Chris LeCompte: Ref for Life
Author: Isabel Roseth
One man’s unorthodox journey to three different championships — and how he fell in love with this sport along the way.
Once the whistle blew and the brooms went up, the crowd’s eyes were glued to the pitch as Chicago Prowl and New York Titans battled it out for the championship title, but one figure stood apart from the rest: Chris LeCompte, the head referee. Such a title is a responsibility few are willing to bear, and even fewer are willing to appreciate. But when the top two teams in Major League Quadball lay it all on the line in an attempt to win the Benepe Cup, that referee — and their whole crew — is an indispensable cog in the wheel that is a quadball game. Some might say that cog needs a bit more oil to start working properly, but very few would dare comment that about Chris.
Through his sunglasses, LeCompte watched intently as play began, leaning forward in concentration. No one else but him held the ability to make a final penalty call, and in such high-level and important games, making calls is not a small responsibility. One card has the potential to influence the rest of the game, whether because there is a player in the box or because a goal was called no good. So, who should get to wield such power? And why, for two MLQ championships in a row, was it Chris LeCompte?
Or maybe one should ask instead: why does he keep coming back?
It’s a funny and confusing thing how a job so reviled by sports fans could become something so beloved, but one chat with LeCompte will make it evident how much he cares. Not only has he been a head referee in the quadball community since his sophomore year of college, but he became a referee even earlier. His story began in the same state he returned to for MLQ championships this summer: Howard County, Maryland.
The Road to Reffing
PC: Ajantha Abey Photography
Growing up in Columbia, Maryland, LeCompte was no stranger to sports and definitely not to referees. As a football player, he found himself increasingly frustrated with their calls and believed that they were, to put it simply, not very good. Eventually, he became so fed up that he decided, “I can do better than that.” While other teenagers eagerly awaited their 16th birthdays with the hope they’d get their driver's licenses, LeCompte counted down the days until his for a different reason: At 16, he could be certified as a referee. The Sunday following his birthday, he was out there on the fields with a whistle and a dream.
“I don't complain about the job someone does unless I'm willing and able to step in and do that job better than they are,” LeCompte said. It’s his own personal philosophy; he will not complain about servers at restaurants because he couldn’t do a better job, but reffing? That was a different story.
While he was excited, his introduction to the job was not smooth. No one, he explains, starts off as a good referee. It takes time to learn and improve, and by God, was he about to.
LeCompte stood on the field, his eyes on the play. The game — his first game as a referee — was in full swing. The children were small, no older than six years old, a far cry from the professionals in the NFL. The center snapped the football to the quarterback, but the ball flopped sadly onto the ground instead of into the child’s hands. The quarterback bent down, picked the ball back up and restarted play. Now, the rules stated that fumbles were dead once they hit the ground, and the little kid had violated that rule. This was it — LeCompte’s first call.
He considered what had happened. The kids were so young and the play was so harmless, he didn’t see the harm in letting this one slide. “Whatever, let it play. Who cares?” he thought, and he allowed the game to continue. The parents and coaches erupted almost immediately. While the kids continued to play and have a good time, LeCompte stood there as the coaches decided to backtrack to the fumble and redo the play. Following that game, parents wrote angry emails to his manager, in disbelief over his foolish call.
LeCompte’s supervisor was not angry and stood behind his call, despite the parents’ wrath. But she warned him not to let the coaches take over again. “You make the calls when you’re on the field,” she told him. “Don’t let the coaches make the calls. Don’t let the parents.” It was on him to be the head referee and no one else.
That was the first lesson LeCompte learned, but it certainly was not the last, nor was it the last time he had to learn that same lesson. A good referee is always learning; there is no black belt in reffing, no benchmark to say you’ve mastered it. You can memorize the rulebook and hand out a hundred cards, and you will still make mistakes. People will still threaten to “meet him in the parking lot” over a children’s football game.
A few years down the line, LeCompte continued to face pressure from onlookers and participants when he started out as a quadball referee. He would stand there, only 19 years old, with spectators in their mid-twenties hollering at him from the sidelines. Sometimes, he would change a call. Other times, stoppages would drag on for what felt like hours for no good reason.
