There are many ways I could write this column. I could regale you with the story of how I started officiating basketball as a young teenager, thrown onto the court, piggybacking off my father, slowly learning as I went.

Or I could explain why I stuck with it, creating a feel-good story about the relationships I built, the life lessons I gained, and the ability to stay close to the game I grew up playing.

I could even take the negative route, opening up about the challenges I’ve faced — the threats I’ve received, the angry fans who yell expletives and scream, and the intimidating coaches.

But no. My column will not consist of any of that. Instead, as an MSU intramural basketball official of two years, I’m going to take you where no other referee — at least none I’ve met — has gone before: inside the game, from my perspective.

Game Time

Like any intramural basketball game, it starts with the ball being tipped.  

No, check that – A game like this starts with mental preparation.   

I walk into the big IM East building and set down my gear on Court B, knowing fully what’s at stake: a spot in the Division I championship game. Free T-shirts are on the line ladies and gentlemen. This is not to be messed with. 

This evening, I’m officiating the Division I semifinal game between No. 2 Jared Goff’s Children (JGC) and No. 3 S&P. I’ve watched both teams play before and I know their in-game tendencies — fast and physical, a mix of shooters and ball handlers, and one post player representing each side. With this being a semifinal, I expect all facets of play to shine, bringing the energy to a maximum level.

Now that I’m mentally prepared with a scouting report in the back of my mind, it’s time for a quick wardrobe change — a striped MHSAA shirt tucked into my black pants, with polished black shoes tied as tight as possible. Physical presentation is key in the officiating world.

Now, the team meeting. Since I’m the head referee for today’s game, I take charge of explaining the rules the players have heard countless times before: no jewelry, four nine-minute quarters with a running clock, one timeout per half, yada yada yada — you get the point.

With the team meeting concluded, I give my officiating partner — an experienced official by the name of Andrew Bossler — a thumbs-up, blow my whistle and walk to center court to toss the ball up for its inaugural tip.

With the swiping of hands and the clock being chopped, the game is underway.  

To me, this is where I’m most calm. It’s like the world around me stops, and everything is silent. No screaming fans. No bickering players. No impatient coaches. Just the ball handler dribbling up the court, the players waiting for something to happen, and my partner and I positioning ourselves correctly. It's pure bliss.

Then boom — a lunge and a swipe by the defender. No contact on the ball, all hand. Without hesitation, I act, blowing my whistle and punching the sky with my forearm tight to my ear. Only thirty seconds into the game and a reach-in foul has been committed. They must’ve thought I was a madman.

Like every foul, I report it to the table, then jog down the court. From here on out, the game speeds up — at least on my end. This usually happens after the first whistle of the game is blown. It’s like I’m sucked back into reality — a reality where I have a job to complete — and my sensory details heighten more than they were before.

Yet, even with my senses heightened, it can still be hard to spot a foul. Games — no matter the level — always seem to have a run of dry-spell whistles. By that, I mean neither team is committing a foul or violation. This makes my job easier, but a little more boring.

This evening, that exact run of dry-spell whistles came early. It was a first quarter of jogging up and down the court, getting my cardio in while watching both teams make shots.

Then, after minutes of nothingness on my end, something happened. S&P’s post player took the ball from the top of the key, drove to the basket, went up for a contested shot that he missed and came crashing down onto the court. He yelled as he fell, throwing up his hands as if to say, "Foul."

Positioned correctly at lead, I watched his drive and dramatic fall, and what I saw was good defense. To him, though, it was — or felt like — a blatant foul. Later in the game, he came up to me and said, "Kaspar, I got hit in the neck. You gotta call that."

I disagreed with him but calmly explained that I could have missed the contact and that I’d keep an eye out. Like a good sport, he thanked me and walked off.

My heart used to skip a beat whenever I was called out for "missing" a call. I once considered such an accusation to be a modern-day travesty. That feeling has long since faded. I’ve learned you must be confident in what you see. Sure, things will be missed — it’s part of being an official — but with my 20/20 vision, I have to believe I don’t miss much.

Like any intramural game, the first half quickly ticks away. After an anticlimactic final offensive possession, the buzzer sounds, and I head to the scorer’s table to talk with Bossler. In those quick three minutes, we discuss what to watch for and what we can call better. I like how we’re cracking down on defensive hacking; he likes our pacing.

