After months of classes, a couple scrimmages and hours of practice, I, Justin Meyer, finally served as a ref for a third-grade girls rec basketball game.
Before I explain that, though, I have to go into how my opening game went: a third-game boys showdown, the first game I would ever ref, or so I thought. Not long into the second quarter of the game, the ball went out of bounds on my baseline. However, I was so focused on my primary coverage area and not used to working a two-man crew that I had no idea who touched it last. I was about to meet with my partner when all of a sudden, the game stopped as if a timeout had been called, and I felt relieved. The teams huddled, but not at their benches. There seemed to be an odd sense of urgency, but I was too concentrated on the task at hand to pay it much mind.
I came together with my partner and Mark Donahue, who had called the games before mine and stuck around to watch me do my thing for a little while. I asked what was happening, not having heard a timeout or seen a signal for it but not knowing what else could be happening. That’s when it was pointed out to me: a man in the stands was having a seizure.
The coaches and us ushered the kids into a room adjacent to the gym so they couldn’t watch what happened. Someone called 911, and those in the crowd did their best to help the man. The situation was very serious, and quite frankly, I didn’t know what to do. At no point in my ref class did we ever discuss a scenario like this. I was not equipped to help, and I didn’t want to get in the way, so I kept my distance and hoped for an ambulance to arrive soon. Fortunately, a defibrillator was nearby and it was used to help him as best as possible before medics arrived.
Approximately 10 minutes after the situation began, paramedics arrived and took him to the hospital. I don’t know what happened to him, but I hope for him and the sake of the family, especially whichever kid in the game was his grandson, that he survived. Needless to say, the game was canceled, and I spent the next 45 minutes in a mostly-empty gym dazed, confused and waiting for the second half of my doubleheader.
I called the next game as scheduled, and it went well. The girls were very cute, I called about one jump ball per minute of game play, and it was a joy to ref. One of the girls thanked me when I gave her the ball to inbound once, and my heart just about melted. But the whole time, I couldn’t get that man out of my head, and it put a damper on what should have been a celebration of sport for the kids who just wanted to hoop.
As I packed up to leave for the game and on the drive to the gym, I was riddled with anxiety. What if I have to deal with screaming parents? What if a coach gives me a hard time? What if I make a mistake that cheats a kid out of something he deserved and worked hard to achieve? If there is one takeaway from my experience at my first games, it’s that none of that really matters. Life is too fragile to care too much about little things like that. If someone yells at me, or if I make a mistake, so be it. It’s only a game. It’s not a matter of life and death.
