Upon further review, it was a rough Sunday for NFL refs

Throughout most of my newspaper sports writing career, I tried to steer clear of criticizing officials. It’s a hard knock life for a ref (instead of kisses, they get kicked), and I didn’t want to add to their misery.

Scott Adamson’s sports column appears pretty much whenever he feels like writing it.

But good lort … this might’ve been the worst season yet for NFL stripes, and they certainly put their worst foot forward in last Sunday’s NFC Championship Game.

The hot take in the Los Angeles Rams’ 26-23 overtime victory over the New Orleans Saints, of course, is to be outraged about the non-call that will live in infamy.

You know the story.

L.A. corner Nickell Robey-Coleman made a crushing, helmet-to-helmet hit on New Orleans receiver Tommylee Lewis long before Drew Brees’ pass got to him inside the 5-yard line.

The combo of pass interference and helmet-to-helmet contact made it the most obvious penalty since the first yellow flag was stitched. Hell, it could’ve been seen from the international space station.

Inexplicably, though, the NFL officiating crew didn’t see it – or at least didn’t call it.

Had they done so, the Saints would’ve had first-and-goal with under two minutes to go.

They would’ve eaten the clock, most likely kicking a chip shot field goal on the final snap. Or maybe a plunge up the middle would’ve turned a conservative call into a touchdown.

Either way, their chances of winning the game would’ve been in the upper 90 percentile.

Instead, they had to settle for three (the no-call set up fourth and 10 from the 13), and the Rams were left with enough time to march downfield and tie things up in regulation.

That set the stage for Greg Zuerlein’s game-winning 57-yard field goal, although Saints faithful will always believe they were jobbed and robbed and I’d feel the same way if I were them.

But …

If we’re going to blame the officials – and they deserve a lot of blame – let’s go all in. This crew was horrible all day long and made more than one potential game-changing blunder. One just happened to occur in the waning minutes of the game, magnifying it that much more.

For example, one no-call resulted in a New Orleans touchdown and another probably denied L.A. one of its own.

The Saints scored on a second-and-goal play in the third quarter to go up 20-10, even though the play clock clearly hit double zeroes before the snap.

Had the flag been thrown, New Orleans would’ve faced a second and goal from the seven.

They might’ve still scored a TD, but it would’ve been more difficult.

And in the fourth quarter – with his squad trailing 20-17 – Rams QB Jared Goff scrambled on a third down play and was pulled down by his facemask. If the official makes the call, L.A. has first and goal at the 1 but instead had to settle for a field goal.

A touchdown would’ve put the Rams ahead 24-20, and the Saints would’ve been forced to score a TD to regain the lead.

But none of those things happened, and now we’re left to debate all the might-have-beens.

And in the interest of equal time, the crew in the AFC Championship Game had their shaky moments in New England’s 37-31 O.T. conquest of Kansas City.

I’m not sure there’ll ever be consensus on Julian Edelman’s muffed punt return, although I tend to think overturning that ruling was the correct decision

My favorite penalty call, however, was the roughing-the-passer flag against K.C.’s Chris Jones.

People have applied Vicks VapoRub with more force than Jones used against Tom Brady.

So what’s the solution?

The quick answer is to at least make pass interference reviewable since it tends to the infraction that’s frequently the most “iffy.” For that to happen, the NFL competition committee would need to put it on the table and 24 of the 32 league owners have to approve it.

You can count Saints owner Gayle Benson as an “aye” vote there.

But if and when that happens, a game that is becoming increasingly lengthy will grow longer still.

When first introduced, I thought video replay reviews would be a great addition to the game.

I’m not sure I believe that anymore.

I’ll never understand how officials can pore over a replay like they’re examining the Zapruder film, yet still get the call wrong. But they do, and now games that used to run at a crisp two hours and 45 minutes are dragging on well past three hours.

Throw interference flag reviews into the mix – even something as obvious as Sunday’s no-call – and you’ll add more down time to the NFL “experience.”

Here’s an idea: look to Canadian Football League officials for guidance. After all, the leagues already have an exchange program where NFL refs work early season CFL games and CFL refs “intern” at NFL mini-camps and clinics.

