SPORTS DADS SAY, “PLAY MY KID IF YOU’RE SMART”

Sports dads come in every flavor between sweet and sour.

They come with vast experience, and none.

What they know for sure is their kid is better than your kid and should play more than he does.

With that attitude, what can go wrong?

I picked up the coach whistle after my oldest kid’s first sports season.

Kindergarten soccer was intense because the head coach was aiming for the World Cup, not development of the kids.

His kid, also a kindergarten student, was fine.

The team was co-ed with parents of every description.

Single, married, step, uncle, grandma, they all showed up to watch the birth of the next sports superstar.

Most of all they wanted the kids to enjoy themselves, to have fun being with their teammates.

It would have worked out better if the coach had the same intentions, but he was a winner and by God he’d make his team winners too.

Like him.

You could see his assistant coach struggling with the team dynamic.

He’d already had an older kid go through the youth sports process and knew things weren’t right.

An assistant coach needs to be organized, on time, and able to talk to the parents which is what he did when I took a team the next year.

And the year after, and the year after that for the next five years.

 

Good Years Made Better With Youth Sports

Every season started with a parents’ meeting where I laid out the plan:

“Some of the kids will love soccer, others will find another sport. My goal is to keep them interested.”

Some of the parents stuck around to watch practice, which I encouraged.

I encouraged them to get a team if they have time. They had time, but not the inclination.

Why?

It was different for me.

I worked in downtown Portland, right in the middle of the city, and got a jump start on practice days.

I made up the missed time over lunch hours, which worked for the bosses.

It was a pro-family company glad to have employees participate in the community.

I also had brothers who coached, which was a comfort since I could call them with questions.

After the parents I had a team meeting where I explained the same thing I’d told the parents.

All in all it was a nice time to put something out for kids to do in a way they could understand.

In order to pump the notion that there’s a sport for everybody I coached soccer, basketball, indoor soccer, baseball, football, and bought wrestling mats for my garage.

 

Some Parents, Right?

After a Saturday basketball game I had a parent follow me into the parking lot to complain about his kid’s playing time.

Why would a guy I knew throw down on me?

My tactic was putting kids into games where they could build their confidence instead of feeling out-shined and quit.

First came the questions:

“Was my kid hurt? Did he ask to come out of the game? Do you know what you’re doing?”

Then came the answers:

“No, your kid wasn’t hurt, didn’t ask to come out. But he was ready to go every time I put him in.”

“Then why didn’t you put him in more?”

The hard truth?

“Your kid can’t catch the ball, dribble the ball, or shoot the ball, and I don’t want him scapegoated by the others. He’ll eventually catch up if you play with him more, just passing the ball back and forth for the eye-hand coordination.

“He’ll improve if you rebound shots for him and keep feeding him the ball.

“The goal is keeping him interested in the game.”

“These are times to make memories together, moms and dads and kids.

“What you’re doing is souring the experience. Work with your kid. Maybe take a team.”

But he never did. He could complain, though.

Was I worried there in the parking lot? I always have a plan if things get physical.

As a baby boomer I had the privilege of watching Cassis Clay become Muhammad Ali on broadcast television.

And I grew up with brothers. I knew how to bob and weave, to stick and move.

I could take that guy. How? By dancing around and talking shit while he figured out he needed to take another approach.

It felt like a logical solution, don’t you think? He’d either calm down, or get even angrier.

How do you think this was taken:

“Why don’t you go home and talk to your wife and see if she can help your kid, because this is bullshit and you’re so far out of line there is no line. Go home and play some hoops and bring your kid to the next practice. That’s your mission you kooky fuck.”

 

Sports Dads On A Roll

I sat with the other sports dads when one of my kids played Classic Basketball.

The coach left lots to be desired, which I kept to myself. For the most part.

No team needs a disgruntled parent in the stands.

So the shoe was on the other foot when my kid asked me why he wasn’t playing instead of some short chunky kid who didn’t have much game.

I asked a professional coach what I should do?

They said, “Talk to the coach. Ask him what your kid can do for more playing time. He’ll start explaining it to you. That’s when you interrupt and say, “Coach, I’m not on the team. I’d like you to tell the player. Thanks.”

I talked to the coach. He started explaining to me, just like the pro coach said.

During the next game my kid played well when he got in.

Problem solved? At least for that day.

Both my kids played basketball into their thirties, from rec leagues, to college rec leagues, to pick-up games at 24Hour.

They organized a team that won an adult league city championship.

Neither played in high school because they wrestled during the same season.

Why?

 

A coach named Cael Sanderson has two young boys too.

He said they’ll wrestle, not because he did, but to make up for the mistakes he’ll make as a parent.”

 

I knew I needed help, and where to get it.

Sound familiar?