Please don't throw him

I refereed a ton of sixth and seventh grade boys' game when I first started. Back then you could work at least four games a day. Basketball junkie was an understatement. These where the games where the parents would scream, stomp and sometimes curse you out. The coaches where just as bad. 

I recall a game where this coach kept giving me crazy beef on every play.  I drew my line in the sand and he crossed it. 

What did he win?

A technical foul and a possible trip to snow covered streets of northern New Jersey.

Of course the coach wouldn’t stop complaining after the first technical.  Just before I decided to send him on his fun filled vacation, one of the kids walked up to me and said, “Please don’t throw him out.  That’s my Dad, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

This might have been the only time I could physically feel my jaw drop and eye lids widen. 

This was one of the moments in life where you realize the kids are smarter than the parents. They were content running up and down the court. They were playing on a team. Had a tee shirt with a number on the front.  The referees made it feel official. For these kids, this was their NBA. They were living out there Jordan, Magic and Bird fantasies on the court. These days its Lebron, Kobe, and Wade.They where living the life. I was just blessed to be apart of it.

By the way, I had to get a parent from the bleachers to finish the game after I tossed the coach out the gym.