The fall of 2015 marked LeCompte’s second year as a head referee. One weekend, he decamped to Ohio University. He took his now familiar place on the pitch and blew his whistle, but it was only a matter of time until a foul occurred. A beater threw their dodgeball at an opposing player, and the ball made contact. Beat out, back to hoops. However, the player did not stop, so LeCompte blew his whistle once again to stop play and make the proper call.
“You’re beat.”
The player looked at him, confused. “Am I beat? I didn’t get hit. Like, are you sure?”
And in a decision that would haunt him through his late twenties, LeCompte hesitated, then said, “Oh, you’re right,” and yielded to the player.
After the game had ended, he asked someone he respected for feedback on his reffing. “Most of your calls were great,” they told him. “You had one really dumb call. He should have been beat.” LeCompte couldn’t argue; they were right. He uses the same language now, referring to that call as “very dumb.” It does not matter what the player thought happened. He should have dug his heels in and stood by his call.
Like LeCompte learned at 16, a pliant referee will be molded to the players’ and coaches’ satisfaction. And like he experienced at 19, people will notice and judge when you so easily yield to a player complaint. More importantly, a good ref might judge themselves.
Instead of giving in and giving up, LeCompte kept growing with each piece of feedback he received. Even today, he is open to hearing what he might have done wrong. At a February 2020 game, he failed to inform a player during a stoppage that their next goal would be rendered no good if they started play with the ball already halfway through the hoop. When the coach found him later to complain, LeCompte couldn’t do anything other than agree — it was a bad call, and it would not happen again.
Pitch Perfect
Once upon a time, back when quadball still allowed off-pitch seeking, Chris LeCompte started his first semester at the College of Wooster, a small liberal arts school in Ohio that barely boasted 2,000 undergraduates. That fall, Chris stumbled upon a silly little club called Quidditch. The compound effect of being a Harry Potter fan and an athlete led him to sign up, and soon, he found himself out on the pitch with a broom between his legs.
LeCompte’s gridiron football background lent itself well to his time as a keeper. He knew going into college that he did not want to play sports for the NCAA, but he was used to full-contact, and he liked it.
Wooster’s team has since died, but back then, it was tight-knit, dedicated and, well, not very successful. At that point in US Quadball, they were the lowest ranked team to ever qualify for nationals at the collegiate level. And while they got “absolutely stomped on” in their opening game against Tufts University, Wooster’s team went into every game they played ready to have a good time, no matter the final score.
LeCompte’s social life did not stop for quidditch, although the sport was certainly ingrained in much of what he did and many of the bonds he formed. One day freshman year, LeCompte headed to a dining hall to get food with some friends. Those friends brought along someone he didn’t know yet — someone named Laura Ivy. While eating together, he made a comment that Ivy thought was, in essence, the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. She turned to look at him and thought, “Yeah, I hate you, and I will never be your friend.”
Flash forward to a year later, a couple of Ivy’s friends finally convinced her to join the Quidditch team, and there Lecompte was again. And while he was still, in her eyes, a goofball, they started to become friends. The duo would get asked to help out at various tournaments, so they went on road trips through the Midwest on their way to ref together. Through all of that, it would have been difficult to not become friends.
Ivy can tell you a lot about LeCompte. She could tell you that his full name is actually “Christopher.” She could tell you that his favorite song to sing in the mornings is “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” She could tell you about the time they chipped ice off of a field for a tournament using only their brooms. But what she can’t quite explain is how he seems to have reffing in his blood. While LeCompte will tell you all about his biggest blunders, Ivy will tell you what a constant he was throughout their time together in college. In fact, she credits LeCompte with getting her into reffing in the first place.
The day she took the written assessment for her head referee test, Ivy was nervous. Tests were not her favorite thing, and the pressure left her feeling amped and anxious. Their junior year, the two of them lived in their team’s “Quidditch House,” so LeCompte sat there with her as she took the exam. “I can't answer any questions about the ref test,” he told her, “but I can always answer hypothetical questions you have about quidditch. I don’t know what you’re doing on your computer screen right now.”
He handed her a Coke bottle. The label read, “Share your Coke with a hero.” Ivy still has that bottle today.
While he began playing during his freshman year, LeCompte did not get certified as a head referee until the fall of his sophomore year. Just like his football league back home, these refs don't know the rules, either, and he knew he could do a better job.
