Maybe it's not like this where you live (if so, please send me your zip code so I can start searching the real estate listings). Maybe you live in a town where kids' sports are just one more extracurricular activity. Where parents drop their kids off at practice and head to the grocery store or the library until it's time to pick little Johnny up. In your town, maybe the parents go to Little League games and root for the TEAM and smile when their kid misses a fly ball
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| waiting for the broccoli vendor to come by |
Unfortunately, where I live, kids' sports has taken on a bit of a Hunger Games vibe.
I live in a place populated by neurotic, overachieving parents who are convinced that THEIR kid (who incidentally has his cleats on the wrong feet) is destined for a career in the NBA/NFL/MLB/MLS/whatever professional organization exists for "lax" players. (When I hear lacrosse referred to as "lax", I always conjure up an image of the old Ex-Lax commercials.)
Many parents in my community believe that the only thing standing between THEIR exceptional child and a life of athletic stardom and lucrative endorsement deals are all those other players on the team taking playing time away from THEIR kid and the crappy parent coaches who wouldn't recognize true talent if it bit them in the ass.
As the parent of multiple-sport children and the wife of one of those
It all started with baseball, that quintessential American sport. My husband loves baseball and it was always his dream to coach a son in Little League. So when our oldest was about five years old, we signed him up for t-ball and dragged him out to the ball field in a hat that came down over his eyes and pants that drooped so low, you would have thought he had a diaper on underneath them.
The t-ball learning curve is pretty steep for five year olds and pretty dismal for their parents. If you have never
Repeat the process every Saturday morning for four months. Welcome to t-ball.
Eventually, however, you become used to seeing the first baseman wander into right field, fascinated by a parade of ants carrying a pretzel crumb. You no longer wince in pain when the batter hits the ball, conks himself on the head on the follow-through swing and runs triumphantly to third base. You ignore the fact that the coaches (after screaming "RUN TO FIRST BASE" a hundred times) are popping Tylenol like Skittles and washing them down with straight vodka out of a Dasani bottle. And you come to realize that the kids are really only interested in the post-game snack.
So after a year or so of
Because I have logged over two million hours watching my kids play sports, my boredom creative mind has led me to devise a "Baseball Parents Classification System" to help differentiate the three distinct groups into which parents can be sorted.
The first group is comprised of parents who want their kids to get some exercise, be part of a team and learn to love the sport. These parents get their kids to practices and games on time, respect the authority of the coaches and cheer for every kid on both teams. We'll call these the "normal" parents. Unfortunately, they are the smallest of the three groups.
The second group is made up of those parents who are so concerned about the physical and mental well-being of their child that they hover right outside the dugout juggling water, Gatorade, ice packs, snacks and a warm sweatshirt. (I actually once saw a parent leaning over the fence and feeding his child--who was playing left field at the time--a hot dog DURING THE GAME because "it was his lunchtime". ) These parents often did not play sports themselves growing up and have kids that areklutzes somewhat less athletically inclined. We'll call this group "the helicopter parents."
That brings us to my favorite group of all: those who can't differentiate between kids' sports and the Olympic Games and dammit, could do a hell of a better job than that volunteer crappy coach who sometimes makes kids SIT ON THE BENCH so that other kids get a chance to play. (I've always wondered why none of these experts ever "step up to the plate" and volunteer to coach. I guess it's more fun and less pressure to sit back and criticize.)
These parents are the ones that no one wants to sit next to during games because they never stop yelling out instructions to their kid (often contradicting the instructions being yelled by the actual coach). When they're not focusing their attention on their kid, they're berating the umpire.
(I would like to take this opportunity to remind parents that most Little League umpires are teenagers, picking up a little extra money. They are well-trained and most take their responsibilities seriously and want to do a good job. Parents yelling at them is kind of mean and can be pretty scary. I have firsthand experience of this....when my oldest son outgrew Little League, he started umpiring. Unfortunately, one day he was assigned to umpire behind the plate in a must-win game in which my other son was pitching and my husband was coaching. Oddly, none of us was bright enough to recognize the potential pitfalls in this scenario. I was apparently off my meds that day, and to make a long story short, my older son ended his Little League umpiring career after that game.)
