Track rules put strict in district

Over the past two years, area track officials have taken a lot of abuse from journalists (i.e., me) about the myriad (i.e., ridiculous) rules that surround (i.e., ruin) track.
Maybe that's unfair. Maybe the problem isn't the rules. Maybe it's just that people don't understand their value.
So, as a public service, I'm going to try to clear up some of those misconceptions.
Let's say a guy named Anthony is getting ready for today's district track meet. He's spent the past two months training every day, lifting weights, running, working on his mental and his physical approach. He's listened to the officials. He's listened to his coaches. He's even studied the rule book.
And, because Anthony took the time to prepare himself, he will get to today's meet, win four events and start preparing for the regional meet.
Just kidding. Anthony, like all other athletes this week, will be disqualified in at least two events for wearing (pick one) an untucked shirt, boxers that stick out from his shorts, a rubber band on his wrist or jumping off two feet during the high jump.
Rules are rules
It's a proven fact that no high school athletes actually advance to the state meet. About 90 percent get disqualified and the other 10 percent get shot by area track official Nick Gizzi, who sometimes forgets to use blanks in his starter pistol. (Just kidding.)
Believe it or not, only track officials and sportswriters actually compete at state. I actually won three events last year (the 100, 200 and 400) before my 4x400 relay was disqualified because our shoelaces were too long.
Just kidding. It was because one of my teammates wore gloves.
But I'm not going to complain. I'll let the officials do it.
"They've taken the fun out of track," said area official Ed Katzman. "Sometimes I feel like a policeman."
Katzman, who is much nicer (and quieter) than most track officials, doesn't necessarily agree with all the rules, but that's not his job.
"I just enforce them," he said with a shrug.
Ron Scott, another area track official, spends hours before every season traveling to different schools explaining the rules. He asks every athlete one question: What's the most important thing to bring to a track meet?
"Your ears," he says.
Just don't put anything in them. Earrings aren't allowed.
Got a navel ring? That's a DQ. Got bobby pins in your hair? That's a DQ. Got a medical chain or a religious ornament? Better tape it to your body. If you don't, it's a DQ.
Watch out
Every year the rule book gets longer -- and more specific. And where do these rules come from? The National Federation of State High School Associations in Kansas City. According to area track official Steve Mariash, federation executives "sit on their big fat [posteriors], make up new rules and expect us to enforce them."
At the Federal League meet, a winning sprinter from McKinley was disqualified for taking the scrunchie out of her hair and wearing it on her wrist. A few years ago, a girl in Cleveland set a state record only to be disqualified because the lettering from her T-shirt was visible through her jersey.
"I just had a kid disqualified for having sailboats on his boxers," said Boardman track coach Dave Pavlansky. "I'm not saying it's a bad rule. I just thought it was a funny DQ."
That's not all coaches have to worry about, either. They're also supposed to submit all their competitors' names by noon on meet day. And you can't change entries unless a runner gets sick or injured.
"You've gotta be clairvoyant," Pavlansky said. "And you've gotta be a liar. You have to say people get sick."
If it seems like a lot of rules, don't worry. Track officials are always ready to help answer any question you might have. But if you're gonna talk to them, you have to speak their language, which is shouting.
Instead of asking, "Is this uniform acceptable?" you should ask, "IS THIS UNIFORM ACCEPTABLE?"
And if it isn't, don't look for any sympathy from me. I've got three state titles to defend.
XJoe Scalzo is a sportswriter for The Vindicator. Write to him at scalzo@vindy.com.