CFL contests – on average – clock in at well under three hours, and the refs have a whole lot more to look at.

Not only are all backs and receivers (other than the quarterback) allowed in motion toward the line of scrimmage, there are 12 players to a side on a 65-yard wide, 110-yard long field and you can even attempt an onside punt, for heaven’s sake.

Oh yeah – coaches are allowed to challenge interference calls and when refs review plays, they don’t screw around.

Obviously CFL officials make mistakes, too, and I won’t deny I tend to view football things through Maple Leaf-colored glasses.

Still, that league’s video replay era seems to be marked by much less error.

Whatever the case, here’s hoping NFL officials will get their act together and be able to end the season on a high note in the Super Bowl.

After all, the best way for refs to be remembered is to not be remembered at all.

Those last 1.6 pounds are weighing on me

Today, the scale reads 161.6 pounds.

Brain Farce is a humor column written by Scott Adamson. It comes out basically whenever he feels like writing it. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl

Last week, the scale read 161.6 pounds.

Late last month, the scale read 161.6 pounds.

Is that good?

Yeah, sorta.

My original goal was 170, which I hit with no problem. Then I readjusted it to 165, which took a little work, but wasn’t that big a challenge.

Finally, I decided I wanted to tip the scales at 160, because with my height (5-9) and build (like a chimpanzee), 160 is considered my ideal weight.

First, however, I owe you a backstory.

Last summer – after spending several years as a healthy eater and averaging 163 pounds – I fell in with the wrong crowd and by “wrong crowd” I mean delicious food.

I certainly wasn’t going hungry before then, and I enjoyed what I ate for the most part.

I stayed away from candy, cakes, pies and ice cream, and ate quite a bit of fruit. Thing is, after you steer clear of “evil” food for a while, you forget about it.

But one day – I don’t really recall when – I was in a bakery-heavy grocery store when I heard a box of lemon squares call out to me.

Not wanting to be rude, I walked toward them to find out what they wanted and, it turns out, they wanted me to eat ‘em.

So I did.

I figured having a tasty dessert once in a while wouldn’t do any harm and, lord, these things are good. I’m not sure what’s in them, but they weigh about 75 pounds apiece and are covered in confectioners sugar.

After eating one you’re compelled to eat another (they come four to a box) and by the time you finish you look like Tony Montana in “Scarface” – right after he’s snorted the pile of coke off his desk.

I haven’t checked, but I’m guessing a four pack of lemon squares is about, oh, 6,000 calories.

But damn, they’re good.

Yet if that had been the end of it, I would’ve been OK. I could’ve looked at it like someone who went on a weekend bender but then straightened out after a couple days of detox.

But I was kidding myself because lemon squares are a gateway dessert and the gates flew wide-ass open.

A day later I was back at another grocery store, this time coveting strawberry cake with cream cheese icing.

Placed in an environmentally unfriendly plastic container, its label clearly stated that this one hunk of cake was 930 calories.

You know how long it took me to eat it?

Three minutes. I know because I was looking at the clock in my car while I ate it.

Chewing started at 11:47 a.m., chewing ended at 11:50 a.m.

And soon, the urge to eat like I was Scooby Doo and Shaggy overtook me.

I started buying two boxes of lemon squares and multiple pieces of strawberry cake.

Pop-Tarts returned to the rotation, and I’m talking the cherry frosted kind.

Did you know you can put a big ol’ slab of butter on a Pop-Tart and heat it in the oven?

You can, and I did.

But it wasn’t just sweets. My insatiable desire for Satan’s Snacks extended to big bags of mixed nuts and giant wedges of cheese – the large kind used to lure wharf rats.

A body built to carry 165 pounds was now hauling close to 190, and I began to look like a pregnant, mutant chimp.

We come in all different shapes and sizes, and some people look good with extra weight, but I’m not one of those people.

The lowest point came when I was lounging on the futon eating Lay’s potato chips and I could see my blurred reflection in the TV screen.

Had Princess Leia been at my feet, I would’ve sworn I was staring at Jabba The Hutt.

