Alex Kemp went viral.
Which I assume is normally a bad thing for an NFL referee.
Because if a ref’s performance is extraordinary enough to capture the web’s imagination, it probably isn’t for reasons that would make a fan want to buy him a beer.
Far better is for an official to be unremarkable.
Impartial, efficient, and professional? Yes. Memorable? No.
In a well-run game, we’ll remember the long balls, the goal line stands, the runs that broke loose.
And completely ignore how quickly the ball was returned to the line of scrimmage between plays, the minor scuffles that were broken up, and the sideline conversations held with coaches to determine whether penalties would be accepted or declined.
The smooth management of the administrative matters necessary to keep the game moving—we’ll take all that for granted.
We won’t attribute any positive outcome to the work of a referee.
But we’ll blame him for all sorts of negative outcomes, both real and imagined.
Mostly, we just want refs to get the hell out of the way and let them play.
We don’t care who they are or where they came from.
Referees have long dressed in the same black and white stripes and spoken in the same clipped monotone to remove any element of individuality.
Sure, you get the occasional Ed Hochuli, whose massive biceps made him instantly recognizable.
But the average ref is a nameless, faceless number.
It’s all very 1984, which is exactly the way we fans want it.
And then there was Kemp.
Who turned an otherwise forgettable moment in last Sunday’s game between the Lions and Seahawks into one of the most talked-about sports highlights in recent memory.
Seahawks’ quarterback Geno Smith had just overthrown receiver Tyler Lockett by a wide margin due to an apparent miscommunication.
Whatever the reason, by rule, it was intentional grounding.
Referee Alex Kemp switched on his mic to make the call.
“Intentional grounding,” he began, moving his hands in a downward, diagonal, chopping motion, “offense, number seven. Ten-yard penalty . . .”
But, before he could finish, Smith stepped directly in front of him—quite rudely, by any decent person’s standards—to argue the call.
In response, Kemp, unperturbed, and without switching off his mic, calmly informed Smith, “I’m talking to America here. Excuse me.”
In other words, Pipe down, son. The grownups are talking.
Kemp then continued, “Ten-yard penalty and a loss of down. Second down.”
As he finished rendering the verdict, the cameras cut to the Seahawks’ sideline.
Where coach Pete Carroll was losing his fucking mind.
The juxtaposition was striking.
And made Kemp’s comment all the more exquisite.
Commentator Greg Olsen immediately judged it “the best line I’ve ever heard out of an official.”
And perhaps it was.
For those of us who’ve never spent time on an NFL field or sideline, all we know of an official’s body of work in this area is what we’ve heard from the stands or on television.
By that measure, Kemp’s comment stands out, if only because it represents a very small sample size.
Refs don’t usually say stuff like that. Not into a microphone, at least.
But I also think it was of sufficient quality to merit a place in the broader canon of all-time memorable comebacks.
We humans love a good zinger, after all.
Mostly because so few of us can pull one off.
As George lamented to Jerry in Seinfeld’s “The Comeback” episode, “You don’t know this guy. It woulda been so sweet.”
George had come up with what he considered the perfect retort—Jerk Store!—to a coworker who’d insulted him, but only after the moment of insult had long passed.
A missed opportunity.
That’s how it usually happens.
Rare indeed is the person who can conjure exactly the right words, at exactly the right moment, to put some asshole back in his or her place.
Winston Churchill was expert at it.
“Mr. Churchill, you are drunk!” lashed a female member of Parliament with whom he’d been arguing during a dinner party.
“And you, madam, are ugly,” Churchill shot back. “But I shall be sober tomorrow.”
Certainly, Churchill was a highly accomplished verbal jouster, given his long career as a politician and writer.
That helped.
But so, too, did his towering intellect.
Let’s face it: IQ figures prominently in a person’s ability to stick a good comeback.
And it bears remembering that most NFL referees have day jobs.
They’re accomplished professionals in a variety of fields.
Hochuli was an attorney and the founding partner of a law firm. Kemp is a business owner.
These are not intellectually bereft people.
That may have explained, in part, Kemp’s ability to meet the Geno Smith moment so perfectly.
But there’s more to it.
A good comeback has to be spontaneous. Never contrived.
During a 1988 Vice Presidential debate between Dan Quayle and Lloyd Bentsen, Quayle, often criticized for his lack of experience, made the mistake of comparing his time in Congress to that of President John F. Kennedy.
“I have as much experience in Congress as Jack Kennedy did when he sought the presidency,” he said.
Bentsen, a longtime friend of the late President, pounced.
“Senator, you’re no Jack Kennedy,” he countered, uttering words that still endure in today’s political lexicon.
It was truly an epic zinger.
But also well-rehearsed, it turned out.
Bentsen had test-driven the line during mock debates.
Which, for me, totally diminishes the achievement.
Now, I don’t know if Alex Kemp stood in front of his bathroom mirror the morning of the Lions-Seahawks game and repeated to himself, I’m talking to America here . . . I’m talking to America here . . . and then set out to manufacture some episode in which he could employ the line.
But I highly doubt it.
He was there to officiate, not seek favor with spectators by doing material.
His comment, with Geno Smith yapping in his face, seemed genuine, completely in-the-moment.
And dammit! It was funny.
That’s another key ingredient in the truly memorable comeback.
Kemp’s line was clever, for sure.
But also delivered deadpan, with the skill and timing of a professional stand-up.
It made you laugh.
And that’s what separates a comeback like Kemp’s from the pedestrian, fuck-you variety.
The other thing I found brilliant about Kemp’s “talking to America” remark was the way it aligned, albeit briefly, the referee with the viewing public.
In that moment, he was talking to us.
Not Pete Carroll. Not the guys in the booth. Not Roger Goodell or NFL officials back in New York.
Kemp was having a conversation directly with us fans.
That being the case, Who the hell did Geno Smith think he was?
Asshole.
When Kemp shut him down, it seemed justice had been served.
Which is an immensely satisfying thing.
I hope that at some point after the Lions-Seahawks game Kemp took a moment to reflect upon his magnificent achievement.
And to appreciate how, in a single moment, he had captured the kind of glory that so often eludes George Costanza and the rest of us.
He totally fucking zinged a guy—who deserved it—for the whole world to see.
And, in doing so, became the Winston Churchill of NFL referees.
If only for a Sunday.
Nicely done, Kempy.
We’re proud of you.