Student referees struggle to maintain order in intramurals
By Grant Hughes
Remember in elementary school when you learned about oxymorons? My favorite was jumbo shrimp. It made the most sense to me; shrimp are small and jumbo means big. There you go, an oxymoron. If I ever teach a fourth grade English class, I'll have a new oxymoron for the kids, one that blows jumbo shrimp out of the water. My perfect oxymoron: "intramural officiating." This subject hits very close to home for me, an intramural enthusiast. Put more simply, I'm not good enough to play real college sports, so I pour my heart, soul and broken athletic dreams into games that mean nothing. But try telling any worthwhile intramural combatant that the games are meaningless and you're likely to have your head bitten off. These games are all some of us have left. Pathetic, I know, but painfully true.
Here's the basic problem: the level of commitment from intramural officials is nowhere near that of the players, which results in a complete lack of organization. Since it's intramural hoops season, I'll try to paint a picture of what goes on. By the way, this game I'm describing is not, I repeat NOT, the one that took place between my team and one composed of Santa Clara coaches and alumni last week.
It's a Tuesday night and the game starts at 8:30. Both teams arrive by 7:45, having already prepared scouting reports, stretched and endured pregame film sessions. Sizing one another up, players from the two teams do not speak to each other, and certainly avoid all eye contact. The word "intense" barely begins to describe the atmosphere. Ã
By contrast, the refs arrive just before tipoff, joking and making bets on who can blow their whistle the quietest. After consulting their rulebooks, they clear up some final details with each other. They puzzle over the crucial question of whether or not pinch hitters are allowed, and if so, are they permitted to slide tackle the quarterback? Realizing that they're about to officiate a basketball game, they have a hearty chuckle and look around confusedly, wondering what to do. After much delay, the game starts. It is at this point that chaos ensues. The early moments of the game take place in an alternate universe, where fouls don't exist and the rules of basketball have been replaced by those of Ultimate Fighting. The referees are pleasantly unaware of the violence going on in front of them. Either that or there's a bet on whose head will get knocked off first. Whichever way you slice it, the game has quickly spiraled out of control. Blatant hacks are ignored and various shoves, elbows, trips, pulls and pokes are all now part of the game. I'm just waiting for guys to grab folding chairs and two-by-fours to start pummeling each other. My team doesn't win, but that's fine because we've escaped with all appendages miraculously intact. What just happened here? Intramural officiating, that's what.
This is obviously not a serious depiction and is probably a product of my frustration, but it does take the fun out of the game when rules aren't enforced. Nobody's asking these guys, who probably get about eight bucks an hour for their troubles, to be perfect officials. But if there is a foul and you see it, call it. It's not hard and it's only fair to the pathetic souls, like myself, for whom intramural glory is the only kind left.
û Contact Grant Hughes at (408) 554-4852 or ghughes@scu.edu.