Steve Christilaw: The good refs earn respect, even when you don’t like the call

Stripes are one of those fashion statements that always looks better on the mannequin than it does in the mirror.

Especially the vertical, monochromatic ones that denote authority.

You can’t spend a career watching games without having a relationship with stripes, refs, officials and umpires and line judges and the rest of good-hearted men and women who take up a whistle and become an official.

My official position on officials? I am much better suited to have a notepad in my hands than a whistle.

I have a great deal of admiration for those folks in blue. Or black and white. Or those shorts soccer refs are required to wear, for that matter. They deserve respect and appreciation for doing a job where, no matter what they do, someone is going to insist that they are descended from a canine, are desperately in need of an eye examination or have pocketed some cold cash in exchange for helping the other team win.

“Hey ref!” I heard one fan yell from behind the scorer’s desk at a high school game. “When you go home, does your mom crawl out from under the porch?”

The basketball official in question couldn’t help himself. He tried to hide it, but he chuckled about that one for a good 10 minutes.

They don’t all have that sense of humor. I still recall the three officials skating onto the ice at a Spokane Jets hockey game after a particularly rough first period, greeted by the house organist at the old Spokane Coliseum playing “Three Blind Mice.”

They were not happy and there were additional penalties assessed. And no, the organist never had to report to the penalty box.

But it was a great laugh.

Bill Alexander was one of those men you got to know if you covered sports in north-central Washington back in the day. He was outgoing and big-hearted and dedicated to helping young people any way he could.

He was assigned the first game of the State B girls tournament back when it started at Spokane Falls Community College. He arrived at the scorer’s bench for the start of the game with his striped shirt and black slacks neatly pressed and his shoes sporting a high gloss. His whistle was cinched properly around his neck and he was more than ready to start the game.

Except for one thing.

He forgot to bring the game ball with him and didn’t realize it until he stepped to the jump circle at center court. He turned bright crimson and looked more than a little sheepish before sprinting off to retrieve the orange orb.

I included his oversight in my game story the next day and Bill never let me forget it. Because, of course, his friends never let HIM forget it, either.

Whenever we had questions about the early days of baseball on the copy desk of the old Spokane Daily Chronicle, we’d just ask our colleague, Chuck Stewart.

We figured Chuck was there in those days and could answer any question from personal experience.

If you bother to read the autobiography that former Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda “wrote,” you will notice that one of the people acknowledged at the front of the book is Chuck Stewart, who was a beat writer for the old Spokane Indians when Lasorda managed the Triple A Dodgers farm team.

Chuck is still out there officiating softball games and was head of officials at the last State Class 4A girls fastpitch tournament.

My brother, Bob, tells the story about catching a game at a Seattle Mariners/Oakland A’s fantasy baseball camp in Arizona one year and having the umpire tap him on the shoulder before the first pitch.

It was Chuck, and like all of the camp attendees, Bob had his name on the back of his Mariners’ jersey and the ump wanted to know if he was related.

One of the first basketball officials I got to know more than to just say hello to before tipoff was a well-regarded man from the Tri-Cities named Chris Manolopolous.

I was on the sidelines May 14, 1981, for the state championship game at the Seattle Center Arena between Mercer Island and Shadle Park – the infamous game that came down to a last-second shot by Shadle’s Greg Schmidt, still the fastest catch-and-release shot I have ever seen.

Manolopolous was perfectly positioned to see the pass from a kid named Mark Rypien, Schmidt and the clock. When the ball settled through the twine he never hestitated and called the shot good. His officiating partner, Dave George, wasn’t in optimal position, but called the shot no good.

Beldam ensued. Mercer Island fans literally climbed over me to get to the court.

Manolopolous was adamant and his ruling stood and Shadle Park took home the trophy.

I admired the way he stood his ground and trusted in his mechanics.

Oh sure, I’ve had disagreements with officials over the years.

There was the guy who officiated a lot of girls basketball games I covered. He had a blind spot when it came to a fundamental basketball skill.

When you take up the game, they teach you the jump stop – you land on both feet so that you can make a crossover step in either direction for a layup. It and the three-man-weave are Basketball 101.

But this guy never saw it that way. He called it traveling every single time.

But the fact that he was out there, running up and down the court, willing to make certain that half the gym always thought he was crazy at any given time, was deserving of respect.

You can disagree with people you respect.