Both teams are chirping a little too much for our liking, and we agree to do a better job managing the talk. We understand the emotion behind a semifinal game, but crowd control is an underrated and crucial aspect of officiating. With our halftime talk wrapped up, we wish each other luck for the second half.

With a one-possession game entering the third quarter, it was evident I had to be at the top of my game. Right away, I was reminded why.

It was an obvious reach-in foul that initiated this reminder — so obvious no one questioned it. After reporting the foul, I went to the sideline to administer the ball, handing it to a JGC player. He took the ball, looked for an open man, and when he couldn’t find one, threw it off the back of the S&P player guarding the inbound. That part’s normal when avoiding a five-second violation. What’s not normal is what he did next — repeatedly throwing the ball off the same defender.

If this sounds confusing, it was.

In six years of officiating, I had never seen an inbounder repeatedly bounce the ball off a defender’s back just for fun. I had no idea what to do. The question crossed my mind: "Do I let him keep doing this, or do I put an end to it?" Technically, it wasn’t against the rules — but it could be considered unsportsmanlike. That’s when Bossler, leaving him primary, stepped in and issued a warning for unsportsmanlike behavior. Just like that, play resumed.

Looking back at the harmless incident, I’m critical of myself for letting it slide as long as I did. It was the most foolish I’ve felt on the court in a long time — but I was lucky to have a partner in my corner to help me out. That’s one of the many benefits of officiating with a partner: when you mess up, they’ve got your back. And when they mess up, you return the favor.

Later in the game, a player from S&P approached me, questioning why I didn’t issue a warning on the inbounds play. In a moment where I knew I was wrong, I apologized, explaining that I’d never seen anything like that before and froze. Like a good sport, he understood.

For the remainder of the third quarter, tensions continued to rise. Both sidelines frequently disagreed with every call we made, and players began their usual bickering. Sure, questioning a call here and there — or even outright disagreeing — is part of the game, but when the complaints become constant and disrespectful, it’s our job as officials to put an end to it. A helpful solution to cut down the disrespect: old reliable — the technical foul.

This came into effect early in the fourth quarter. Back-to-back fouls against S&P — a blocking foul and a reach-in — sent their bench into a frenzy, and disagreements again rained down from all directions. After a quick warning — met with a few words that can’t be repeated in this column — Bossler put his foot down and issued a technical foul. Instantly, order was restored, and the bickering calmed to a minimum.

With tensions still rising, this was the point in the game where I was on high alert. The game was turning into a blowout, and coming off a heated last 10 minutes, I was watching — and listening — for anything chippy or unsportsmanlike. I’ve had to break up my fair share of fights in the past, and the last thing I wanted to do tonight was pull one grown man off another because of a petty foul.

With my eyes laser-focused, I spotted a loose-ball foul, a travel and a rebounding foul — all in a two-minute span.

One of my calls during this span, however, effectively ended all hopes of an S&P comeback. With three minutes left in a 12-point game, JGC’s post player grabbed an offensive rebound, went up strong for a second-chance opportunity and was hit in the body by an airborne S&P defender.

The rules of verticality had been broken. A foul had been committed. Clear as day — no doubt about it. With confidence, I blew my whistle, the echo ringing through the gym as the ball rolled into the net. I punched my fist into the air to signal the call, counting the basket as I did so.

Instantly, S&P players threw their hands on their heads, questioning my credibility. One questioned my sanity; another questioned the call itself. I told them both, "While the defender’s hands were in good position, their body created horizontal contact with the shooter."

They, of course, did not appreciate that response.

Opposite of them was JGC, who cheered and celebrated the and-one. They knew this basket would put them far enough ahead to bleed out the clock on the following possession, and this is what they did. As the buzzer sounded signaling the long awaited end, JGC eliminated S&P 45-28, moving them onto the Division I intramural championship. 

Bossler and I were satisfied with how we managed the game. We kept the players in control, calling a fair and solid game in the process. Nothing more could be asked of a basketball official. With a handshake, we parted ways.

As I walked off Court B, heading home to write this very column, I reflected on the advice I received years ago — and realized it was right. JGC walked off loving how we called the game. S&P despised it. In a world where negative stigma toward officials will always exist, it’s a given: not everyone will be satisfied. And to me, that’s okay — because the work that I and many others do allows the great game of basketball not only to be played, but to continue to flourish.