Dixon Carter Lee
Headliner
- Joined
- Nov 22, 1999
- Posts
- 48,682
My son had his first soccer game this season. We get there early to set up our chairs, and watch a bit of the game before ours. Their coach is yelling at the kids. Five dads are also up on their feet, in a line, yelling. "Come on! Kick it!" "What are you waiting for, Jimmy?" "Run, Samantha! Run!" "Defense! Defense!" "Offense! Offense!" "Come on! Wake up!" "What are you thinking?" "Attack the ball!" And on and on, all yelling with great urgency.
Constantly.
These poor kids are six and seven years old. It's their first game of the season. It was about 99 degrees out in the middle of the San Fernando Valley. They looked so miserable and tired. And these fucking parents are screaming at their poor sopping wet kids to "Attack! Attack!" while they drink their gatorade.
I talked to some of the parents later. Apparently most of them had asked for this particular coach, because they liked his "killer" approach to coaching. The coach was actually a very nice guy, but he drove them damn hard, and allowed the Dad's to stand in a friggin line like a firing squad and yell.
I'm standing next to one of the dad's chatting, and he's complaining to me about how the other team is so much bigger, and that's why his team was losing, and I wanted to say "Maybe your kids are losing because they're scared to fucking death." I was going to say something, when I realized I was chatting with Charles Haid, and "Hill Street Blues" is one of my all time favorite TV shows, so I couldn't really bitch to this guy about pushy parenting when all I really wanted to do was ask him geeky trivia questions about Belker.
My son's coach is different. He works on fundamentals, listens to the kids, makes them work hard, but also let's them play the Goddamned game. I tell you, you play a game, go home, show up for practice the next day, and that when all the drilling makes sense. It's after you get a couple of games under your belt when you start to see the value of practice and listening to your coach. There's no sense in trying to get a kid to learn the value of passing in the middle of the game - there's no chance of your making him a better player right then and there, no matter much you fucking yell, and show, loudly, how disappointed Dad is.
My kid's team played, had fun, learned a lot, nobody yelled at them, and I'm saving a fortune in therapy and drug rehab for my kid in 10 years.
Constantly.
These poor kids are six and seven years old. It's their first game of the season. It was about 99 degrees out in the middle of the San Fernando Valley. They looked so miserable and tired. And these fucking parents are screaming at their poor sopping wet kids to "Attack! Attack!" while they drink their gatorade.
I talked to some of the parents later. Apparently most of them had asked for this particular coach, because they liked his "killer" approach to coaching. The coach was actually a very nice guy, but he drove them damn hard, and allowed the Dad's to stand in a friggin line like a firing squad and yell.
I'm standing next to one of the dad's chatting, and he's complaining to me about how the other team is so much bigger, and that's why his team was losing, and I wanted to say "Maybe your kids are losing because they're scared to fucking death." I was going to say something, when I realized I was chatting with Charles Haid, and "Hill Street Blues" is one of my all time favorite TV shows, so I couldn't really bitch to this guy about pushy parenting when all I really wanted to do was ask him geeky trivia questions about Belker.
My son's coach is different. He works on fundamentals, listens to the kids, makes them work hard, but also let's them play the Goddamned game. I tell you, you play a game, go home, show up for practice the next day, and that when all the drilling makes sense. It's after you get a couple of games under your belt when you start to see the value of practice and listening to your coach. There's no sense in trying to get a kid to learn the value of passing in the middle of the game - there's no chance of your making him a better player right then and there, no matter much you fucking yell, and show, loudly, how disappointed Dad is.
My kid's team played, had fun, learned a lot, nobody yelled at them, and I'm saving a fortune in therapy and drug rehab for my kid in 10 years.