To say that the refereeing in this year's March Madness has been awful is as much of an understatement as saying that Rebecca Black's "Friday" just isn't that bad.
From the late foul that put the nail in Pittsburgh's coffin to the five−second call that doomed Texas to not going to the monitor in the closing seconds of Washington's loss to North Carolina and every questionable charge, block and travel in between, the referees have been in the spotlight a lot more often than they would want.
But I'm not here today to talk about what the men in stripes did wrong this March; I'm here to talk about what they did right.
John Adams, the national coordinator of men's basketball officiating, could have chosen to hide from the public's eye while America rioted and called for his head (not that most of them know his name).
Instead, he has come out on national television after almost every controversial call and explained each one in detail. In some cases, such as the backcourt violation called against Scoop Jardine of Syracuse in the Round of 32, Adams has come right out and said that the call was wrong. By doing so, Adams is seemingly committing the ultimate officiating crime by throwing the referees under the bus.
But is that really the case? In truth, his honesty has seemed to have a calming effect on sports nation. Fans and pundits credit him for speaking honestly, and have let many of his refs off the hook because of it.
Sports fans often like to imagine the upper echelon of sports administration as a bunch of cigar−smoking, back−room dealers who decide the results of the games we love on a whim. Instances like referee Tim Donaghy fixing NBA games and the NFL owners refusing to open their books to the public in recent negotiations have only furthered this idea in the minds of fans.
Adams' accountability has been a welcome respite to this apparent greater−than−thou attitude. Sports fans understand better than anyone that mistakes are made. New Yorkers suffered through the Miracle at the Meadowlands, Bostonians suffered through Bill Buckner and Chicagoans suffered through the Bartman ball (OK, maybe they weren't so accepting of that one). Regardless, fans don't need anyone to be perfect; they just want people to own up to their mistakes.
This has held true throughout the sports world. Last summer, umpire Jim Joyce made a horrendous call that had a much greater effect on history than an early−round NCAA Tournament game. He robbed Armando Galarraga of a perfect game and baseball immortality.
But after seeing the replay, Joyce immediately admitted to his mistake. He apologized to Galarraga and the fans, and for the most part, his mistake was wholeheartedly accepted. In fact, Joyce and Galarraga are even planning to write a book about the incident together.
Not only can officials benefit from this type of accountability, but players can as well. Look at Andy Pettitte, who retired this year as one of the most−liked players in Major League Baseball. In an informal survey of the three friends I happen to be texting right now, none of them listed him as one of the top five athletes they associate with steroids.
Why? Unlike McGwire, Bonds, Sosa or Clemens, he owned up to it immediately after being accused and moved on with his life. There was no Congress trial, no "no habla ingles." Just a press conference and a few minutes of honesty.
Since ESPN became TMZ and Twitter brought us closer to athletes than we ever needed to be, players and referees alike have done all they can to protect their reputations and shield us from their misdeeds. But maybe, when it comes down to it, Col. Nathan Jessep had it wrong. Maybe sports fans can handle the truth.
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