It was 1998. Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals. It wasn’t my first run-in with the delicate intricacies of the “no call” … but it was certainly the most profound.

The Pacers were inbounding the ball — trailing Michael Jordan’s Bulls by one — 2.9 seconds left. Now, maybe there was a deranged hobo perched in a tree somewhere who thought Reggie Miller wouldn’t get the shot … but I doubt it. Nobody’s quite that mentally inept, frankly. EVERYBODY knew where the ball was going, and who it was going to.

Including Jordan. Especially Jordan.

So what’d His Airness do? Why, he planted himself right where he knew Reggie was inevitably coming, of course. He wanted to deny the inbounds pass. After all, Reggie couldn’t shoot the ball if he couldn’t catch it first. And you know what he got for his clever ball-denying efforts? He got violently shoved six feet backwards. By Reggie. Who after decisively heaving Jordan aside — and with newfound acres of open space to catch the ball and square up — quickly and cold-blooded-ly drained a 25-fadeaway for the win. The single most awesome moment in the history of everything.

Here. See for yourself. Let us all bow our heads:

(Give me a second. I think my two-year-old just shoved a pound of onion grinds into my eye sockets. This is awkward. Let’s just press on.)

Point being, if referee Bennett Salvatore goes strictly by the rulebook there, he blows the whistle on Reggie. No question. The result? Offensive foul … Bulls’ ball … end of story … end of game. A seminal moment in Indianapolis history? Gone. An NBA classic for the ages? Erased. My 17 consecutive cerebral strokes of joy? Wiped clean off my medical chart. Salvatore? Maimed in a hail of angry sniper bullets. America in general? A far lesser place to live. The list goes on and on.

But Salvatore didn’t call a foul, obviously. He let it slide. Partly because Market Square Arena would’ve instantly erupted into a vortex of wrath and vengeance … but mainly because of the situation. He understood that the closing seconds of this game — this insanely crucial game — needed to be settled by the players. Not him. And a vicious shove to the sternum wasn’t going to change that.

His whistle, for all intents and purposes, was officially swallowed. With nary a chance of being regurgitated. Reggie could’ve taken a f–king battle mace to Jordan’s kneecap and no foul was going to be called. Not at that juncture. Not in that situation. There’s no way.

Which brings us to Sunday. To Helio. And to Brian Barnhart choosing to do what Salvatore did NOT: blow the whistle.

He chose to strictly enforce the rulebook. As if this were an inconsequential Indy Lights race in June. He factored in neither the situation, nor the ramifications of the ruling. In short, he chose to NOT let Helio and Justin Wilson settle this amongst themselves.

The result? Helio was forced to give up the lead … boredom and depressed binge-drinking ensued … end of race. The possibility of an old-school, bare-knuckle brawl for the checkered flag? Gone. The chance for a compelling sprint to the finish? Erased. The potential for a wildly intriguing season-ending race in Chicago? Significantly lowered. The decision to f–k the omnipotent Roger Penske on his home track? Unwise. Very, very unwise.

All because Barnhart blew the whistle, so to speak. He didn’t let it slide. Partly because of his Communist beliefs. (Allegedly.) But mainly because he failed to appreciate the situation. He failed to understood that the closing laps of this race — this insanely crucial race — needed to be settled by the drivers. Not him. And no “incidental” block should’ve changed that.

Wait … what’s that? It wasn’t merely “incidental,” you say? It was “intentional?” “An intentional violation of the rules that gave Helio an unfair advantage?” Oh. Well that changes everything. And by “everything,” I obviously mean “absolutely f–king nothing.”

And here’s why.

It shouldn’t have mattered if Helio started dropping vast oil slicks behind him, “RC Pro Am”-style. It shouldn’t have mattered if he pulled a “Viso” (better know as slamming Wilson into the nearest immovable object, then firing a salvo of harpoons into the wreckage to seal the deal). And the exact same goes for Wilson. There’s nothing that should have warranted a penalty in that situation. Nothing. For either of them. Machine guns. Morningstars. Mortar shells. Human hostage shields. Depth charges. Hurling slabs of beef. Violating the Geneva Convention. Whatever.

But you know what? Even without the penalty, maybe Wilson still wins. Maybe not. Maybe the uninterupted showdown becomes THE seminal moment of the unified IndyCar Series. Maybe not. Maybe it’s a historically awesome moment. Maybe not.

Had Barnhart swallowed his proverbial whistle, we’d know for sure.