Scorer’s tables for indoor sports are located at midcourt and separate the home and visiting team benches. They are usually staffed by a threesome — the scoreboard/clock operator, the official scorekeeper, who is usually the home team’s scorebook scribbler, and the visiting team’s scorekeeper.

My first incident is from the late 1970s while refereeing a junior high basketball doubleheader in Dunkirk.

My partner received an urgent phone call alerting him that an official was needed for a junior varsity game that was starting in a few minutes. Because he was sticking around to officiate the varsity game a few blocks away, I was the logical solution to make the road trip.

I had driven past Cassadaga Valley many times on my way to Jamestown, yet had never been on school grounds. A few quick directions later, I was hurrying up Route 60 to Sinclairville, the Heart of Chautauqua County.

Bill Hammond's 1965-1966 Cardinal Mindszenty High School JV basketball championship patch.

Arriving at the game in the tiny, old gym, I hustled past a midcourt table staffed with three males. The game had already started.

Once on the court I made eye contact with my grateful and relieved partner. Almost immediately I whistled a foul and turned to the table and its seated trio to report the offense.

That’s when the first one said, “You’re late,” and the second added, “Next time, get here on time.”

Noticing my confusion to this unexpected reaction, the third one pointed across the gym and said, “The scorer’s table is over there …”

He ended that message to rising laughter from his buddies with a seven-letter word for anus.

Don’t ever sit on top of a cafeteria table like this one. Trust me.

Seems they were selling candy and gum at that table. My mistake.

My second memory comes from Forestville, site of previous embarrassing misadventures in my officiating career.

This one began with me showing up for a volleyball match. The visiting team had called to report a bus problem and they would be an hour late.

That news failed to reach me and my partner, Leo Bain Jr.

Leo was my junior varsity basketball coach at Cardinal Mindszenty High School. I met him in 1964 when tryouts began. I thought he was pretty old. In truth, he was 29. His birthday on Oct. 5 will be his 89th, so “Happy Birthday, Leo!”

Bill Hammond

Sixty years later he remains my all-time favorite coach and officiating partner. A deeply religious man, Leo always made the sign of the cross when we passed churches on our trips to games and never, ever used profanity.

A broken wrist on the first day of JV practice kept me off his team as a freshman, yet we won the Smith League JV championship in my sophomore year. We capped a truly memorable season with a lengthy winning streak and avenged all three of our defeats.

But back to the near-empty Forestville gym. Leo was sitting on the scorer’s table. It was the only seating available in the gym. The bleachers were closed and the varsity players were busy erecting the net and its supports. Game time was 90 minutes away.

After greeting Leo, I hoisted my ample frame onto the table next to him.

It immediately buckled and broke, unceremoniously dumping its Laurel & Hardyish duo to the floor.

Once they stopped laughing, the players helped us to our feet and fetched another table from the nearby cafeteria. My mistake: The Sequel.

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there. Late in the season, Leo and I were paired again in the Home of the Hornets. This time it was for Senior Night, or as fellow official Lowell Reynolds is fond of calling it, the Posey Parade.

When Leo and I arrived, it prompted a flurry of activity. The object of their visibly anxious attention? A pre-printed stack of programs that included a page highlighting each senior’s season memories. Included were their funniest. Prominently featured were Leo and I and the scorer’s table that wasn’t.

Bless their hearts, the players and coaches did not want to embarrass Leo and I so they quickly removed the offending page.

By chance, I found an unedited program in a waste basket on my way out the door.

Belated thanks for the kind gesture, ladies, but Leo and I have always had pretty thick skin. And frankly, one of us was always way thicker than the other.

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Bill Hammond is a former EVENING OBSERVER sports editor