In a twist that sounds ripped from the less glamorous pages of a sports-themed noir novel, a former college football star turned law enforcement officer, Christopher Pazan, finds himself facing a decidedly less heroic headline. Once soaring across the football fields of Illinois, Pazan now has the dubious distinction of being accused of attempting to pilfer $300 worth of baseball cards—certainly not the play one might expect from a seasoned quarterback.
Christopher Pazan, a name that once graced sports columns for his gridiron exploits, was arrested on a seemingly mundane Wednesday afternoon, a far cry from the roars of appreciative fans he once heard during his University of Illinois quarterback days. The scene of this unexpected dramedy: a humble Meijer store on South Western Avenue in the leafy suburb of Evergreen Park. According to Sgt. Victor Watts of the local police, a security camera captured what we can only imagine was a rather clumsy performance of stealth, as Pazan allegedly slipped the baseball cards into a yard waste bag—his getaway plan culminating in paying for the bag itself, but omitting a crucial transaction for the cards stashed within.
As the tale unfolded, Pazan swiftly became the focal point of a disciplinary saga over at the Chicago Police Department, where he has served since 2015. Stripped of his badge pending an internal investigation, his tenure there—particularly at the Morgan Park District and in the central investigations division tackling arson and financial crimes—ironically places him at the nexus of crimes he may have been on the lookout for himself.
Attempts to contact Pazan or his legal counsel have so far been met with the kind of silence more often associated with low-scoring defensive battles on the field. Meanwhile, memories of his days as a celebrated athlete linger, from his stellar performances at Brother Rice High School in Mount Greenwood, with accolades such as All-American honors, to his more modest role at the University of Illinois, where he swung passes rather than missed payments. Pity those who have seen his shift from the sunny sidelines as a coach at St. Joseph’s College to the uniformed ranks of Chicago’s finest. It was in a 2015 interview, during his career pivot from field to the force, when Pazan articulated his quest for “more” in an enigmatic way only life’s twists can truly clarify.
On the personal finances front, however, the plot thickens. Games played with numbers aren’t as easily won as those on the field, and Pazan’s financial scoreboard is decidedly less favorable. City records indicate he earns a steady $111,804 annually, sans overtime—a figure most would find suitably supportive. Yet, recent financial hurdles include a pending divorce and a $5,800 debt to previous legal counsel, all swirling in the backdrop of his arrest. As if orchestrating a financial hail mary, his current legal team reports a potentially game-changing refinance of his Beverly home, presumably a prepping maneuver for legal defense or settlement negotiations.
In looking back, Pazan’s financial scrimmage is not entirely new territory. Last year, Fifth Third Bank tried and failed to collect a debt north of $4,000, a saga ending only when they lost their proverbial quarry. Furthermore, in an incident owing little to chance, JPMorgan Chase, movers of major fiscal mountains, once pursued $15,000 from Pazan—a claim settled and, fortunately, paid off by mid-2024.
The internal workings at Chicago’s law enforcement training incorporate debt scrutiny as a preventative measure. As it stands, officers in the making destined for academy life are examined to nip at the heels of potential corruption—an ethos Pazan would have once smoothly terrained as a recruit hopeful but one that stands now as a reflective mirror.
With his courtroom debut slated for June 23 in Bridgeview under the watchful gaze of law and public interest, Pazan’s latest maneuver is out of his hands and firmly planted in those of the legal referees. One can only hope that somewhere in this unscripted reality play, a lesson or a fresh slate of the playbook awaits him, far from the echoing click of supermarket CCTV cameras and closer to redemption.
