Some others I was paired with only once. One was especially memorable. And frankly, surprisingly hilarious.

It happened in the old Chautauqua High School, which harbored arguably the smallest gym floor in the county.

Instead of bleachers, fans sat in individual seats. It was like a gentle sloping movie theater. Across the way was the elevated stage where both teams and the scorer’s table were crammed.

My partner that night was one of our board’s top officials. He was a commanding presence at board meetings, alway serious and convincing. He was equally well known as an athlete and highly respected football referee.

Bill Hammond

I didn’t know he had any sense of humor at all, but I would soon have a revelation.

Minutes after greeting him that night in a cramped office where we changed into our referee outfits, there was a knock at the door. It turned out to be a male student who identified himself as the public address announcer. He wanted our names so he could pronounce them correctly.

He already had obtained the names of the starting five for the visiting team and his sheet of paper included their phonetic versions.

Before I could say a word, my partner piped up.

“You don’t know who we are?”

“No, the teen sheepishly replied.

“We’re brothers,” he told our young visitor.

We both had light hair, his a bit more blonde than mine. But he was taller, more athletically built and frankly, a very handsome man. Meanwhile, I was overweight and starting to lose my hair. A matinee idol I was not.

Sticking his hand out, he introduced himself as “Frank, Frank James. And this here is my younger brother Jesse.”

Yup, he was passing us off as the infamous Wild West outlaws and thieves, The James Gang. I was the legendary Jesse James.

The reference was lost on the teen, who quickly scribbled our names on his sheet and hurried out the door.

Stunned, all I could offer was “Why?”

“He’ll be back,” my partner promised and then explained.

He knew the Chautauqua head coach and didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.

He was tough on officials and famous for yelling “Travel” whenever an opposing player began a dribble. Then, after they crossed half-court he’d scream “Three seconds” and when a shot went up, he’d screech “Over the back,” begging for a foul call.

And he did that virtually every time down the court. “Travel … three seconds … over the back!” It was an annoying, very loud mantra streaming from his perch on the stage.

My partner believed the head coach wanted to circumvent a rule and gain an advantage by knowing the other team’s starters.

By rule, teams do not have to designate their five starters until moments before the game. This way he would know those starters in plenty of time to devise a game plan. Devious, but not punishable. Some might call it gamesmanship.

Soon enough, our visitor knocked again.

“Coach says ‘very funny,'” he sheepishly reported and after a quick laugh, we wrote down our real names.

The entire game was uneventful, but halftime brought about a new level of hilarity from my fellow whistle blower.

We had barely settled into our changing room seats when an explosion of noise startled us. The cheerleaders had burst into the office next door and the walls were clearly thin.

As if on cue, one blurted out, “Did you see that one official? He’s really cute.”

As the girls then debated his “hotness,” my partner and I controlled our laughter and then pointed fingers at each other.

“Trust me, they’re not talking about me,” I told him.

In response, he walked over to the wall and banged on it loudly.

This is how I remember his plea. It may not be word for word, but it’s darn close.

“Hello, this is the ‘cute’ official,” he began. My mouth was wide open in shock.

“Look, you have to stop. You distracted us with your cheering all through the first half and you’re distracting us now.

“Please, we have to concentrate on the game and you’re making it very difficult.

“By the way, I’m happily married, so you have to stop.”

There were a few gasps of embarrassment, some giggling and then a loud stampede as they fled the room.

We laughed till we cried. It was epic.

We never worked together again, but my opinion of him as a stern, no-nonsense role model was delightfully changed forever.

***

DO YOU have a favorite, funny, weird, best or worst memory of amateur sports refereeing, playing or spectating? Drop me a line at mandpp@hotmail.com and let’s reminisce.

Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER Sports Editor.