I played football when I was in Junior High (no middle schools back then) while the other boys got taller, I got taller, they got bigger, I got taller, they got bigger, and I got taller. I graduated from high school in 1977 at 6’2” tall and 118 pounds; 16 pounds underweight to be slender according to the height and weight charts of the time. So football, as much as I loved it, was not my sport.
Track always seemed to me to be a hamster activity; no offense intended. You ran as fast as you could in a circle to end up where you started from, like a hamster in a wheel. If you were in that much of a hurry to get back to where you started from, why did you leave in the first place? That was my philosophy.
Dribbling was something I did when drinking water so, basketball was out too. The only wrestling I wanted to do was with the opposite sex. There were never any takers, in case you’re wondering. That left baseball, which I love with a passion.
I played high school and summer baseball. It was when I was playing in the Babe Ruth League – Minnesota’s version of Teeners – that my most humiliating baseball experience occurred. I’ve experienced slumps at the plate as a hitter, shellings on the mound as a pitcher, errors in the field as a player and shellackings of my team but my most embarrassing moment came at the hands of my mother.
I was up to the plate with guys on first and second in the late innings of close game when my Mom ambled into the stands. She was a teacher and had summer classes or something, so she was late to the game. As I was about to hit, my mother screamed, “Maylin! Hit a touchdown!”. That outburst of misguided enthusiasm caused pandemonium to reign on the field. The pitcher was in the middle of his wind up when she shouted her sports malapropism, and he threw the pitch straight into the ground and then collapsed wracked with gales of laughter. The catcher was shaking so hard with hilarity that he couldn’t go on. The umpire put his hand on my shoulder and said, “It’s okay, we all have mothers.” The only silver lining was the errant pitch caused the runners to advance. I struck out at bat because all I could see was red and feel the heat of mortification.
She meant well but I told her never to attend another game of mine again. She never did and I was grateful. My wife Julie finds that story hilarious. Courtesy of Julie, I now own a blue t-shirt depicting a baseball player wielding a bat with the phrase “Hit a Touchdown” underneath the figure of the batter. Julie is so funny, isn’t she.
Youth sports will soon be underway for the summer. Some of those activities are clearly “noncompetitive” with the intent to have fun and teach fundamentals. Other teams, like traveling teams, are undoubtedly meant for cutthroat competition. But in either case, it is the kids’ team and activity NOT the parents’. Parents should remember that.
A New Jersey youth league is implementing an interesting rule for their youth sports this summer. Any parent who rags on the officials will be immediately removed from the field/facility and not allowed to return unless they umpire/referee three youth events in the same sport they spouted off about. There will be a certified official there to handle the rules in case of confusion, for instance when does the infield fly rule come into effect, but the parent officiates the game.
Every once in a while, you hear in the news about parents getting into physical altercations with the result of someone getting injured, or even on occasion dying, over a disagreement about youth sports. What’s the point?
Your child wants you to be supportive and cheer for them. You don’t want someone to yell at your kid, especially obscenities or hurtful things like, “He can’t hit”; so, why do you do it other youngsters? And they are, for the most part, merely children that participate in these summer programs. My philosophy is, winning should be the goal only in varsity sports. All the “lower” levels should be about developing fundamentals and playing time in order to allow the late bloomers and ugly ducklings to flourish. That way some, otherwise overlooked, varsity material may rise to the surface by the time that winning really matters – again at the varsity level. It’s true that winning is more fun than losing but youth sports should be primarily about playing and learning with winning a happy byproduct of developing those fundamentals and teamwork.
I love the sign that is posted at many youth sports complexes around the country; “Reminder: I’m just a kid. It’s just a game. My coach is a volunteer. The officials are only human. And, no college scholarships will be handed out today.”
When you yell at your kid, even if it is “helpful” advice in your eyes, you embarrass them. What’s worse, you embarrass them in front of their peers who aren’t going to let them forget it for a very long time. You take away some, if not all, the enjoyment of the activity for them. You had your chance to be a star in your chosen sport way back when, you shouldn’t try to relive your glory days (or have them in the first place) through your kid. Be an asset, not an ass!$&@ to your child.