Basketball coaches were by far the most entertaining group. They were almost without exception highly intelligent motivators and communicators. Many had a wicked sense of humor.

They could recall moves with amazing clarity, faithfully recite a long list of game statistics, and then provide me with plenty of useful information to develop a storyline for their game, whether they won or lost.

Bob Uszacki was by far my favorite. He would call and introduce himself as “Bob Uszacki from Dunkirk”, I laugh at the hackneyed references my coworkers make to him when they write about his team at Lake Shore Central.

Other favorites included Jeff Franze and John Murgatroyd in Brocton, Tom Herring in Forestville, Rick Anderson and Mike Cummings in Mayville, Mike Tramuta in Dunkirk, Roger Moore in Fredonia, Al Carpenter in Cassadaga, Jim Emerson in Lake Shore, Dick Girst in Pine Valley and Curt Raymond in Silver Creek.

Mike Mangano

Six years into my career as a sportswriter, I decided to try my hand at refereeing basketball and took an intensive course run by legendary local referee interpreter Roger MacTavish, which included nine three-hour classes at Jamestown Community College and counted toward college tuition.

There was a classroom test, judged by a handful of board members, which not everyone passed, and a practical exam, which MacTavish administered. As chairman of the International Association of Approved Basketball Officials Candidate Examination Committee, he was personally involved in creating the 50-question puzzle. Roger held that position for decades and was eventually honored by the IAABO as a lifetime member. The group even dedicated one of its annual handbooks to him.

After an incredible 66 years as a whistleblower, he sadly passed away last year at the age of 89.

Thanks to his instructions, I was able to referee games involving the coaches, who had each called me dozens of times to report on their games and chat with me.

That’s when I realized that these guys were stingy with compliments. Even when I did get one, it often came with a reservation.

Dick Prince

Take the aforementioned Curt Raymond. Curt was, shall we say, temperamental. He once threatened me and my photographer after a series of photos were published documenting his theatrical performances on the sidelines. He promised to stick something in an inconvenient place if he was ever the subject of a photo again. Fine. He wanted the focus to be on his players, not him. We spoke briefly about our precious freedom of the press, but then we thoughtfully and confidently complied with his request.

Curt’s volatile and animated personality often clashed with the referees who officiated his games. He regularly received technical fouls and was a frequent topic of discussion at board meetings.

When he allegedly compared the skills of veteran referee and legendary Jamestown High School football coach Wally Huckno with the giggling “No, definitely not!” At a meeting to select referees for the playoff games, he did not make himself particularly popular with many board members.

After a few seasons, when I was promoted to the varsity team, I was given a job at Silver Creek.

When Curt was on the pitch for the first time, he put his hands over his mouth and shouted at me: “Hammond, I always knew you would be a good basketball referee!”

Bob Uszacki

When I turned to him, smiled and nodded appreciatively, he threw me a “BOY, WAS I WRONG!”

Do you understand what I mean by compliments? There is more.

Another time, I drove through a snowstorm to work a middle school game in Brocton. My partner couldn’t make it from Jamestown.

In the middle of the game, I called a foul on a Brocton player who was attempting a layup. The culprit was furious at my decision and his coach immediately called a timeout.

Coach Dick Prince then admonished the angry player and explained how lucky they were to have a referee at all, given the weather, and that from now on he would be the one to speak to any whistleblowers.

Curt Raymond

The only fans in the gym were parents and family members who crowded into the rows behind him, hanging on his every word. That’s how good he was. He was extremely quotable.

Be that as it may, when he had finished his glowing appreciation of my work, the humiliated player was still stubbornly skeptical. “But I didn’t foul him,” he moaned.

Dick raised his voice clearly and answered: “You fouled him, you fouled him, YOU FOULD HIM!”

Then, after a dramatic pause, he criticized me with the sarcastic remark: “Right after he traveled!”

Finally, a junior varsity appearance at Frewsburg reconnected me with Silver Creek Central alumnus standout Mike Mangano. Mike was my mentor during my freshman year of Grape Belt League Baseball when we played for the legendary Sheridan Pablos.

As a 14-year-old, I was completely overwhelmed by the whole thing and had a lot of respect for older teammates like Mike’s big brother Rich, who had played in the backfield on Alabama’s freshman football team alongside quarterback Joe Namath.

Also in the squad were Pat “Hot dog” Paris, “Black John” Christopher, so named for his lack of color in his wardrobe, my talented Cardinal Mindszenty teammates Ed Ransford and Dan Wolfe, and junkballing pitcher Tom Everett. Quite a memorable group.

But back to Frewsburg coach Mike Mangano. I called a foul on one of his players 2 seconds after the opening tip and the culprit quietly told me: “You’re a fucking bastard.”

One technical foul later, I explained to Coach Mike the reason for the decision and after looking at the clock, he was told: “You’re absolutely right, Bill. That was the right decision.”

Then came the kick. “Two seconds isn’t nearly enough time to know you’re a fucking asshole.”

As I said, coaches, at least the smart and funny ones I knew, threw compliments around like manhole covers. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Bill Hammond is a former sports editor of the EVENING OBSERVER.