My main impression after reading the book was that if I had to make a choice between working the NBA when Earl came up or never working the NBA at all, I would choose not to work the NBA.
I can't imagine:
routinely having to fight my way out of gyms;
holding a full time job to support my family while still having to fly around the country, getting in at 4 am;
having partners that were regularly unreliable;
among other things.
The story about working the second half
of an NBA game alone b/c his partner was up in the stands trying to close a sale is unbeLEEEEEEEEEvable. If I had a partner do that to me in a
JV game, I would go berserk and probably try to get him removed from the association. That's just inconceivable to me.
I know it was a different era, and I know that guys didn't get the same training then that they do now before working the league. But this is the second time in just under maybe 3 months that I've read about an NBA official who didn't understand that you
walk away after giving a technical foul. How can you work the top level of basketball in the world without somebody mentioning this little "game management" gem to you? Again, I find that remarkable.
I enjoyed the book and the stories of his conversations with players. It was very cool to hear about how he worked the first game ever played by such-and-such a player and then years later also worked that guy's last game. As an official, I also enjoy watching the kids come up from younger levels through high school, so I think I can identify a little with that experience.
I also wish that some things
could be a little more like they were then. For instance, the strict "non-fraternizing" rules were not in place then. You could get to know the coaches or players and they could see that you were a human being. Now, that kind of interaction is strictly taboo.
Other than that, though, I'm glad it was Earl trying to push his way through the crowds and not me
Chuck