So going back to group #3...these parents badger the coach with phone calls and emails, pointing out that their kid is WAY TOO TALENTED to be wasting his time playing in the outfield and should be pitching every inning of every game and of course, batting first in the lineup. These parents could not care less how the team does, as long as their kid gets plenty of playing time and looks good doing it. (Why these people choose team sports is completely beyond me.) We'll call these the "raving lunatic parents".
You might assume that the raving lunatic parents would be just dads--maybe some of whom never had success in sports themselves and are trying to live vicariously through their sons. It might surprise you to know that many of the raving lunatics are moms. My husband was once loudly berated by a mom for taking her son, who was pitching, out of a game. This kid had a strong arm but absolutely no control. I guess my husband was just supposed to ignore the fact that the kid had beaned three kids in a row and nearly decapitated the catcher.
You'll have no problem recognizing the kids who belong to the raving lunatic parents. These are the kids that are decked out in Under Armour from head to toe, carry an equipment bag the size of an SUV, play with a $300 Limited Edition Mizuno glove and carry six different bats in their ginormous bat bags. They talk about their "hitting coach" and their "conditioning coach" and how they "carb-loaded" before the game. If they strike out or make a bad play, they come storming back to the dugout either crying or flinging their batting helmet into the dirt. Or both. Some of these kids are average players whose parents keep telling them (and everyone else) that they're awesome. And some of these kids are really good ball players who will eventually burn out and have their love for the game extinguished because of the constant parental pressure.
For the most part, I have bided my time as a charter member of Group 1. On a few very rare occasions, I got caught up in the moment and briefly crossed over to the other side as a member of Group 3. The "I don't know you" look on my son's face was usually enough to snap me back to sanity. (Plus my husband banned me from coming within 20 feet of the dugout during a game and refused to open emails from me that had "how you could be a better coach" in the subject line.)
So I will attempt to STOP THE MADNESS with a few helpful observations that I have gleaned after years of life in the bleachers:
First, if your kid is blessed with extraordinary athletic skills, people are going to notice without you pointing it out. But remember, sports are full of opportunities for kids to learn humility--don't blow those teaching moments.
The first group is comprised of parents who want their kids to get some exercise, be part of a team and learn to love the sport. These parents get their kids to practices and games on time, respect the authority of the coaches and cheer for every kid on both teams. We'll call these the "normal" parents. Unfortunately, they are the smallest of the three groups.
The second group is made up of those parents who are so concerned about the physical and mental well-being of their child that they hover right outside the dugout juggling water, Gatorade, ice packs, snacks and a warm sweatshirt. (I actually once saw a parent leaning over the fence and feeding his child--who was playing left field at the time--a hot dog DURING THE GAME because "it was his lunchtime". ) These parents often did not play sports themselves growing up and have kids that are
That brings us to my favorite group of all: those who can't differentiate between kids' sports and the Olympic Games and dammit, could do a hell of a better job than that
These parents are the ones that no one wants to sit next to during games because they never stop yelling out instructions to their kid (often contradicting the instructions being yelled by the actual coach). When they're not focusing their attention on their kid, they're berating the umpire.
(I would like to take this opportunity to remind parents that most Little League umpires are teenagers, picking up a little extra money. They are well-trained and most take their responsibilities seriously and want to do a good job. Parents yelling at them is kind of mean and can be pretty scary. I have firsthand experience of this....when my oldest son outgrew Little League, he started umpiring. Unfortunately, one day he was assigned to umpire behind the plate in a must-win game in which my other son was pitching and my husband was coaching. Oddly, none of us was bright enough to recognize the potential pitfalls in this scenario. I was apparently off my meds that day, and to make a long story short, my older son ended his Little League umpiring career after that game.)
