BroncoWave
05-07-2009, 01:47 PM
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/eticket/story?page=090507/hochuli
I put it in Broncos talk since this article centers around the call he made in the Broncos game but the mods can move it if they wish.
SAN DIEGO -- It is safe for him to come out now at Mission Beach. Surfers dip their boards into a clear blue ocean that touches the sky. Panhandlers wander around with empty Starbucks cups. That thing they say about time and wounds? Maybe it's true. Because Ed Hochuli is treading through the California sand, loose and out there in shorts and sandals, and nobody feels compelled to hurl a rock at him.
It's sort of poetic that Hochuli has a beach condo here, in the very town that wanted his white hat on a stick, along with his head. His place on Ocean Front Walk is impeccable. No smudges on the windows, no crumbs on the marble counters, and a sign near the doorway that asks potential renters to be courteous and please avoid trashing his offseason pad.
Ed Hochuli on beach
"The best thing in the world is to sit in the rocking chair and watch people walk by on this boardwalk," the NFL referee says. "Especially in the summer, when it's so crowded out here. You see people walking by with birds on their shoulders. The dress that you'll see, the hairstyles. ... People are funny."
Sadly, people are not perfect. But before his nationally televised gaffe last September, many would've argued Hochuli was. His muscles exploding out of his tight, striped shirt, he exuded confidence with every blast of his whistle, and women gathered around HDTVs, entranced, as he explained, so forcefully and eloquently, why he had thrown his yellow flag.
It wasn't just the body or the verbosity. Hochuli is one of the most recognizable faces in all of officiating, and his was an excruciatingly precise climb. He didn't just study the rulebook; he wanted to test better than every other official. Before every snap, 160 times a Sunday, Hochuli whispers to himself, "Lock and load," so his mind doesn't wander and his hazel eyes never miss a thing.
For this, there are at least four Web sites devoted to Hochuli, the most notable being WhatWouldEdHochuliDo.com. NFL coaches were polled last season about who was the best referee. Hochuli tied for first with Mike Carey.
And then came the day he missed a whopper of a call, in the final 80 seconds of the San Diego-Denver game Sept. 14, a call that many before him have flubbed but that Hochuli couldn't live down. It followed him throughout the 2008 season, from Kansas City to Green Bay to the warm shores of Miami for a January playoff assignment. Nearly every major officiating mistake, even if his crew was 2,000 miles away, evoked his name. Could a lifetime on the brink of perfection be washed away with a single split-second decision?
What would Ed Hochuli do?
Never mess with Ed the Lawyer
An exceedingly polite woman sits at the reception desk in the offices of Jones, Skelton & Hochuli, a Phoenix firm that touts itself as one of the most experienced litigation groups in Arizona. It is unknown whether she's the same brave soul who worked the morning of Sept. 15, the day after the disaster in Denver, when the e-mails poured in from angry Chargers fans and bettors, and the firm's phone lines had to be shut down.
That's one of the drawbacks to being a lawyer-slash-NFL official in the Internet age. When something goes wrong, an industrious man's contact info is only a few clicks away.
It was clear from a fairly young age that Hochuli would be a lawyer, just like his father and two brothers. He loved the research, poring over depositions and precedents, having a box full of jurors look to him for the answers.
And almost always being right.
"As trial lawyers, one of the reasons we [like trying] cases is the adrenaline rush," Hochuli says. "You love that challenge -- the competition, if you will -- of it. It's a game. It's obviously a very important game to people, and I don't mean to diminish the importance of it. ... You have to follow these rules, and there's a win-or-lose outcome. You're on a stage."
One of his first cases as a young litigator was patron v. bar, with Hochuli's firm defending the bar. Guy fell off a barstool, hit his head on a pool table, couldn't taste or smell anymore. The evidence did not favor Hochuli's client, and he and his partner, Donald Myles, knew it. The bar floor had just been waxed; the barstools were wobbly; and witnesses were testifying that the plaintiff wasn't drunk.
It didn't look good for the home team. All Hochuli had was a hospital report saying the guy's blood alcohol content was high. So he opted for a little legal drama: He put the report in a plain brown paper bag and told the jury that the contents of that bag would prove his case but that he wasn't going to reveal what he had in the bag until the end of his presentation. At the climactic moment, Hochuli opened the bag and showed the jurors the report, and they were appropriately impressed. "The jury went out and came back in five minutes with a defense verdict," Myles says. (The judge was not as impressed. He felt the jurors had made their decision based on emotion, not evidence, and overturned their verdict.)
