Invisible Man : That’s an NFL Official--Till He Drops That Yellow Flag

As he walked the endline at Jack Murphy Stadium in San Diego, Gordon Wells waited for the buzz from a wireless receiver strapped to his back. It was half an hour before the start of last week’s National Football League preseason game between the Chargers and the visiting Phoenix Cardinals, and Wells, an NFL official, was testing his equipment.

When the buzz from the replay booth in the press box finally came, Wells placed his hand over a tiny earplug taped to his neck.

“Yes, I heard it,” the physical education chairman at Harbor College shouted into a small black receiver under his collar. Earlier, Wells had apologized for speaking loudly: “I get used to hollering when this is on because I can’t hear. I can see why deaf people have to holler.”

Wells will be back at his umpire position again Monday night in the NFL regular-season opener between the Washington Redskins and the New York Giants. But not until the 18-year veteran throws his first yellow flag--most likely on a holding call--will the capacity crowd at RFK Stadium, and a national TV audience, take a good look at No. 89 in the black-and-white-striped shirt.

The crowd will be unaware that he rose before dawn this morning at his Huntington Beach home, drove to Los Angeles International Airport and caught a 7 a.m. flight to the nation’s capital. Tonight and all day Monday he will sit in lengthy meetings and be tested on NFL rules. Surrounded by the other six men on the crew, he’ll view films of the San Diego-Phoenix game and be critiqued by NFL personnel. It’s a ritual NFL officials go through every weekend.

“The average person thinks we just walk into the stadium and let the chips fall where they may,” Wells said. “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

In San Diego, Wells, an umpire, might as well have been invisible to the crowd of about 30,000 as he strode the field before game time. On a tepid night, the fans were more interested in nachos, beer and new quarterback Jim McMahon, warming up at the Charger 30-yard line.

Wells has handled two Super Bowls and 16 postseason games in his career. He is third in longevity among the league’s umpires.

But even at 6-feet-2 and 215 pounds, he is dwarfed by today’s professional linemen. Unless he drops that flag, an umpire--who is paid anywhere from $600 to $2,000 a game, depending on longevity, plus expenses--isn’t the easiest NFL official to spot.

Wells begins each play about 5 1/2 yards off the line of scrimmage, somewhere between the linebackers and defensive backs.

“We’re right in the middle of everything,” Wells said. “We are reading keys. “We are (watching) the guard and center. We have to know where they are going in case we need to get out of the way. If you blow it, you find yourself right in the middle of a play.”

At Jack Murphy Stadium, Wells displayed quick feet. He juked, sidestepped, faded and danced while looking for important penalties such as offensive holding and false starts.

It pays to be alert, he said. “On a draw play, your entire life goes before your eyes.”

Because he is watching linemen, Wells rarely sees the completion of a play.

“I signal it’s a touchdown maybe two or three times in a season. The ball has to be right at my feet,” he explained.

In one well-known incident in last year’s Super Bowl, the ball landed on Wells’ feet, and so did just about everyone else. Early in the game he was trapped between players in a misdirection play at the San Francisco goal line. TV replays showed him being buried underneath a heap of shoulder pads.

The impact cracked a small bone in Wells’ foot, but he continued to work, eventually to make the most important call of the game: on veteran 49er center Randy Cross for illegally blocking downfield.

Slightly more than a minute remained in the game, and San Francisco, which went on to beat Cincinnati, 20-16, was marching for its winning touchdown. Cross’ error nullified a huge 49er gain. As Wells marked off the penalty yardage, TV cameras showed quarterback Joe Montana seething and Cross, who was playing in the final game of an otherwise outstanding career, sulking.

“(The umpire) is in a precarious place,” Wells said. “You’re dodging players all the time. You do it by feel. If you have to look around for these guys, you might as well retire. You learn the value of preparedness.”

Watching Wells in the San Diego-Phoenix game last week provided insights into parts of the game spectators do not see. The NFL does not allow officials to be interviewed during the season, but situations are not as intense during the preseason, Wells said, and players’ emotions not always high. Generally, officials have less responsibility in practice games, although the NFL insists that they follow a regular pregame routine.

