It's been a while...

When I started this blog, I told myself I'd compose an entry at least once per month. I already have most of the content sitting in a Google Doc anyway, so it should be easy to edit, revise, and publish.

However, life gets in the way.  

Several people have asked me how and why I became a sports official. So, here ya go. I hope you enjoy. 





The Seed Was Planted

The seed was planted when I was in either sixth or seventh grade. My good friend, Kenneth Adkins, myself, and whatever third person we could find would get together to practice pitching. First, we would lay down a frisbee, or some other object, that would act as home plate. One of us would then imprecisely mark off 60 feet, 6 inches to an imaginary pitcher’s mound, and then we would take turns being pitcher, catcher, and umpire.

As the pitcher, I liked trying to control the flight of the baseball. There was something really cool about causing that little sphere to fly through the air and cross the “plate” at the correct height for an imaginary batter’s strike zone. As the catcher, I thought it was fun to call the pitches, and it made me angry when the pitcher would shake off my sign for an 0-2 change-up because he wanted to rare back and throw some heat.

The only bad thing was that none of us owned a catcher’s mitt. Have you ever caught a fastball with an outfielder’s glove? It packs quite a sting!

As you may have already guessed, my favorite thing to do was step behind the catcher and call the balls and strikes. What a strange bird I was—a kid who would rather be an umpire than a pitcher or a catcher. There was something attractive about following the ball from the pitcher’s hand into the catcher’s “mitt,” and being charged with making a decision about whether the ball crossed the plate inside that imaginary rectangle they now superimpose on TV.

Or maybe I just enjoyed being really demonstrative with my, “Steeeeeerrrrrrriiiiiiiiike Three!!” call.

Dreaming Big…Then Adjusting

I guess I should have seen a career in officiating in my future at that time, but of course I didn’t. No middle school aged boy wants to grow up to be a referee or umpire. His sports dreams consist of hitting the game-winning home run in the bottom of the ninth inning during Game 7 of the World Series, catching the winning touchdown pass in the Super Bowl, or sinking a game winning bucket as time expires in the deciding game of the NBA Finals...I was no different...I acted out each of these scenarios hundreds of times. 

However, it didn’t take a member of Mensa to figure out that I would never have the size, speed, or ability to do those things in real life

So, I turned to officiating.

Laying the Groundwork

Throughout high school, the possibility of officiating stayed in the back of my mind. I had no desire to teach or coach in those days, but I hated the idea of being away from sports. I was a mediocre football player at best, but I absolutely loved every aspect of the game, and not being on a football field on Friday nights in the fall was a depressing prospect. So, I started laying the groundwork.

At that time, a gentleman named Ron Culbertson ran the youth football program in Clintwood. His son, Ronnie, was a teammate of mine, so I repeatedly bugged the younger Culbertson to ask his dad if he and I could officiate a couple of Saturday afternoon games. Finally, during homecoming week of my senior season, I was informed that Ronnie and I would be calling two games on Saturday morning.

A Tough Loss…And a New Beginning

Homecoming night was heartbreaking, as we lost a close one to Powell Valley. Both teams were highly ranked, and several local games were postponed to Saturday so that people could come to Clintwood to watch the “big” game. 

Needless to say, the homecoming dance was a somber affair.

But I jumped out of bed on Saturday morning, eager to try out my new role.

Learning on the Fly

Neither Ronnie nor I had a clue what we were doing on the grass of Ralph Cummins Stadium that morning. We were given whistles, no flags, and a little bit of guidance. The coaches did most of the officiating themselves, and I’m pretty sure we were out there just to get me to shut up.

We took turns lining up in the offensive backfield or the defensive secondary. We gave incomplete pass signals, spotted the ball on long running plays, signaled touchdown a few times, and basically ran around getting in a cardio workout.

Regardless, I loved it.

The First Call

I called one foul that day, and I still remember it vividly. It was a clip on a kid named Denny Wright, who went on to become a star player at the high school level. I can still see him make contact with the defender’s back, and I don’t think the play was completely over when I ran in to tell Mr. Culbertson what I had.

Ronnie met me at his dad’s side, and I recall the conversation going like this:

Me: “Did you see what I saw?”
Ronnie: “Yeah, he clipped him.”
Mr. Culbertson: “Ok, where did this happen?”
Me and Ronnie: “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Mr. Culbertson: “Just approximately.”
Me: “At the 42 yard line” (totally making it up)

So, whether we were right or wrong, we penalized Wright’s team 15 yards from the 42 yard line, and the game continued.

The funny thing is that Wright’s sister, Jamie, who was a year or two younger than me, ran up to me at halftime and said, “What did you call on my brother?!” She was just giving me a hard time, but it is funny to think that the very first foul call of my career was questioned by a fan.

Looking Back

That was the last game I would officiate for five years. I should have joined the local officiating association the very next season, but I went to college, got involved in other activities, and really didn’t think about it during that time period.

However, the groundwork was laid. I have officiated a lot of games, at various levels, since then, but I’m thankful that Mr. Culbertson gave me a chance to explore my passion that day. 

Closing Reflection

Looking back now, it’s funny how that sunny Saturday morning shaped the course of my life. It didn't feel like a big deal at the time. 

But that’s the thing about beginnings. They typically don't announce themselves. They show up disguised as games with friends, chances taken by someone willing to give a kid an opportunity (even if it was just to shut him up), or even as penalty that was, in all likelihood, not enforced from the correct spot. 

I didn’t know it then, but I had found my place in the game. Not in the spotlight, not with the ball in my hands, but right in the middle of the action, responsible for getting it right…or at least doing my best to.

My role in football officiating has changed drastically over the past year. I'm an observer, film grader, and position coach, but I’m still chasing that same feeling. The one that comes from watching the play unfold, seeing my officials make the call, watching them execute proper mechanics, and knowing that I had a small role in getting the play right. 




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