In a tale that sounds straight out of a Hollywood script about untimely falls from grace, a former college football star turned Chicago police officer is embroiled in a scandal that has shocked both sports enthusiasts and the law enforcement community. Christopher Pazan, whose impressive spiral throws once made him the darling of Illinois football fans, is now accused of pilfering baseball cards worth $300 from a Meijer store in Evergreen Park, a leafy suburb that usually makes the news for its garden shows, not its robberies.
The bizarre incident unfolded under the watchful electronic eyes of a security system that caught Pazan, 41, not attempting a Hail Mary pass but rather a hole-in-one heist. According to Sgt. Victor Watts of the Evergreen Park Police, the footballer-turned-officer surreptitiously slid the collectible cards into a yard waste bag—an ironic choice considering he seemed to have been clearing his own path to trouble. Despite paying the pittance for the bag, Pazan walked out of the store without a backward glance at the cards’ rightful price.
When people take the oath to protect and serve, it’s hard to imagine that extends to protecting their love for baseball memorabilia. However, Pazan finds himself suspended indefinitely from his police duties. The once-promising quarterback who traded his shoulder pads for a badge now waits with bated breath pending an internal police investigation. His previous assignment to the Chicago Police’s investigation-heavy Morgan Park District was a stark contrast to his current chapter, where he’s now a case requiring investigation.
Attempts to reach Pazan’s legal representatives were met with radio silence, much like a halftime locker room after a lackluster first-half performance. Pazan himself, who could dazzle reporters with tales of touchdown glory and gridiron gambles, seems to have found a new specialty in avoiding media engagement.
This tangled tale is made even more gripping by Pazan’s once-scrutinized tenure as a star athlete. During his high school years at Brother Rice High School in Mount Greenwood, Pazan shone brightly enough to earn All-American laurels. The rosy-eyed scouts weren’t in error as he went on to grace the playing field for the University of Illinois. His college football narrative is chronicled as one speckled with proud moments as much celebrated as Friday night lights.
Post-college, he turned his tactical and analytical skills toward mentoring future generations as a coach at Illinois and later at Saint Joseph’s College. However, the siren call of law enforcement eventually drew him into its ranks. Defending his career pivot, Pazan had told the Chicago Tribune that joining the police force was born out of an unquenched thirst for service and seeking something more profound than a scoreboard could offer. Ironically, it is this dedication to the badge that now stands in question.
Pazan’s salary as a Chicago police officer sits comfortably at $111,804 annually, exclusive of any potential extra earnings from overtime. However, a peek behind the financial curtain reveals distressing strains. He finds himself ensnared in a money saga entwined with an ongoing divorce and soaring legal obligations. Tania K. Harvey, his former attorney, is still counting on more than $5,800 in unpaid fees—an example of legal tab left open longer than a dodgy diner’s running bill. Additionally, Pazan has resorted to refinancing his home in Beverly to provide financial succor for his legal battles and settlement expenses.
But this isn’t the first time Pazan has tackled financial difficulties. In 2022, Fifth Third Bank had squared off against him in court over a $4,000 loan, but the case fizzled as the fingers of bureaucracy failed to grasp him. Later that year, a heavier swing came from JPMorgan Chase, demanding over $15,000. True to his quarterback roots, Pazan called an audible and eventually resolved the feud by mid-2024.
City hiring norms for police are strict, aiming to filter out those ensnared in monetary mire lest they sway under pressure. The fear is that individuals with precarious financial footing might fall prey to corrupt temptations.
Alas, Christopher Pazan’s reputation—and freedom soon—might be at the mercy of Bridgeview court where he was scheduled to drop back into legal scrutiny on June 23. As he now trades coping strategies with quarterbacks’ tactical moves, Pazan’s narrative hangs by a verdict poised to alter the course of his life story—a story once outlined by touchdowns and now underlined by courtroom gavel taps.
