessary, due to the actions of spectators or coaches, the game would be stopped, the stands would be emptied and the kids could finish the game without spectators. I doubt that you would have to do it more than once each season.
Great piece! Thanks for reminding me why I quit teaching in Plano. I was the head of our school’s gifted program and I am sure you can imagine the protracted discussions about each child’s genius-level abilities.
Good luck, Alex! I hope you get a wonderful summer job.
Wow… I’m not sure if this makes me a) happy there are still really, really good writers out there, or b)sad that this is sooooo much better than the college ‘writers’ I edited who supposedly majored in it… *shudder*
My daughter played soccer at the tender age of 4…the parents were brutal. At that age, it’s just a clump of tiny humanity trying to kick the ball. Any direction. One father had older kids on select teams and encouraged my daughter’s team to kick other kids in a way that would shift their shin guards and draw blood with their cleats. Each week, we listened to this man’s foul-mouthed spew. In Ladybugs V. Daisies, he screamed, “KICK THEIR FAT A**ES, Ladybugs! Man up!”
So, yeah, Alex is really spot on. Good luck finding a summer job, kiddo.
that was hilarious and aggravating and eye-opening and so well-written! hope you’ll let us know what job you’ve landed ‘cuz you deserve all you desire. a mentor in the sports “arena” should step up and take you under his/her wing; you are an impressive talent, Alex!
well he’s tried baseball and basketball maybe he should become a soccer ref
All through my child’s basketball career, I have been the nagging parent sitting in the stands, yelling and cursing at anything that doesn’t go my kid’s way. Blaming the refs for my child’s lack of athleticism. However this article has shown me the light. Referees do have feelings and take my comments more personally then I could ever imagined. Great job Alex and I look forward to seeing what other masterpeices you create with that keyboard in front of you.
I hope “Mark” was a joke.
If newspapers and magazines could stay in business your future would be assured. Now, all the smart and rational people in the community need to help you find a job!
You are the future and America needs you.
I’ll hire Alex to watch my 8yo and 11yo for the summer. $500/week (sorry that is all I can afford). Can he drive?
Great essay – but sad how on the mark it is. The BEST ref out there is Doc, with the Y league, who refs the 2nd grade boys basketball games at Withers. He rises above the din of parental barbs and helps the boys have fun with the game (despite all attempts by the parents otherwise).
Tim, Sounds like D should hire Alex for the summer. He writes really well and fun to read. Great job, Aex!!!
Wow Tim. If this guy is 17, that makes you 12. Good stuff sir, Shultz.
Wow indeed Tim. If this guy is 17 then I must be a 34 year old prositute selling my body to support my 3 year old child. If you end up getting that summer job and have some spending money, feel free to contact me.
you are professional.