Book that coach!
Childhood athletics was easier in the ’70s and ’80s than it is today. At least for the parents and, particularly, coaches it was. I grew up in the midwest in that era playing several different sports. Back then, we just played. Teams were formed, leagues were joined, and we played. Coaches coached. That was about all there was to it. Today, it is very different.
As the coach of a travel soccer team for nine year olds, I have to go through 16 hours of “training” to obtain a coaching license (even though I have played soccer for 30 years and was captain of a Division I program in college); I have to assemble about 65 pages of paperwork for the 13 players on the team; I have to get ID cards for each of the players and assistants; to enter a tournament is another 10-15 pages of paperwork; it costs north of $300 per player per season in addition to the uniform.
To recap:
– 16 hours of training
– 65 pages of paperwork
– 17 ID cards
– $300
…so that my NINE YEAR OLD can play soccer. You know what though? I actually get it. Today, coaches and parents try to insert 14 year olds into the Little League World Series. Back then, no one did that, and if they did, you just played anyway.
Page after page has been written about how parents and coaches take kids’ athletics to an extreme. I’ve seen it firsthand, and there’s something to the argument. But behind the scenes, parents are quietly ruining sports in a much more sinister way. I’m talking about coaches who yell at the kids too much, and I’m not talking about parents who yell too much from the sidelines. I’m talking about the “administrators” behind these leagues who, having sipped through a straw from the Fountain of Power, are now standing on a fire hose projecting their self-importance and status as Keepers Of The Game.
Last season, while coaching my then-eight year old’s soccer team, I received a yellow card (I think) for dissent. Translation: the ref thought I yelled at him so he gave me a yellow card. In fact, another coach did the yelling (and was also booked). I had a tiny little chuckle to myself afterward at the silliness of the whole situation and then forgot the whole thing. This would turn out to be a very important event, however.
Later in the season, the boys were locked in a close, physical game with another team. Neither side was playing dirty, but there were far too many dangerous tackles going on. At one point, the ref remarked to a parent on the other sideline that “soccer is a contact sport” and smirked at a player who went down with an injury (who quickly recovered, of course).
On one particular play late in the game, two of our players were taken down from behind by very rough fouls after the play had moved to another part of the field. The second foul (comical in hindsight since no one was hurt) sent one of our players flying horizontally through the corner flag, reminiscent of Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown (only in this case, Lucy pushed Chuck). At that point, I felt like the referee had lost control of the game and one of the kids–on either team–was at risk of legitimate injury. I made a conscious, pre-meditated decision to yell at the referee. I told him (loudly), “that’s twice in one play! you gotta start calling fouls from behind!”.
That is verbatim, although to be fair I probably should have used a couple more exclamation points in recounting the outburst. The result, as you would have guessed, was a yellow card.
Over the summer I was informed that I would be suspended for two games and fined $200. No appeal necessary, said the league, as God/referee’s word is final. I lined up support from the opposing coach, who was in agreement with me. The league informed me then that I was, in fact, an embarrassment to all who play, coach, watch, or gamble on sports.
So I thought about it. Did I cross the line? Truth is, those were the first words I had said to the ref all game. I acted out of concern for the kids’ safety by intentionally drawing the ref’s attention to an unsafe condition in the hope he would blow the whistle more liberally. Yet, I get it. The league understandably wants the players to witness the game at the highest level of respect and professionalism. The rules of the game dictated that I receive a yellow card that day. It being my second (or first and a half), led to the suspension and fine, which is why that first comical card became so important. But I knew I would draw a yellow card and weighed the impression I might make on the kids against the one I hoped to make on the ref. I figured I could deal with any fall out later.
Despite the support of the opposing coach, the league would hear none of my appeal. There are no checks and balances in the system. The people running these leagues have very large egos to stroke. Being commissioner of an eight year old soccer league is, after all, tantamount to running the federal reserve system of a medium-sized country. Well, in their own eyes anyway.
Somewhere along the way, childhood athletics became less about childhood athletics and more about the power struggles of the politically correct. Hey, your son signed his ID card in the wrong place; guess what: rejected. Seriously, because he signed in the wrong place? That is an adult exercising the power to say “rejected” because he/she has that power.
I know most of the rules serve a purpose. My league has a manual about 30 pages deep full of them. My club has a manual about 7 pages deep full of them. I have to sign half a dozen papers attesting to my commitment to be a good coach, not abduct any children, get a coaching license, and kowtow to those above me (pretty much everyone). Someone ought to have to sign a contract attesting to their commitment to not stand in the way of what we’re all supposed to be after: teaching the kids proper fundamentals in their sport in a fun, nurturing atmosphere.
As for me, I’ll be selling hot dogs and lemonade at the first two games this season trying to earn my $200 back.
jockess 