At the time, the ref scene in the Midwest did not look great; there was a high rate of burnout, likely from how often referees got screamed at. This was before the days refs carded folks who mouthed off at them, and therefore, very few consequences for doing so. Additionally, if a player expressed discontent over a call, referees would walk over and argue with them. The captains or coaches would join the dispute and, as a result, stoppages dragged on and on and on. Meanwhile, everyone else just wanted to get it over with and “let the kids play.”
“Unsportsmanlike conduct” was a term seldom attached to cards, save for any truly reprehensible verbiage. But the longer LeCompte dealt with infuriatingly long arguments and stoppages, the more he started to realize the power of the cards he held in his pocket. What do you do when you have all these people yelling in your face? If you send them to the box, they have to stop arguing. Otherwise, their team forfeits the game. It was as simple as that.
“It doesn’t really matter what the coach has to say,” LeCompte explains. “Their opinion here is fundamentally irrelevant to whether the card should come out or not because they're not another referee. The only people whose opinion you can legally care about [are] the other referees' opinions.”
Soon, LeCompte’s second year as a head ref snuck up on him. Before he knew it, he found himself in charge of a game at the Phoenix Cup at Miami University. By this point, he knew how much of a hindrance a difficult ref crew could be, but never had he seen a crew this incompetent. Many things were going unnoticed and ignored by his assistant referees, and while LeCompte was not a great referee yet himself, even he could tell these fouls when he saw them.
Frustrated, he stopped play and called the ARs in to talk. “Anyone have any fouls?” he asked them. No, they responded. That was all LeCompte needed.
“Alright, you all can go home. Have a nice day.” He dismissed the entire crew. The only officials left were the scorekeeper, the snitch and LeCompte, who refereed the rest of the game solo. Looking back, Ivy is pretty sure he is the only referee who could get away with pulling a move like that.
Shipping up to Boston
Throughout their time together in college, LeCompte and Ivy would joke about being roommates after graduation. After she got into a master’s program at Boston College, Ivy jokingly asked LeCompte, “I need a roommate. How do you feel about Boston?” It was funny, and they kept laughing about it, but then LeCompte realized he could probably get a teaching job in Boston and he would have a guaranteed roommate. So the plans were made, and eventually, the two of them moved into an apartment and started to settle in.
The quidditch community in Boston took them by surprise. Originally, the plan was to step back from playing and only referee, but Q.C. Boston lured them in, and before LeCompte and Ivy knew it, they were back on the pitch with a whole new team.
LeCompte continued to ref, but he was a fourth or fifth string keeper — and there were only about three keepers. He was aware of his relative skill level and that was fine, but the kicker was that he would get frozen out of ref slots if his team had a game before or after, and he didn’t play much in said games in the first place. Sure, if Q.C. Boston was up 100 points, he could go in, but otherwise, he was not their biggest asset.
There were a couple choices before LeCompte. He could keep playing and lose out on opportunities to ref, but what if he took a season off, just to see how he liked it? That way he could take on all the referee slots he wanted without any hindrance. If he missed playing he could always go back.
He began the 2019-2020 season as only a referee. It was going well until the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and in March of 2020, Quidditch was put on pause indefinitely. When the sport returned, LeCompte came back only as a referee, and has not played on a team since. Non-playing referees, he says, add a ton of value to the community.
“Without refs, games generally would not happen,” LeCompte explains. “And I really like being able to provide that for the players and for the teams. I really enjoyed playing, and so I'm hoping that they get to enjoy playing as well.”
“And I get to go on subsidized vacations a couple times a year to Utah, Philadelphia, Texas, Iowa… I get to have a good time, get to hang out with people that I like and get to contribute to these things. It's a lot of fun.”
LeCompte’s “subsidized vacations” to Philadelphia, Texas and also Richmond, Virginia were much more than just vacations; Chris describes his 2023 reffing achievements as “completing the Triple Crown” of reffing. There were three major quadball tournaments last year: the USQ Cup, the International Quadball Association World Cup and MLQ’s Benepe Cup. LeCompte was the head referee in the final games for each one — hence “the Triple Crown.” No other referee has served as the head ref for all three in the same year. LeCompte knows this; he’s checked.
Ask LeCompte about it and he will list all the referees who have gotten close, and it is clear how much he respects and reveres the work they do. He would never claim to be the best referee, but he doesn’t take his achievements for granted, either. “You have to not only be really good, you have to be the clear, best option,” he said. “I say that not to be braggadocious, but to say that I worked really, really hard.” His determination and drive date back further than simply when he became a head referee for quadball — the work started in 2011 when he first adopted the stripes.
