Rule interpretations

Gene Steinmeyer

There are some rules that can’t be explained. Our rule-makers must have been napping when they created a few really stupid rules. One such rule caught me be surprise a couple of weeks ago.

I have to give credit to Terry Oglesby, the father of the starting quarterback for the Spoofhounds, for setting me straight. Terry has a lot of experience with basketball rules. As most people know, T.O. is a big-time, NCAA Division I official. He even had the first meeting of Duke and Wisconsin last season. They later met for the national championship.

I didn’t expect him to be an expert in football rules. However, last Friday, T.O. came to the radio booth to correct me. Geoff Conn, the play-by-play man for Spoofhound football, is nice enough to put up with me as a color commentator during the broadcasts. Sometimes, I open my mouth when I should just shut up, like on rule interpretations.

Correcting me for an earlier rule interpretation, T.O. told Geoff and I there can be an untimed down for an offensive penalty after the first and third quarters. I knew for an absolute certainty that an offensive penalty cannot extend the half or the end of the game. Only a defensive penalty that is accepted can create an untimed down in those situations. Why would it be different at the end of the first and third quarters?

T.O. was right, but my opinion of that rule is about as positive as when I had to eat oatmeal for breakfast as a kid. I still gag thinking about that oatmeal.

Another questionable rule interpretation happened Friday. I’m pretty sure I’m correct in thinking the official weaseled his way out of a bad call. Maryville was blowing out Cameron in the second half. The official was probably having a hard time focusing.

The Cameron punter fielded a poor snap and took off running. Quentin Ternus, a Maryville defender, was in hot pursuit. Just before Quentin could tackle the would-be punter, he managed to kick the ball. The official threw his flag on Quentin.

He was going to call “roughing the punter,” which can’t happen once he turned into a runner. Quentin was about to get cheated into a personal foul. I’m not sure, but I think the official realized his mistake, but refused to pick up the flag. Instead, he called the penalty “running into the punter” which is only a five-yard penalty.

Quentin’s tackle was hardly a “running into” crime, but then again he never committed any penalty. Amazingly, the punter got off his best of the night and Cameron turned down the penalty. I guess everyone was happy.

It must be hard for an official to admit he made a mistake. I had an undefeated girls’ high school team playing in the state tournament finals in 1983. We had a great team, and with a minute to go in the third quarter, we held a 20-point lead.

One of my sophomore reserves had just grabbed a defensive rebound and was fighting off defenders when one of the officials blew his whistled and signaled a three-second lane violation. The only problem was we were at the wrong end of the court.

Seconds after he made the call, I’m pretty sure he realized his mistake. However, he wasn’t going to admit it. After all, the game was being broadcast to the entire state of Nebraska.

I called the other official over for an explanation. He held up his hand, telling me to wait, and went and talked to his embarrassed partner. A couple of moments later, the official came back and said, “He knows what he did, but with a 20-point lead, don’t make a big deal out of it.” I kept my mouth shut, we won the game by 24 points, and the official came out looking pretty good.

I really can’t criticize an official trying to avoid embarrassment. As a college student, I tried my hand at being a basketball official. The first game of my career, I officiated at Hampton High School, a small school. The coach at Hampton was just out of college. My first game was his first game.

Toward the end of the game, Hampton led by a single point. There was a scramble for a loose ball. I blew my whistle anticipating a foul where the Hampton player would be shooting free throws. I learned that night never to anticipate.

The Hampton player got to the ball first and there was no foul. At that moment, everyone was looking at me and I didn’t have a call. I did what any good official would do: I made something up.

I called a jump ball even though there was no held ball. Back then, there was no change of possession so I actually threw the ball up with just seconds left. Hampton was about to get screwed and the coach cheated out of his first win. The losing team won the jump ball, but a last-second shot rolled off the rim and I was saved.

The Hampton coach rushed the court and ended up thanking me, but I never found out what he was thanking me for. I officiated for him later that year. He wasn’t thanking officials anymore. The more experienced coach was now a critic and I gave him a technical foul for his poor opinion of my officiating.

It all turned out all right. The rules committee got rid of the stupid rule of throwing up jump balls and the first-game coach ended up winning about a 1,000 games and is in the Nebraska Hall of Fame. Sadly, my officiating skills never got me in the Hall.