OBSERVER Photo by Erica Carlson
The technical foul signal in basketball is to be avoided at all costs.
Technical fouls are a last resort for basketball referees.
Uncivil behavior by players and coaches, if not especially egregious, initially prompts a verbal warning. If that fails to work, technicals or “T’s” for short, are issued. A second “T” is to be avoided at all costs as it results in disqualification.
Over my many years blowing the whistle in a variety of amateur leagues, I handed out dozens of technical fouls.
Engaging in fisticuffs, yelling or mumbling obscenities, as well as repeated verbal abuse, what we officials refer to as “Accumulated BS,” are the most common causes for technicals.
Top of my list of memorable technicals involved a coach and his player. It was a junior high game and the coach called a timeout late in a losing effort specifically to complain about my officiating.
A longtime varsity football coach and athletic director, he was by far, the worst interviewee of my lengthy sportswriting career. He was curt, blunt, dismissive and disagreeable. He wasn’t on my Christmas card list, either.
Anyway, he finally finished his tirade with “You’re ****ing terrible.”
That’s when a tiny seventh-grade tenor stepped forward to comically mimic him in a high-pitched voice, “Yeah, you’re ****ing terrible.”
The coach got his well deserved “T” while the foul-mouthed half-pint was disqualified.
Then there was the time in Fredonia when my friend and boys junior varsity basketball coach John Bongiovanni disagreed with a call made by my partner and rookie ref, Jim Azzarella.
As Jim moved to hand the ball out of bounds to an opposing player in front of the hometown bench, John suddenly and unexpectedly grabbed the ball. He then stalked his way down the sideline, complaining loudly to no one in particular as he went.
He met me halfway to the baseline, saw my “T” signal, and handed me the ball. He then quickly spun around, almost military-style, and silently returned to his seat on the bench.
He was rewarded with a smattering of applause and laughter for this award-worthy performance.
In his calculated mind, the resulting two-shot penalty was worth it. With a healthy lead on the scoreboard, he had more than made his point.
John may well have a more richly detailed and entertaining version of that memory, but that’s how I recall it.
Another night, this time in the old Pine Valley gym, my partner and I were angrily and loudly chased halfway across the floor at halftime by veteran coach Bob Butcher.
I’d known Bob for years, initially as my manager when playing as a teen for the fabled Sheridan Pablos of the Grape Belt baseball league. That familiarity didn’t help and Bob rightfully earned a “T” for this lengthy rant.
Throughout the entire episode, the ambient crowd noise dropped dramatically. Eventually, the only sounds echoing through the packed gym were the expletives spewing from my old buddy Bob’s mouth. All eyes and ears were on us at midcourt.
Confusingly, the entire crowd was now on their feet. Why were we getting a standing non-ovation?
And then I realized the reason. As they always did at halftime, the Pine Valley faithful had risen to sing their cherished alma mater song.
They waited silently and patiently for Coach Butcher’s off-color diatribe to end before immediately launching into their inspirational musical performance. The juxtaposition of profanity and small town wholesomeness was striking. And memorable.
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Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor.