Making the Call : Officiating a High School Game is a Tough Job, but Those Who do it Find it to Be a Rewarding One

It is a thankless job.

The only people who pat them on the back are their own kind. Frankly, they’re not supposed to wait around long enough to hear what everyone thinks.

The horn sounds, the game is over, and the sprint to the locker room begins. Try to beat the crowd.

Officials. The best are never noticed. The worst are.

About 60% of those who sign up in Orange County to become high school football officials don’t return for a second year. Attrition grows in the third year.

They are scorned by unhappy fans, rarely praised even by happy coaches. But today is National Officials’ Day, according to the National Federation of State High School Assns. So cut them some slack this week.

The Man

His name is Speed Castillo, and it’s believed that he’s the only person in Orange County who calls Gary McKnight “Spanky” and gets away with it. Perhaps that’s the privilege of officiating for 44 years and having your name become synonymous with officiating.

Castillo, 65, is the oldest White Hat--that’s what officials call the referee--in the Orange County Football Officials Assn. He’s got Larry Arason by three months.

Castillo--”the name’s Speed, not Speedy”--officiates football and basketball. He is the Orange County liaison for the Southern Section, is the schedule coordinator for all the sports requiring an official, and belongs to the Athletic Directors Assn. He resigned last year as the basketball instructional chairman after 21 years.

“I think Speedy will be a legend in Orange County,” said Pat Backus, an official of 35 years. “I don’t know anyone in Orange County sports who doesn’t know Speedy Castillo.”

Castillo admits he has lost a step and has only “another year or two” before giving way to the next generation.

Until then, he will continue to be The Man, the one guy about whom most everyone has a story to tell.

Too many stories to tell.

Suffice it to say there are two awards on the walls of his Anaheim home. One plaque is in jest, from the “Fun Football Officials,” and it cites the Brea Olinda-Sonora game Sept. 29, 1989, when all hell broke loose; it is given in recognition “where he single-handedly managed to turn a couple of minor penalties into a full-scale riot.”

“Something happened and people started running onto the field,” Castillo said. “We just sat back and took names and numbers. When it cleared, I put my foot on the ball and said, ‘Game’s over.’ ”

The other plaque on the wall is the John McDonough Memorial Sportsmanship Award, and it’s totally serious. It is given to the most recognized official of the year by the Orange County Football Assn.

“There are,” Castillo said, “only about 10 of those in the county.”

He has, perhaps, done more for officials in Orange County than any other person.

And he speaks for an entire profession that is often misunderstood.

“We don’t want to screw up. We don’t want to make any mistakes. The last thing we want to do is cause a team to lose the game, or yards or time,” he said. “We want to make sure we give them a fair shake. You react to color [of the uniform]; you don’t have time to be on the take. If you’re that kind of guy, you’re gone.”

Most officials aren’t in it for the money. Castillo, for being the referee, gets $51; the other four members of his crew--umpire Rich Maragni, head linesman Armando Amaro, side judge Mike Brody, back judge Dave Newby--get $49 for a varsity football game.

El Toro Coach Mike Milner, penalized 15 yards for unsportsmanlike conduct for the first time in his 26-year career in Friday’s 24-15 victory over Newport Harbor, said, “You couldn’t pay me enough money to be a football official.”

“It’s a demanding job and it’s a thankless job because you’re always going to catch heat from one sideline or the other,” he said. “You might officiate, mechanically, a perfect game and chances are you’ll catch heat.”

There are Orange County high school officials who are making as much as $200,000 annually, who don’t need to put up with the aggravation, who are respected in their fields.

“You go out, get a pizza and a beer, and when you get home, you have about 15 bucks,” Castillo said. “That’s the name of the game. The guys do it for the fun.”

That refrain is almost universal among the ranks.

Hats, Pants and Other Forgotten Things

Officials are human, too, but they don’t have memories like elephants.

* Officials always pack two of everything, but Backus forgot to pack a second hat one time--about 12 years ago. So he grabbed the hat that had been left in his bag previously and put it on. His crew mates noticed something unusual about the hat, and they prepped one of the players to nail Backus good.

So when officials and team captains met before the game, Backus asked, “OK gentlemen, are there any other questions?”

“I have a question,” said one captain.

“What is it?”

“Why do you have that green rim around your hat?”

Recalled Backus: “It had been in the bag so long, it had algae on it.”