Hochuli and Myles used to jog together. On Friday nights, when the young and upwardly mobile were catching beers, Hochuli was driving to Yuma, a 185-mile drive to the California border, to referee high school games for $38 plus mileage. "Why do you do it?" Myles used to ask.
"I love it," Hochuli said. "I just love still being part of the game."
Like many red-blooded American males, he would have preferred being a football star. He was a scrappy linebacker at the University of Texas-El Paso in the early 1970s before size got in the way. So he started reffing Pop Warner games on Saturdays, making 50 bucks for four games. Sure, at first it was a way for a young father to help pay for law school, but ... "Any official would tell you the same story -- you get hooked," Hochuli says. "It's like having a main line of adrenaline running in your vein for three hours on Sunday night. It's like standing on a cliff."
Pee Wee led to preps, jucos and eventually the Pac-10 in 1985. Hochuli had to work the chains for two years before he got to officiate a college game, and his lawyer buddies would come along to affectionately tease him from the stands at Sun Devil Stadium: Go, Down-Marker Ed! They followed him to his NFL debut in 1990, when he broke into the league as a back judge. His first game was at Lambeau Field, preseason, and Hochuli was nervous. What if somebody figured out he didn't belong there? He threw his flag and felt his stomach sink because he knew immediately that he had gotten the call wrong. Hochuli quickly picked up the flag off the grass and stuffed it in his pocket, and the game went on.
Ed Hochuli at home
Like being the "Incredible Hulk," but with a sense of humor
A ref toils away for 20 years, on average, before he makes it to the NFL. He is scouted, interviewed, tested and graded. In the end, he knows one thing: that, just like the behemoths on the field, he is among the very best.
There are 120 officials in the NFL each season and "another 20,000 who would kill to be there," says Jerry Markbreit, a longtime NFL ref. They don't see themselves as traffic cops or walking rulebooks. They're keepers of the integrity of the game.
I put it in Broncos talk since this article centers around the call he made in the Broncos game but the mods can move it if they wish.
SAN DIEGO -- It is safe for him to come out now at Mission Beach. Surfers dip their boards into a clear blue ocean that touches the sky. Panhandlers wander around with empty Starbucks cups. That thing they say about time and wounds? Maybe it's true. Because Ed Hochuli is treading through the California sand, loose and out there in shorts and sandals, and nobody feels compelled to hurl a rock at him.
It's sort of poetic that Hochuli has a beach condo here, in the very town that wanted his white hat on a stick, along with his head. His place on Ocean Front Walk is impeccable. No smudges on the windows, no crumbs on the marble counters, and a sign near the doorway that asks potential renters to be courteous and please avoid trashing his offseason pad.
Ed Hochuli on beach
"The best thing in the world is to sit in the rocking chair and watch people walk by on this boardwalk," the NFL referee says. "Especially in the summer, when it's so crowded out here. You see people walking by with birds on their shoulders. The dress that you'll see, the hairstyles. ... People are funny."
Sadly, people are not perfect. But before his nationally televised gaffe last September, many would've argued Hochuli was. His muscles exploding out of his tight, striped shirt, he exuded confidence with every blast of his whistle, and women gathered around HDTVs, entranced, as he explained, so forcefully and eloquently, why he had thrown his yellow flag.
It wasn't just the body or the verbosity. Hochuli is one of the most recognizable faces in all of officiating, and his was an excruciatingly precise climb. He didn't just study the rulebook; he wanted to test better than every other official. Before every snap, 160 times a Sunday, Hochuli whispers to himself, "Lock and load," so his mind doesn't wander and his hazel eyes never miss a thing.
For this, there are at least four Web sites devoted to Hochuli, the most notable being WhatWouldEdHochuliDo.com. NFL coaches were polled last season about who was the best referee. Hochuli tied for first with Mike Carey.
