Talk about a slip from grace more dramatic than a last-minute fumble in the fourth quarter of a college football game. Christopher Pazan, once a heralded quarterback with aspirations of gridiron glory, has found himself caught up in an unexpected and somewhat bizarre off-field debacle. Trading the bright lights of the football field for the humdrum of police work didn’t quite yield the stability Pazan may have envisioned. Instead, it seems the Chicago cop has found himself on the wrong end of the law, accused of trying to swipe $300 worth of baseball cards—a collector’s error of judgment, to be sure.
Pazan, at the apparently tender age of 41, seemed to have swapped an athletic career for a stable job, donning the Chicago Police Department’s badge in 2015. But recent events unfold a tale with more bumps than a poorly patched city street. Earlier this week, he was arrested after allegedly attempting a less-than-cunning heist at a Meijer store on South Western Avenue in Evergreen Park. Security footage purportedly captured him in the act, slipping the cards, not stealthily into his pocket but into a yard waste bag—a move perhaps more suited to a little league playbook than a police officer’s record. He blatantly flaunted the old “pay for this, walk out with that” scheme, ensuring the bag found itself on the receipt but leaving the cards forsaken.
To rub salt into the wound, the arrest led to Pazan being pulled from his duties within the Morgan Park District and his assignment with the CPD’s central investigations division, an ironic twist when one considers the division’s focus on crimes not unlike what he’s accused of committing. For now, he stands idle, his police powers ceremoniously shuffled to the back shelf, pending an internal review.
Tracing his path, Pazan’s journey reads like a tale of two cities. High school days saw him shine as an All-American quarterback at Brother Rice High School. He threw his talent onto the University of Illinois football field, where he occasionally dazzled fans in his starting role. But the chains that bound him to athletics loosened over time, and Pazan found himself coaching before finally answering another calling—as a public servant in the police force.
The narrative of a once-promising star finding a second act in law enforcement might seem like a Hollywood script, yet life rarely pans out as smoothly as a studio writer’s creation. In a 2015 conversation with the Chicago Tribune, Pazan revealed his shift to police work was driven by a yearning “to serve in a different capacity.” Apparently in pursuit of this noble cause, he even connected with the Chicago Enforcers, a collective of law enforcement officers who trade blows on the football field in their spare time. But it seems the tackle he couldn’t quite dodge was financial strife.
Despite a respectable $111,804 salary from the city—remarkably, excluding any sweet overtime bonuses—Pazan’s financial playbook appears mired in red ink. A divorce proceeding, looming legal fees, and reminders of unpaid debts have cornered him with more pressure than any blitzing linebacker. His previous lawyer, weary of chasing payments, petitioned for $5,800 in unpaid fees. Efforts to plug these monetary leaks by refinancing his home are underway, but they provide cold comfort when weighed against the allegations at hand.
Financial missteps aren’t new territory for Pazan. Prior dalliances with banks eager to collect their due amount were met with resistance—particularly when Fifth Third Bank found locating him akin to chasing a ghost. While Pazan reconciled with JPMorgan Chase over a substantial debt, settling by mid-2024, these financial faux pas cast a long shadow on his creditworthiness and, perhaps, his judgment.
This story evokes a certain tragic timbre—a man once celebrated for tenacity and leadership now navigating personal and financial turbulence. It highlights the precarious foundations on which stability and morality rest, especially when curiosity dives deeper into Chicago’s hiring guidelines. Would-be recruits burdened with significant debt find entry into police work vexingly out of reach, the administration wary of opening their ranks to those susceptible to undue influence.
The culmination of these unfolding misfortunes finds Pazan facing a misdemeanor retail theft charge. June 23 bounds forward as not just a routine court date in Bridgeview, but a significant touchstone in his winding road forward. Meanwhile, the fabled baseball cards, purported vessels of youthful nostalgia and joy, have found themselves wrapped in an odd tale of woe—a chapter in Pazan’s life undoubtedly unforeseen by all.