He chalks up his success to what he calls his “four pillars of refereeing” that referees need to master. These are the same pillars he told Ivy about during their road trips, the same ones he came into college with. In order of importance, they are: consistency, communication, professionalism and knowledge. He knows how it sounds to put “knowing the rules” last, but hear him out.
First is consistency. “It is more important that you [are] consistent than anything else,” LeCompte explains. If you consistently enforce the same rules, players might be frustrated, but they will figure it out. While none of the pillars stand alone — you should not enforce rules that do not exist — a game will go smoother if the players know what to expect from their referee.
The next of LeCompte’s pillars is communication. In his experience, every time that someone has been livid about a call, it was because the call was communicated poorly — that, or they didn’t listen. However, it is still on the referee to clearly express why they made the call they did.
Third comes professionalism. Do not get upset or offended that someone fouled. That will not work. He also recommends looking the part and investing in a ref’s jersey: “People are much more likely to respect you, right? You show up in the uniform, people are like, ‘Alright, this person is serious.’”
Last but not least is knowing the rules. There are certain rules a referee needs to know, specifically regarding safety, but again, if you are consistent about the calls you are making, you will be much more respectable than if you waver and second-guess yourself on every foul he said.
In quadball, the reffing scene has changed a lot since LeCompte stepped onto the field. For example, article 7.4.1., or the “Delay of Game” rule, “is defined as an attempt to stop or significantly impede the quadball game from continuing.” The interpretation of this rule has become much stricter over time, but LeCompte began giving teams a warning and a three second countdown before calling the foul, giving players a chance to avoid a blue card and turnover.
He doesn’t want to “toot his own horn,” but both the warning and countdown were his invention. The rulebook now reads, “Multiple warnings may be given for delay of game during a single game, as the referee determines to be appropriate.”
LeCompte’s no-nonsense approach to reffing, specifically his refusal to tolerate argumentative players and coaches, have also had a great influence on the way participants conduct themselves. “When you go to national events, you can notice teams from the regions that [LeCompte] refs don't mouth off to refs as much as other teams do,” Ivy explains. “Why? Because Chris has been carding them since day one.”
“Had I not been able to change that, I don't think I would have stuck around as long,” LeCompte said. “Changing the attitudes, generally, of coaches and players from yelling at refs has been tremendously important to staying in.”
“I think Chris has been really responsible in turning [a referee] from a body on the field that blows a whistle for a good goal to a real genuine pillar of how the games are played,” Ivy said.
With a good referee, games are safer and far more enjoyable than they would be otherwise.
And isn’t that the core reason LeCompte loves this sport? The community he found is one of support and enjoyment, and despite the occasional irate coach or tantrum-throwing player, he has found a way to carve out his ref-shaped niche and make a difference. As he plans to remain involved, he also hopes that new referees — specifically current college players — will start to train and become the refs he knows they can be. He’s been told of a newer referee out of Utah that is “coming for his job,” and he really hopes so.
The way he sees it, as a referee, he is giving back to the community and ensuring safety on the field as best he can. But he also knows what will motivate players and what motivated him at both 16 and 19 years old: spite.
“If you’re complaining about refs, go ref,” he says, simple as that. If someone is forced to be a ref, they will do just a good enough job to not get in trouble. But if they start out of spite, they have a reason, and that’s enough.
Take on a little at a time he recommends. A brand new AR only needs to worry about calling beats. Do that for one or two games until comfortable and then slowly add other things. Start determining boundaries. But LeCompte wants people to remember the old adage: “Do it first, do it worst.”
“You're going to be bad when you start,” he said. There’s no way around that. Even the Chris LeCompte was once a 16 year old kid who had not yet learned how to stand his ground.
“I was honestly bad for like, three years after I started,” he recalls. “Five years in, I finally got up to the point where I could be head reffing finals games.”
Ten years ago, LeCompte was merely getting his start, unaware of the friends and success he would find in the next decade. Looking back, he is proud of what he accomplished and hopeful that others will follow in his footsteps. Maybe someday, someone else will be able to claim the Triple Crown. But in the meantime, you’ll still find him out on the pitch, come rain or shine, with a whistle in hand.
