A Volunteer Ref At Special Olympics

I have refereed boys’ and girls’ basketball from elementary through high school, but there is no greater joy than calling games for the Special Olympics.

A couple of years ago I received an email request for referees to volunteer their time and whistle blowing ability to call games for the Special Olympics. The games would take place on a Saturday in March. As I thought about it, I wondered if this was something I could handle. I knew the game of basketball, but could I work a game with special athletes?

After reading the rules and player ability classifications, I decided to give it a go. The result? It was awesome! I quickly realized that these games meant a lot to the competitors, and everyone involved in the event seemed to feel the same way, too.

Two years passed and I was in the St. Johns, Michigan, high school gym at 8:30 on a Saturday morning for my third time. Once again it felt good to be signing in, slapping a nametag on my ref shirt, and stretching and joking with the volunteers. I was ready to spend part of another Saturday running, blowing my whistle, raising my arms, and enjoying watching other people enjoying the great game of basketball.

“Hi, I’m Kraig. Are you Kevin?” I asked the referee at the check in table.

“Yes, I’m Kevin. You must be my partner, Kraig.”

It was nice to know a couple of guys past forty could read nametags from five feet away without the benefit of glasses.

We held our pre-game discussion. The games would be called the same as in official Michigan High School Athletic Association games, but there would be a certain level of grace administered.

I walked over to the scorer’s table. “You all set?” I asked the high school basketball player running the clock.

“Yea, I’ve run this clock before,” answered the young buck.

“No, I’m talking my rules. Every time you mess up with the clock—and you will mess up—you owe me a donut.” I then patted my midsection and continued, “As you can tell, lots of kids over the years have messed up.” I laughed, and another volunteer my age who was sitting at the table started laughing. I believe the clock keeper looked a wee bit nervous. The clock keeper’s teammate sitting next to him, a volunteer the previous year, had heard this speech before. He rolled his eyes and whispered to the keeper of the clock as I walked away.

I turned around and hollered, “I’m serious, now.”

Kevin and I drew Division 1 for our first game, and these two teams came to play.

The game was close throughout. The teams traded buckets as the coaches substituted freely. Kevin and I upped our game as well; though the foul calls were adding up, home and visitors were equally positioned to take the victory.

At halftime, a couple of high school volunteers with a cooler met Kevin and me at midcourt.

“Would either of you like a bottle of water?” asked the young lady, while the guy with her looked on.

“Please,” I responded. As she reached into the cooler to hand us ice-cold water bottles, I asked the young man, “If she’s getting us water, are you giving out the foot massages?” He looked and pointed at his partner and said, “No, she is.” We all had a good laugh.

The third quarter was even, as both teams started to hit their shots. Both teams were in the bonus with a couple of minutes left in the contest.

“Tweeeet.”

A foul was called on the visitors. Up to the free throw line stepped the home team’s left-handed point guard. The players lined the foul lane as the free throw shooter calmly sank both charity tosses.

Down the floor raced the visitors who now trailed by two at 43-41.

Shot.

Miss.

Rebound.

Down the floor the other direction raced twelve pairs of basketball shoes.

“Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.”

The home team’s little point guard bobbed and weaved through the defense. After crossing half court, he was fouled on a reach in.

“Tweeeet.”

“Everybody line up,” instructed Kevin. I held the ball on the baseline while the visitors subbed one player in as another left the court.

Lefty aimed and let it fly.

Swish.

I tossed him the ball. He barely took time before promptly draining his remaining free throw.

45-41—home team.

As the clock neared 20 seconds, the visitors tried a shot from the lane, missed, and fouled.

Two more free throws trickled through the twine.

The horn blared as the game ended.

Everyone shook hands and the coaches said, “Thanks for reffing our game.”

Having the next game off allowed me to catch my breath, stretch out an obstinate Achilles, and take a load off my feet.

As I sat on a chair minding my own business, the clock keeper hollered, “Hey, Kraig. Look at this.”

Normally, I would be referred to as “Ref” or “Sir.” Volunteering on a Saturday had its advantages.

The teenage clock keeper pointed to a brand spanking new box of Krispy Kreme donuts! “No sooner did you mention the word ‘donuts’ than a whole box showed up for the people working the table!” After finishing that sentence, he rubbed it in by slowly taking a bite of what appeared to be a deliciously glazed donut. I thought rubbing it in was a little cruel, but I figured I had it coming.

As I sat there watching the next game, I couldn’t help but notice the joy everyone on the court displayed. A woman who had recently checked into the game, drove the lane and tossed up a floater that went up and in. As she ran down court, her teammates and coaches were hollering “good shot!” Her face was immediately graced with a smile.

Fans in the stands applauded both teams.

Later, a player on the visiting team dove for a loose ball but ended up knocking the basketball and himself out of bounds. Teammates helped him up, slapped him on the back, and the coaches yelled “way to hustle!”

I glanced at my partners-in-stripes; although busy calling the game, they appeared to be enjoying the action.

The next game I worked with was Penny. Penny is a good ref who has an even bigger heart. Practically every time there is a need for an official to call a benefit game, Penny can be counted on to be there wearing stripes and a smile.

The second game featured good teamwork but lacked the scoring of the first contest.

In the second quarter, as the teams headed to their respective benches for a timeout, I warned a post player for the visitors that he had been hanging out in the lane too long, that he needed to get out or I would call three seconds on him.

The post player for the home team heard this on the way to his own bench and said, “Instead of warning him, you should just call the three seconds.”

I laughed while thinking, “But you’re doing it, too.”

Later on during the break between the third and fourth quarters, I walked up to the home team’s post and said, “I warned the other guy and will call three seconds on him. But you’re doing it too. Next time I call you for three in the key.”

At this point, the big guy said, “I’m sorry for sassing earlier. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He then walked by close, tapped me gently on the shoulder, and continued on to his bench.

I chuckled as I walked up to Penny who asked what that conversation was all about. I repeated it and she said, “That’s sweet.”

The game ended and everyone shook hands.

Walking by the scorer’s table, I bumped fists with the crew and told the clock keeper he owed me two donuts.

“Two?”

“Oh, yea,” I replied. “You forgot to start the clock in the first game and got the alternate possession wrong once in the second.” I laughed and told him I’d put it on his tab.

A new team came in to warm up as I changed into my street shoes. Their coach came up and thanked me for being there to ref. We both knew that there wouldn’t be any games to call without dedicated coaches giving of themselves.

We also talked about the joy these athletes displayed when playing the game of basketball. They all played hard and hustled. When they knocked an opponent to the floor, they were quick to help the player up and then slap him on the backside and say, “I’m sorry.”

Observations: High school kids need to take part in a Special Olympics sporting event at least once. They need to volunteer so they can watch people who enjoy participating in events most people take for granted. By volunteering, they will see what giving to others is all about. High school coaches need to get their teams to the Special Olympics so they can learn what true sportsmanship is all about. Not once have I ever noticed a player beat his chest after hitting a shot—a few fist pumps maybe, followed up by teammates slapping the scorer on the back. I challenge other basketball referees to volunteer—you will not regret your decision. What would it be like to have too many officials volunteer?

I am glad that I overcame my initial reservation about reffing for the Special Olympics. I now consider it a pleasure and can’t wait to whet my whistle at next year’s event.

It would be good for all of us to adopt the motto of The Special Olympics, “Let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.” It would make us better people by trying as hard as we can in everything we do and, regardless of the outcome, know we are successful in the attempt.