Confessions
of a Soccer Parent
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Originally published
as Confessions
of a Recovering Soccer Dad
by Ronald
M. St Marie]
One of the more enjoyable
experiences I have each fall is watching my three children
play soccer. To see their growing skills and love for the
game is truly a blessing. I can now confess, however, that
I could have made it even more fun for both them and for me
had I been a little bit more relaxed and far quieter on the
sidelines. You see, until recently, I was your typical loud
and obnoxious soccer parent. In the last few years, I have
learned a few hard lessons that have put me on the path to
recovery.
My
kid's not Pele and that's ok. I am a sports fan.
I have watched a lot of college and pro sports on TV. Yet
until soccer I did not watch much youth sports. The difference
is appalling. I used to whine, groan and throw up my hands
with every mistake the players made.
I
now realize how silly I was acting. First, these kids are
just . . . well . . . KIDS! They are changing both mentally
and physically every week. Of course they are going to make
mistakes on the field that's how they learn to play the game.
They felt bad enough kicking at the ball and missing; you
can imagine how they must have felt to hear me moan about
it.
Second,
my kids probably inherited the same athletic ability that
I have. To be blunt, they likely will not be professional
athletes. I cannot hold them to the same standards I might
hold Mia Hamm or Cobi Jones. I am learning to put my expectations
in perspective and enjoy the game for what it is: recreational
youth soccer.
My
kid's coach is not Bruce Arena and that's ok. I also
used to gripe to my kids about their coaches, questioning
their competence. One year, my older daughter's coach would
limit his sideline coaching to screaming at every chance:
"Follow the ball!" We would then watch all of the
kids swarm the ball like frenzied killer bees. Why doesn't
the Coach teach the kids to spread out, to pass the ball,
to look up when they dribble? What is he doing in practice?
Then
I volunteered to coach my younger daughter's team. I quickly
learned that this can be an impossible job. Not only are the
kids not professional athletes, but most are not yet developmentally
ready to grasp the finer points of soccer. They soon tired
of my instructions and became restless. From that point they
turned to rioting. I was armed with some cones and a whistle,
but what I really needed was a whip and a chair.
With
the girls I tried yelling and some ended up crying. I learned
to gently prod them to action, encouraging them to act out
and not be afraid of being physical. This year I tried the
same thing with my son's team. The boys ended up attacking
each other like crazed baboons. How can you teach those nifty
cross-over dribbling moves when the boys are giving each other
wedgies during my demonstrations. I still gripe about the
coaches, but I do so to my wife, privately, with a far greater
appreciation for the difficult job that they have chosen.
My
kid can play without me and that's ok. Another temptation
that I often gave in to, even when I was not the coach, was
instructing my kids while they played. I used to think it
was appropriate to stand on the touch line and yell: "Pass
the ball to Sara!" and "Shoot the ball to the left!!"
I can still remember being told by a more enlightened soccer
mom to get away from the goal and stop coaching my son Willie
when he was a 5 year old keeper. My actual ignorant retort:
"Lady, get off my back. I am helping here!!"
I
now know better. First, I read in an article that most children
cannot properly play the game and, at the same time, follow
a coach's directions. By the time they hear me, process what
I said, and then act on it, the opportunity to act is lost.
My instructions were actually hurting them on the field! Besides,
if they depend on me to instruct them while they are playing,
how will they learn to make decisions on their own when they
can't hear me.
Another
article also got me thinking. Did I stand behind my daughter
Dominique while she worked on a coloring book and scream at
her: "In the lines, Nique! You must color in the lines!!
Use Green!! Use Green for the grass! No, Nique, not blue!
Green!!" Of course I didn't. (Okay, I admit I did that
with Madeleine, my oldest child, but I was much younger then.)
Why should soccer be any different?
Then,
after refereeing a few games, I realized how inane my own
screaming had been. In the middle of the field, my voice was
being drowned out by other parents who feel duty-bound to
scream too. Julie's dad is yelling: "Shoot, shoot."
I am yelling: "Pass, pass." You are yelling: "Stop
her, stop her." It all becomes confusing, stressful noise
in the middle of the field. While I am not yet an advocate
of "Silent Saturdays," I now certainly see the point
of sitting back and letting my kids play without my "help."
The
referee is not a professional and that's ok. When
I first started watching soccer, I had no idea what the rules
were. But I was certain of one thing: the referees in my kids'
games were bozos and I openly let them know about it with
each missed call.
It
was only when I was forced into refereeing to make up for
the shortage in my region that I realized how wrong I was.
Refereeing is a very tough and demanding job. You have to
run in the hot sun over uneven fields for an hour or more,
all the time dodging little people. You make split second
decisions on calls that require a deeper understanding of
the game than I had imagined. You have to put up with coaches
and parents who are loud and often ignorant of the rules.
I
discovered that many of the ref's decisions I had challenged
as "psycho parent," were simply judgment calls.
Just because my watch says that the game should be over does
not mean that the referee must agree with me. And on that
offside call, the assistant referee probably had a much better
view of the second-to-the-last defender than I had, pacing
behind the coach.
I
also learned that in soccer, unlike other sports I grew up
with, there is a rule stating that dissent from a referee's
call is misconduct. Go figure! You don't like calls? Get on
the phone to your local region's referee administrators, and
volunteer. Its amazing how good those black knee-high socks
look on overweight, middle-aged guys like me.
So
I am slowly learning that soccer should be about the kids,
not about me nor the other adults. It should be about playing
a game, not performing for parents and coaches. Get the kids
away from TV and the Internet, interacting with friends and
having FUN. It is not life and death out there. Relax and
enjoy the game.
Now
at my kids' games, you can usually find me in my folding chair,
under an umbrella, teasing the coaches and other parents for
screaming like maniacs at their kids. I try, not yet always
successfully, to limit my comments to after-the-fact praising
of the kids on both teams "Nice shot." "Beautiful
pass." And every once in a while I will add, in a loud
voice: "Follow the ball!" While it adds to the noise
on the touch lines, sometimes my own child will hear me and
reward me with a wonderful smile. It's moments like that when
I now truly love this game.
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