* Jim Patterson, who has been officiating 35 years, was the referee at Santa Ana Stadium one night several years ago. Twenty minutes before the game, he discovered he didn’t have his pants.

He told the guys to take care of all the preliminaries.

“They said there was no way I was going to make it because I lived in Anaheim over by Loara High,” Patterson said. “Well, I hit every green light going, and I dressed in the car on my way back.”

The rest of the crew set up to call the game with a four-man scheme. The teams were lined up when Patterson appeared in the end zone and blew his whistle to OK the kickoff.

“It was,” said head linesman Nick Fuscardo, “the most unbelievable timing.”

Said Patterson: “I haven’t forgotten my pants since.”

* Fran Ursini, who has officiated 29 years, walked to the middle of the field with the captains and realized he forgot his coin. None of the other officials had a coin, either. So Ursini improvised.

“OK,” he said, “pick a number between 1 and 10.”

* Fuscardo, an official of 17 years, is the baseball coach at Fullerton College. One night he got run over in a playoff game. Stunned, he looked at his arm, which was dislocated at the elbow.

“I’m supposed to throw batting practice tomorrow,” Fuscardo yelled. “Oh, it’s my left arm. I’m OK.”

The Watering Hole

One night after the lights went out in the middle of a game at Irvine, and the game officials said they couldn’t work the next morning (when the game was scheduled to be completed), University Coach Mark Cunningham went to the Newport Rib Company. There, at 10 p.m., the resourceful Cunningham found a crew.

The restaurant is owned by Ursini, and many officials gather there after their Friday games and look for themselves on TV on a local prep sports show.

“When I got there, I was desperate,” Cunningham said. “I said, ‘Is there anybody available to work?’ Two guys raised their hands. I said, ‘It’s only for a half but I’ll give you full pay.’ Then the other hands went up.”

Knowing where the officials hang out can come in handy for other reasons.

Said Ursini: “Some coaches will call the rib company and ask about different ball games, ask for scouting reports.”

Lines, Not Hashmarks

Even the refs can appreciate a clever putdown.

* Backus: “I was doing a Saturday morning game and there was a guy with a dog on the sidelines. Someone yelled, ‘Why don’t you let the dog call a few.’ It made me mad at the time, but I had to chuckle.”

* Backus: “We used to wear numbers, and they gave them out in alphabetical order, and I was No. 2. And as we were running off the field, one of the coaches yelled at me, ‘You’ll never be No. 1.’ We don’t wear numbers anymore.”

* Fuscardo: “You don’t hear a whole lot, but toward the end zone, there was a guy in the stands, and he said ‘Hey Ref,’ about 10 times. After the team scored, I looked up to see this guy. He said, ‘Hey Ref, can you hear me? I hope so, because I know you can’t see me.’ ”

Purple Heart

Rod Ammari was working a three-man crew on a lower-level game once. A Mater Dei freshman plowed him over on the first play, and Ammari suffered a dislocated shoulder.

“The next play was an 80-yard touchdown run that I had to run alongside the kid--attempt to, anyway--with this arm dangling and signal touchdown with this dislocated shoulder,” Ammari said. “After the touchdown and between the kickoff, the Mater Dei trainer helped me put my shoulder back in place.

“It slipped out later in the game and I had to put it in myself. I’ve had a history of shoulder trouble, which is why it was no big deal to put it back in and finish reffing.”

They Have Feelings, Too

Ammari works for the U.S. Treasury Dept., carries a gun to work and has to deal with some pretty shady characters. He was genuinely touched by Ocean View’s 20-12 victory over Santa Ana, which ended its state-record 36-game losing streak.

“One team was 1-6 and the other was 0-7, and it was probably the best game I did last year,” he said. “There was a lot of emotion out there, and that win meant more to Ocean View than league championships do for some teams.

“I had done Ocean View games before, and they had given up 50 points and hadn’t come close to scoring. The natural reaction after a game is to sprint off the field. But all five of us officials, we just backed off, watching the celebration.”

Ammari, 27, is not so far removed from high school that he can’t relate to what’s going on on the field.

“It’s not the money--I’d do it for free if they just needed people to do it,” he said. “Every game is a big game. You’ve got 80 kids out there who have worked Monday through Thursday. To them, it’s a big deal. Having played myself [at Pacifica], all those games stay with you forever.

“Those Ocean View kids will be talking about that game for 15 years.”