After a day of meetings, officials arrive at the stadium two hours before kickoff. As they dress, sometimes in cramped quarters, people keep knocking on the door. Crew chief Dick Hantak, the referee, meets with radio and TV announcers and discusses TV timeouts with producers. TV employees, called “Orange Sleeves” because they wear brightly colored bands on their arms, join in the discussions. It is their job to signal the officials from the sidelines when it is time for a station break or commercial.

“The whole thing is basically scripted,” Wells explained of the game format. “Everything is planned out before the game begins.”

Wells dresses, making sure the replay device is firmly in place. Half an hour before the game begins, all exit: Wells, Hantak, head linesman Tom Johnson, line judge Don Carlsen, back judge Paul Baetz, side judge Gary Lane and field judge Ed Merrifield. Each will patrol a different area of the stadium.

Some go to the locker rooms. The rest go onto the field. Wells walks the length of the stadium, eyeing each player. He is primarily responsible for getting the 24 game balls to the field and checking for equipment violations.

Wells spots two Charger players with towels that do not meet NFL regulations. He informs them that a towel cannot be more than 12 inches long and can be worn only tucked into the side of the pants. The players, both rookies, ask if he is joking. Wells, with a firm smile, tells them he is serious.

“Lots of young guys, the first thing they think is that we’re putting them on,” he says.

Wells is handed a card from the Phoenix trainer. It lists unusual medical equipment being worn, such as casts. Wells must check each cast.

“Usually it’s the linemen with casts,” he explains. “They can play with casts, but we have a speech to give to each of them that says they can’t use it as a weapon.”

At midfield, Wells questions a Charger lineman whose socks may not meet NFL standards. Only one pair of socks is allowed, and socks cannot droop. Later, he’ll inspect the kickers’ shoes, which are not allowed to be altered or taped.

Wells is amiable throughout the routine, plying his trade with a grin.

“Yo, official,” shouts one of the rookie towel offenders. ‘This OK?” He points to a shorter towel on his hip. Wells nods approval.

Wells returns to the locker room briefly, re-entering the stadium just before the game begins.

He hands a brown bag of balls to a teen-age ball boy, saying: “They’re all yours, my friend.”

It is an uneventful game for Wells, known around the league as “a solid, dependable umpire,” according to NFL Supervisor of Officials Art McNally. Eyes constantly roaming, Wells detects his first violation--an illegal chop block--at the 13:35 mark of the second quarter.

“The instant your concentration level wanes, that’s when something odd happens,” he says later.

In all, he whistles just five penalties in the game. He warns one player about his use of hands and tells another to straighten his towel, which is in the front of his pants. There is only one replay dispute.

Down 17-7, San Diego rallies to win, 21-20, on the final play of the game. A victory cannon sounds, and fans cheer the Chargers, who are whooping it up on the field.

Wells walks slowly off the field with Hantak at his side. They disappear through a door and up a tunnel under the seats. Wells takes a long drink from a water cooler. Muffled cheers can still be heard outside.

He turns and smiles. “About 15 minutes, guys,” he says to a couple of NFL employees.

In the locker room the crew fills out yellow cards detailing each foul called. The cards will be rushed to the NFL’s New York headquarters to be compared to the game films and coaches’ comment cards.

By the time Wells arrives in Washington later this afternoon, that information, along with the films, will have been used to grade his performance.

At the end of the regular season, the officials rated best at each of the seven positions on the field will be awarded Super Bowl duty, a $7,500 bonus. Last year, four members of Wells’ crew worked the Super Bowl.

In a coat and tie, finishing a sandwich as he leaves Jack Murphy Stadium, Wells is tired. Most of the crowd has left the parking lot, although about a hundred autograph seekers mill around the tunnel where the officiating crew exits. The fans pay little attention to the men, who are escorted to their automobiles.

“Usually after a game we’re all scrambling to catch late flights out of town,” Wells says. “We don’t have a lot of time to talk.”

On this night, Wells can drive home, but first he drops off some of the crew members at their hotel. They’ll leave in the morning by air for cities around the country, returning to their weekday jobs as businessmen, insurance salesmen and educators.

Wells climbs into a white Mercedes 300D with California license plates that read “NFL 89.” He puts it in gear and drives off into the damp San Diego air. Monday night he’ll be back at it again, but for now, few notice his car disappearing into the night.