Recallingthe way it was, officially

When you're a young reporter, there are two ways to make a name for yourself among area track officials.
U Write good stories about track.
U Make fun of track officials.
This is mere speculation, of course. I can't say for certain what would have happened had I chosen the first option.
When you go to as many track meets as I do, you get to know the officials. The grouchiest is Jack Betts. He plays Scrooge every year in "A Christmas Carol" and he might be overqualified. (Jim Fox isn't his understudy, but he should be.)
Steve Mariash reminds me of Walter Matthau, although I think Matthau had a friendly side.
I'm not sure how Ed Katzman got to be a track official. He's too nice.
My favorite official is Nick Gizzi. He's 75, he carries a gun (he's a starter) and he reminds me of Abe Vigoda. During relays, Gizzi will walk up to a girl who just ran the first leg and ask, "You OK? Yeah? Well, get back in line because you're running the next leg."
Gizzi yells a lot, but saying a track official yells a lot is like saying sunsets are pretty or chicken tastes good.
The only thing louder than a track official is two track officials. (I once saw a runner die as he crossed the finish line and an official disqualified him because his shirt came untucked.)
Good stories
All the officials have good stories, especially about the City Series meet. Until about 20 years ago, the City meet was the best in the area. It was also the most important in the area.
(Still seems that way when you're there.)
One year, Rayen was announced as the winning team before the boys pole vault was finished. After getting the pole vault results, Chaney was announced as the winner.
"We damn near had a riot," said one official. "Almost every one of us had a police escort home."
The old City meets were held at Rayen Stadium, which had two large grandstands and seating in the end zone. You couldn't see the runners when they went behind the end zone seating. Sometimes a runner would be in first place when he went in, and third -- or worse -- when he came out.
"You didn't know if he had fallen down or a teammate had helped the other kid or what happened," said an official. "You couldn't see."
Sometimes during distance events, the officials weren't sure that the runner who entered the grandstand was the same as the one who came out.
"It could have been different runners," said one official. "Nobody really knew."
Once, when Claude Bentley was coaching the East High girls, an East runner threw her baton in the air. Bentley looked at official Ron Scott and asked, "Are we disqualified?"
"Not yet," Scott said.
Then the baton hit the ground.
"Now you are," Scott said.
Past to future
Through the years, Rayen has dominated the league, winning 34 of the 69 boys meets since it began in 1912. (The meet hasn't run every year.) East won 10 of the 29 girls meets and Rayen won its ninth on Tuesday.
The league most likely will dissolve in a few years when Rayen and Wilson consolidate into the new East High. (Some think the new school should be called Rayen, but that's another column.) The schools will probably join a new league, and the City meet -- and its history -- will fade into memory.
But for now, it's here. And it's still special.
"I'm glad they still run it," Gizzi said. "It doesn't make any difference to me -- I don't need any more meets. But it's nice for them. It gives them a chance to see some good competition before district."
It also gives young guys like me a chance to be reminded about the league's past.
And, unfortunately for all of us, its future.
XJoe Scalzo is a sportswriter for The Vindicator. Write him at scalzo@vindy.com.