Hunter had a top-notch team, but it was obvious from the get-go that one particular ref was a blatant homer and, unfortunately for us, he was making virtually every call. Every time he tooted his tooter we got a raw deal.
Okay. That’s what happens on the road. So my protestations were rather mild, even as Hunter built a twenty-point lead.
What eventually pushed me over the edge was when this knucklehead started laughing at every miscue that my players made. Misdribbles. Botched passes. Bricked lay-ups.
“Hey,” I finally shouted out. “What’re you laughing at? They’re working harder than you are.”
That triggered my first technical foul.
Okay. In the CBA and NBA coaches sometimes deliberately got themselves T’d in hopes of “buying” more favorable calls. But this jerk started making calls that were even more biased than before, while his partner continued to suck on his whistle.
“Yo,” I said to the silent ref. “Doesn’t your whistle work?”
Tech number two.
We were behind by seventeen at the intermission, but I made a rousing locker-room exhortation and we began the second half playing like gangbusters. Our flex offense was working like a clock. Our shots began to fall. We played terrific defense and controlled the boards. In a matter of minutes we trimmed the lead to seven and had possession — when the blow-hard ref made an atrocious charging call that was followed by an imaginary hacked-in-the act call at the other end.
In quick succession, another bogus charge and still another invisible foul went against us. Suddenly we were down by twelve, our enthusiasm was depleted, and it was clear to me that the offending ref simply would not let us win.
“You should be arrested for stealing the game, you jackass!”
Tech numbers three and four. And automatic ejection.
We lost by 20, and I happened to be waiting in the corridor when the refs exited their dressing room.
“You guys are an embarrassment to the game!”
It was when I started cursing them that they flinched and ran out of the building.
The next day, the athletic director called me into his office. Complaints had been filed. My behavior was unacceptable. But if I wrote a letter of apology, all would be forgiven.
And I did write the letter — a craven, humiliating mea culpa. Why? Because despite the hardships and frustrations, I truly loved coaching, and because I wanted to coach Alexandra for at least another season.
Anyway, after the season concluded, and regardless of the letter of infamy, the AD presented me with a choice: I could either resign or get fired. Clinging to what I believed to be my last and only vestige of self-respect, I told him that he’d have to fire me.
Of all the games I’ve lost because I didn’t play well, missed critical shots, or made faulty decisions on the bench, the most painful I-wish-I-could-do-it-over basketball memory that still haunts me is my writing that letter.++
Author, professional basketball coach, columnist Charley Rosen, of Stone Ridge, has had nearly two dozen books published, both fiction and non-fiction. Read him at hoopshype.com or see his latest book, Sammy Wong, All American, which is on sale at the Golden Notebook, Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
But you stuck up for those women and put them first! Kudos to you!