And then came the day he missed a whopper of a call, in the final 80 seconds of the San Diego-Denver game Sept. 14, a call that many before him have flubbed but that Hochuli couldn't live down. It followed him throughout the 2008 season, from Kansas City to Green Bay to the warm shores of Miami for a January playoff assignment. Nearly every major officiating mistake, even if his crew was 2,000 miles away, evoked his name. Could a lifetime on the brink of perfection be washed away with a single split-second decision?
What would Ed Hochuli do?
Never mess with Ed the Lawyer
An exceedingly polite woman sits at the reception desk in the offices of Jones, Skelton & Hochuli, a Phoenix firm that touts itself as one of the most experienced litigation groups in Arizona. It is unknown whether she's the same brave soul who worked the morning of Sept. 15, the day after the disaster in Denver, when the e-mails poured in from angry Chargers fans and bettors, and the firm's phone lines had to be shut down.
That's one of the drawbacks to being a lawyer-slash-NFL official in the Internet age. When something goes wrong, an industrious man's contact info is only a few clicks away.
It was clear from a fairly young age that Hochuli would be a lawyer, just like his father and two brothers. He loved the research, poring over depositions and precedents, having a box full of jurors look to him for the answers.
And almost always being right.
"As trial lawyers, one of the reasons we [like trying] cases is the adrenaline rush," Hochuli says. "You love that challenge -- the competition, if you will -- of it. It's a game. It's obviously a very important game to people, and I don't mean to diminish the importance of it. ... You have to follow these rules, and there's a win-or-lose outcome. You're on a stage."
One of his first cases as a young litigator was patron v. bar, with Hochuli's firm defending the bar. Guy fell off a barstool, hit his head on a pool table, couldn't taste or smell anymore. The evidence did not favor Hochuli's client, and he and his partner, Donald Myles, knew it. The bar floor had just been waxed; the barstools were wobbly; and witnesses were testifying that the plaintiff wasn't drunk.
It didn't look good for the home team. All Hochuli had was a hospital report saying the guy's blood alcohol content was high. So he opted for a little legal drama: He put the report in a plain brown paper bag and told the jury that the contents of that bag would prove his case but that he wasn't going to reveal what he had in the bag until the end of his presentation. At the climactic moment, Hochuli opened the bag and showed the jurors the report, and they were appropriately impressed. "The jury went out and came back in five minutes with a defense verdict," Myles says. (The judge was not as impressed. He felt the jurors had made their decision based on emotion, not evidence, and overturned their verdict.)
Hochuli and Myles used to jog together. On Friday nights, when the young and upwardly mobile were catching beers, Hochuli was driving to Yuma, a 185-mile drive to the California border, to referee high school games for $38 plus mileage. "Why do you do it?" Myles used to ask.
"I love it," Hochuli said. "I just love still being part of the game."
Like many red-blooded American males, he would have preferred being a football star. He was a scrappy linebacker at the University of Texas-El Paso in the early 1970s before size got in the way. So he started reffing Pop Warner games on Saturdays, making 50 bucks for four games. Sure, at first it was a way for a young father to help pay for law school, but ... "Any official would tell you the same story -- you get hooked," Hochuli says. "It's like having a main line of adrenaline running in your vein for three hours on Sunday night. It's like standing on a cliff."
Pee Wee led to preps, jucos and eventually the Pac-10 in 1985. Hochuli had to work the chains for two years before he got to officiate a college game, and his lawyer buddies would come along to affectionately tease him from the stands at Sun Devil Stadium: Go, Down-Marker Ed! They followed him to his NFL debut in 1990, when he broke into the league as a back judge. His first game was at Lambeau Field, preseason, and Hochuli was nervous. What if somebody figured out he didn't belong there? He threw his flag and felt his stomach sink because he knew immediately that he had gotten the call wrong. Hochuli quickly picked up the flag off the grass and stuffed it in his pocket, and the game went on.
Ed Hochuli at home
Like being the "Incredible Hulk," but with a sense of humor
A ref toils away for 20 years, on average, before he makes it to the NFL. He is scouted, interviewed, tested and graded. In the end, he knows one thing: that, just like the behemoths on the field, he is among the very best.
There are 120 officials in the NFL each season and "another 20,000 who would kill to be there," says Jerry Markbreit, a longtime NFL ref. They don't see themselves as traffic cops or walking rulebooks. They're keepers of the integrity of the game.