A few Mondays ago, I drove with my friend Jay to the basketball game we play every Monday night.  Our team, Barnes Building, had been undefeated, and would be playing a very tough team indeed.  We loosened up as we always do, and I started the game strong, scoring 2 three pointers and a layup in the first 3 minutes.  The problem was, the other team scored about 20 points as we were significantly over matched.  Our team was frustrated and I was among the frustrated.  During one foul called on me, I turned around and mentioned to the referee that he was “clearly wrong about calling that foul.”  He ignored me.  This was not our first altercation.

More frustration set in, and 5 minutes into the game, the ref called a foul on one of my teammates, and I was really upset.  I felt my blood boiling with an intensity probably not seen since the clash between alpha male marine and alpha male car salesman (who I’ve since found out is a trash man).  So the ball had been shot by the opposing team, the foul was called and the ball bounced to me as I headed towards my bench.  In realizing how frustrated I was, I motioned for someone to come onto the court in my stead.  Now I was walking toward the bench with the ball, and I flipped the ball to the opposite ref.

I suppose the referee who called the foul thought in some way I was being disrespectful, because instantly he called a technical foul on me, and stated that, “By rule, the ball must go to the closest ref.”  (this, I believe, is a bunch of crud)  Naturally my frustration got the best of me and I told him he was full of himself and that he must be living in a “horrible call world tonight.”

Then he says to me, “Are you finished?”  To which I replied, “I guess I am.”  At this point, Jay yells at me, “Marty, get out of here and go into the hall.  We need you.  Calm down.”  I knew my control issues were rising, so I took his advice, and walked towards the door.  Three steps away from the door, with my head straight down and my hands on my hips, I chuckle to myself, thinking that I really need to calm down.  Apparently, the provoking ref heard my chuckle, (no one else seemed to though) and called a double technical on me.  I was kicked out of the game.

Furious I left the room ( he wouldn’t talk to me after I made a few comments about his refing abilities) and walked in the hallways for about 15 minutes.  I had become “Angry Marty”.  I was angry.  Then I walked back into the gym, didn’t say a word, and watched as our team played well, but lost.

I guess this post was more about my shortcomings than anything.  I like competition (not a shortcoming), I like to win, and I hate to lose.  I also would (in the flesh, not the spirit) like to give the provoking referee a wedgie, but alas, he will one day be our provoking referee again, and I will need him to not try to provoke me out to the proverbial (or literal) hallway.  One lesson I learned through this however…

Angry Marty is never more productive than Level-headed Marty