Guy Talk
Hello Booyah! In life there are things certain people findimportant and others could care less about. Personally, I wouldsell my left arm if the Cubs could win the World Series. Hey, Istill have another one. On the other hand, I don’t care ifArnold Schwarzenegger, Arnold Palmer or some dude born in Arnold,Mo., is governor of California.
In relation, last night I officiated my last intramural soccergame. Two nights ago, I probably officiated one of the best gamesof my life. To many of you this is about as important asremembering to clean out the gunk in your eyes when you wake up inthe morning. To me it was kind of emotional. Not the weeping in mymom’s arm because all my fish are sleeping upside downemotional. More like the look around and stare for a while kind ofemotional.
See, I have spent four to five nights a week for the last fouryears out at the intramural field. Not because I really liked it. Iwould actually rather have an elephant do the tango on my man partsbefore I would volunteer to officiate intramurals again. I justenjoy staying busy. I enjoy the interaction with students I mightnot be able to see during an average day.
I started my first season because it paid well. By”well” I mean more than those kids make in sweat shopsin India. I couldn’t complain because I needed the money tocompete financially in the SMU social environment. Putting in 20 to25 hours a week out at the field gave me all the money I needed togo out and buy fashionable Gucci bags and Juicy Couture jeans.
However, by the end of my first full season as an intramuralofficial I had already had enough. After a graduate soccer game inwhich both sides were intoxicated, the two groups of men decided toend the game with their best Mike Tyson impersonations. I think SMUPD had to handle that one.
After a fraternity flag football game, one of the players on thelosing side was nice enough to walk me back to my residence hallall the way from the field. Who said chivalry is dead? The entiretime he was chanting, “I know where you live now, kid.”He must have seen me out the night before in my new jeans.
During a basketball game, a student from one of the residencehall teams felt he would only be able to get his point across byrunning off the bench and pushing me. Shoot, Bobby Knight is crazy,but he only throws his chair.
During the softball season, I was involved in a heated argumentwith a number of members from the football team. I decided to pointout their lack of understanding of the rules by trying to one-upthem in front of everyone around them. The argument was so loudthat I had to be removed from the remainder of my shift that night(if only that attitude could carry onto the field).
In everyone’s defense, I have never been one to back downfrom confrontation. I have no problem voicing my decision andexplaining my side of the story. I have used my fair share offour letter-words in my own defense. Chances are I’m going tobe right, and you will be wrong. Not because I’m smarter thanyou, just because I get paid to know the rules, and you just playthe game. I might be smarter than you, but that is another columnaltogether.
However, I believe the student body perception of what allofficials go through is a little distorted. Most of the time, thedistortion comes from the choice beverage in those plastic redcups. Walking out onto the field is like walking into a biker barwearing pink — chance is your going to leave with a couplepeople liking you and the rest wanting to beat the snot out of you.The lack of respect during the games isn’t even measurable.My mother, my sexuality and extremely loud four-letter words areusually the crowd favorites.
Some students believe officials are on power trips or enjoybeing in charge. Other students say officials are know-it-alls orperfectionists. Wrong. If I wanted to flex my power, I would be inthe Cinco Center five nights a week instead of officiating. If Iwanted to prove my intelligence, I would chew gum and walk at thesame time. Why would I enjoy being in charge of a bunch of guys andgals that I know, only to blow whistle at them, yell at them andcall penalties on them? My only defense is a whistle and someplastic cards, and I don’t mean the kind daddy hands out andthen pays the bill for at the end of the month.
Do you know what it feels like to meet a girl during anintramural game and then get yelled at for doing a poor job? Idon’t even get the chance to drop my one-liner and getslapped. It kills all of my game entirely.
So just quit Guy. I can hear you say it as you read. Well notreally hear you because then I would be superhuman, but youunderstand the analogy. I would quit. But if I quit, what kind ofprecedent would that set? If quitting were acceptable, then youwouldn’t have an intramural staff. We all go through the samestuff, so others would want to quit as well. Then the largeststudent organization on campus would fold, and students would haveto spend more of their free time at the bars. Wait a minute…
So I lace up my shoes, put on my shorts and throw on theuniform. The games aren’t going to officiate themselves, andmy self-esteem bubble burst long ago. I will continue to do my joband go on about my life. But the next time you get a chance, andnobody is looking, let an official know you think they are doing apretty good job. Even if you don’t mean it.
