In an ironic twist that could spark chuckles if it weren’t so serious, former University of Illinois quarterback turned Chicago police officer Christopher Pazan seems to have fumbled a moral play in the high-stakes arena of adulthood. Once navigating the pressures of collegiate football fields, Pazan now faces allegations of trying to swipe $300 worth of baseball cards from an unsuspecting suburban store—an interception by life standards.
It was just another Wednesday afternoon when the 41-year-old was caught on camera attempting to pull off a caper that could rival any neighborhood annoyance. A security guard at the Meijer store in Evergreen Park noticed something fishy—as if right out of a crime mini-series—when Pazan delicately concealed the cards inside an otherwise mundane yard waste bag. Amateurish, perhaps, for someone whose beat formerly included investigating theft.
With a salary purportedly close to $111,804, it’s hard not to raise an eyebrow at Pazan’s alleged attempt to dodge a less-than-impressive bill. Nevertheless, the swindle landed him in legal trouble, and ignited a cascade of repercussions—beginning with the strip of his police powers. Pending an investigation, his duties with the Chicago Police Department’s Morgan Park District and central investigations division are now categorized as “on hold.”
Efforts to solicit a word from Pazan’s legal counsel ran into roadblocks as elusive as a masterfully executed quarterback sneak. Attempts to reach Pazan himself for comment also appeared to vanish into thin air.
Before the gridiron mishap of adulthood, Pazan was a star at Brother Rice High School, where he basked in the glory of All-American honors. His promising tenure as a quarterback at the University of Illinois included a few noteworthy starts, as his biography proudly recounts. Post-collegiate life saw him veering into coaching, lending his strategic mind to the likes of Illinois and St. Joseph’s College. But soon, the siren call of serve-and-protect lured him into policing.
A profile piece in the Chicago Tribune underscored his desire to take on new challenges, using the force to “serve in a different capacity.” It’s an odd juxtaposition against the alleged heist, which reads more like the actions of a desperate protagonist, trying to write a financial comeback story.
Though Pazan’s salary may seem comfortable, court documents expose underlying financial woes akin to a sacked quarterback on fourth down. His divorce proceedings play out as an unyielding opponent, coinciding inconveniently with the infamous day of his arrest. Former attorney Tania K. Harvey is reportedly still in a tug-of-war for more than $5,800 in unpaid fees, indicating a precarious financial playbook.
Pazan’s current legal team has signaled efforts to refinance his Beverly home to cover legal expenses and an anticipated settlement—the financial equivalent of a Hail Mary pass. This isn’t Pazan’s first brush with money issues; his financial records read like a troubled quarterback’s stat line, marred with debts seeking resolution. A terminated $4,000 loan collection battle with Fifth Third Bank, and a resolved $15,000 debt to JPMorgan Chase, paint a picture of a man whose lenders once carried an unfruitful pursuit.
The irony of Pazan’s legal predicament may resonate heavily with Chicago’s police recruitment policies. The department’s guidelines dictate that significant debt can be an instant offside penalty for hopeful recruits, ensuring those vulnerable to financial pressures aren’t woven into the fabric of the force—a policy echo that raises questions about oversight and precaution.
Charged with a misdemeanor count of retail theft, Pazan is set to face his next whistle, resuming his role as a character in the ongoing courtroom drama on June 23 in Bridgeview. Whether this is a temporary setback in his life or signs of broader systemic issues will soon unfold on the next play of the legal field. For Christopher Pazan, the journey from quarterback to cop took an unexpected detour through the aisles of suburban sports memorabilia—a stark reminder that life’s plays can be as unpredictable as the finest game-day match-ups.