So Scotty The Hutt decided he had to get back in shape.

My wife got a FitBit for me so I could track calories and chart exercise, and that set the wheels in motion.

I went cold turkey on the lemon squares and strawberry cake.

I made it my mission to run, walk or crawl at least five miles every day.

And the grand prize at the end was hitting 160.

As I said, most of the pounds came off rather quickly and that inspired me to keep chasing my ultimate goal. Once I reached 165, my wife told me I should quit because I was looking too thin.

But we Adamsons aren’t quitters (unless we’re scared, hurt, under the weather, or know we’re beat,), so I was bound and determined to reach 160.0 so I could put the FitBit on maintenance mode and dance in the end zone.

But …

I can’t lose these last 1.6 pounds. Each day I eat less than the amount of calories I’m allowed, yet the scale won’t go any lower.

Each Friday I’m confident I’ve finally hit my goal, but all I can get is close – tantalizingly close.

Still, I continue to keep my eyes on the prize, and know in my heart that one day I’ll reach the magic number and it’ll be cause for a major celebration.

I probably shouldn’t celebrate with lemon squares, though.

Then again, 170 was my original goal, so ….

 

 

Once again, Chattanooga FC leads the way

Chattanooga Football Club has been the Scenic City’s soccer team since 2009.

Scott Adamson’s column on soccer appears periodically, usually when he’s feeling especially soccerish.

As of January 17, 2019, it can be your team, too.

CFC’s world got a whole lot bigger – and American soccer got a whole lot better – when the club introduced supporter ownership on Thursday. Eight thousand shares will be sold, giving a turbo boost to the team’s evolution from elite amateurs to a founding member of the National Premier Soccer League’s professional division.

“The American sports landscape is dominated by a relatively small group of very wealthy owners,” club co-founder and chairman Tim Kelly said during the announcement. “We feel this could be a real game-changer to connect communities across the country with teams they love in a deep and meaningful way. Teams leave cities because their objective is not to serve the community, but to maximize profit. By offering our fans ownership and re-organizing as a public benefit corporation, we are permanently committing ourselves to Chattanooga.

“We love this city and will never leave it.”

If you believe in grassroots soccer – if you want to see what it can become – you have to believe this is the best possible move. Instead of an ownership group parachuting into town with a franchise hoping you’ll buy into their vision, a group of people can, quite literally, buy into a club.

Fortunately for football fanatics in Chattanooga and beyond, that club was already there, one that has drawn more than 350,000 supporters since its inception.

This marks the first time an American sports team has “gone public” since the securities reform laws were passed in 2016, allowing these types of investments.

But perhaps even more importantly it lays the foundation for other clubs to do the same.

Instead of big box soccer franchises run by wealthy owners or ownership groups, now there exists a legitimate opportunity for communities to invest in soccer and make it as big as they want it to be.

“This is a great example of (Chattanooga’s) way of coming together and creating a new style of football club,” Chattanooga Mayor Andy Berke said. “This is another way for us to democratize something that people think of as something for only super wealthy people, to own a sports team. You look at the people who own an NFL team or an NBA team, I’m not talking about if they’re great or terrible people but to do that, you have to be super wealthy.

“This is a chance for us to show a different path for ownership.”

Thursday’s bombshell is not only huge news for Chattanooga, but gives a nice boost to the NPSL as well. Once the “traditional” league season ends late this summer, the NPSL Founders Cup competition – featuring the organization’s fledgling pro squads – will run from August to November, 2019.

The 11 founding members are ASC San Diego, Cal FC, California United Strikers FC, Chattanooga FC, FC Arizona, Detroit City FC, Miami FC, Miami United FC, Milwaukee Torrent, New York Cosmos and Oakland Roots, and I truly hope as many clubs as possible will follow CFC’s lead.

In fact, I hope January 17, 2019, will one day be remembered as the date that forever changed the landscape of American soccer – making it bolder and brighter.

If that’s the case, I guess it makes sense that a club in the Scenic City was at the forefront of the movement.

Investment opportunities can be found at wefunder.com/chattanoogafc.