So going back to group #3...these parents badger the coach with phone calls and emails, pointing out that their kid is WAY TOO TALENTED to be wasting his time playing in the outfield and should be pitching every inning of every game and of course, batting first in the lineup. These parents could not care less how the team does, as long as their kid gets plenty of playing time and looks good doing it. (Why these people choose team sports is completely beyond me.) We'll call these the "raving lunatic parents".
You might assume that the raving lunatic parents would be just dads--maybe some of whom never had success in sports themselves and are trying to live vicariously through their sons. It might surprise you to know that many of the raving lunatics are moms. My husband was once loudly berated by a mom for taking her son, who was pitching, out of a game. This kid had a strong arm but absolutely no control. I guess my husband was just supposed to ignore the fact that the kid had beaned three kids in a row and nearly decapitated the catcher.
You'll have no problem recognizing the kids who belong to the raving lunatic parents. These are the kids that are decked out in Under Armour from head to toe, carry an equipment bag the size of an SUV, play with a $300 Limited Edition Mizuno glove and carry six different bats in their ginormous bat bags. They talk about their "hitting coach" and their "conditioning coach" and how they "carb-loaded" before the game. If they strike out or make a bad play, they come storming back to the dugout either crying or flinging their batting helmet into the dirt. Or both. Some of these kids are average players whose parents keep telling them (and everyone else) that they're awesome. And some of these kids are really good ball players who will eventually burn out and have their love for the game extinguished because of the constant parental pressure.
For the most part, I have bided my time as a charter member of Group 1. On a few very rare occasions, I got caught up in the moment and briefly crossed over to the other side as a member of Group 3. The "I don't know you" look on my son's face was usually enough to snap me back to sanity. (Plus my husband banned me from coming within 20 feet of the dugout during a game and refused to open emails from me that had "how you could be a better coach" in the subject line.)
So I will attempt to STOP THE MADNESS with a few helpful observations that I have gleaned after years of life in the bleachers:
First, if your kid is blessed with extraordinary athletic skills, people are going to notice without you pointing it out. But remember, sports are full of opportunities for kids to learn humility--don't blow those teaching moments.
Second, if your kid is of average ability, do him a favor and don't constantly tell him he's better than he is. He knows the limits of his abilities and will wonder why he can't live up to YOUR expectations.
Third, kids are tougher physically and mentally than parents give them credit for. Feed your kid before the game, send him with a thermos of water and then don't offer snacks during a game. If he strikes out, don't go rushing over to console him. Let him sit and sort out his own emotions. Believe me, hovering parents aren't just embarrassing for the kids--they also inhibit kids' abilities to develop the coping skills they're going to need in life.
Fourth, try REALLY hard to remember that the people coaching kids' sports are volunteers. They have full-time jobs in the real world and would rather not read your "helpful" emails all day. They leave their jobs early to make it to practice on time. They read books and attend clinics to learn how to be an effective coach and role model. They love the sport and want the kids to love it too. They want to win, but believe it's more important to teach kids to learn life skills like losing gracefully and always giving your best effort. They spend hours creating lineups that give all the kids an opportunity to try different positions. Please teach your child to respect their coaches and umpires. A "thank you" once in a while goes a long way. And PLEASE try to get your kids to practices and games on time. When a kid just doesn't show up, it wreaks havoc with those carefully drawn up lineup and practice plans.
And finally, carefully consider if team sports are the right fit for your family. If your child has to have the spotlight on him at all times, sharing the playing time with 10 other kids will just end in frustration for you and him. If you can't understand why the coach doesn't pinch hit for the kid who hasn't made contact with the ball all season when he comes up in the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs, then you are not cut out for team sports. Remember--live by the team, die by the team.
And if, after all my helpful advice, you're still clinging to your membership card in the raving lunatics club, then please don't sit next to me.
