I think we need a law to ban idiotic parents from attending their kids’ sporting events.
My rant today is partially due to me being a recent victim of a parent’s heckling. So maybe I should just grow a tougher skin.
The back-story is this. 2011 will go down in my calendar as the proud time period when both my sons started playing tackle football. It’s been a riot. The first day of workouts. The first day in equipment. Their first games. Their first tackles (which took a little longer).
The kids have had a chance to play in Ivor Wynne Stadium and at the Rogers Centre. The former is the home of a professional football team. The latter is the burial ground for Jimmy Hoffa, Jimmy Key (after he was unearthed form Exhibition Stadium in 1985) and Cleo Lemon.
They play in an organization called the North York Grizzlies. It’s run by a very dedicated group of volunteers and has an enthusiastic bunch of smart coaches. Our organization isn’t as big or massive as Niagara, Burlington or Hamilton, which possess massive house league feeder systems – but we are competitive.
As a parent, I have questions for the coaches and the odd ‘complaint’ about playing time. They might have interpreted it as more than odd, but overall I try to go out of my way to thank, praise, motivate, and interact with the coaches. No one is paying them to teach my prodigies this amazing sport, so I am very grateful for their hours of volunteerism.
However, what I have discovered is that I may be in the minority. Actually, scratch that – I know I am in the majority, but boy does this organization have a very vocal minority who aren’t as grateful as I am.
There is a group of Grizzlies parents that spend the entire game and many practices screaming at the coaches, screaming at the refs, screaming at their kids, screaming at the opponents, screaming at the opponents’ parents, and screaming at me.
Some of it is funny. One of our parents took on an opponents’ parent who was ripping on his own kid. (These are 7 to 10 year olds, keep in mind). Our guy yelled out to him: “Nice parenting buddy! Why don’t you tell your kid he ain’t getting bacon with his eggs tomorrow?”
Funny, but not kosher.
Unfortunately, that is as pleasant as it gets.
One week, one of our parents was so rude to the ref, I turned and gave him a look. Well, he was ready to beat the tar out of me. Thankfully, I was the stick boy, so he couldn’t pummel me.
Another week, three parents demanded I tell the ref they blew a call on a fumble. Again, I was the stick boy, but I didn’t take advantage of my proximity.
Last week a parent screamed at me that I was marking the ball off by a yard. Yes again, I am the stick boy and their kid is my kid’s teammate.
Overall though, they mostly scream at our coaches, to the extent we had to have a parents’ meeting about it. The screaming has waned a bit. But not enough.
I was thinking how happy I was that my team’s parents don’t scream at me when I coach the Lawrence Park Panthers. This week I found out how wrong I was.
At our game last week, the father of one of my players (a kid I love, by the way), apparently didn’t realize that when our games are being filmed, the microphone is also ON!
He spent the game cursing every play call, every decision, every substitution I made. I listened intently to his every idiotic word. Appalling.
My feelings would have been hurt, had I not been warned by some other parents and coaches about his antics. Still, it’s annoying.
And sad.
Here is this guy in the stands, wearing a nice suit, foreign car keys in his pants, a nice North Toronto address on his driver’s license and he is screaming like a barbarian. At me. At my fellow coaches. At his son’s teammates.
Idiotic.
Rude.
Unforgivable.
I am not perfect. In fact, I am bit too aggressive as a coach. I have probably lost some games being that way. But I have also pulled many an upset with less talented teams because I teach the players to believe they can do anything.
If this kid’s dad doesn’t like it, come see me. Email me. Go for a coffee. We live in the same postal code. Seriously! I checked!!!
But don’t embarrass your kid by acting this way. I am sure he has heard about it. I had two other parents bring it up at practice yesterday.
Next week, I think it’s time for a chat with this guy. He needs to understand the football field is my temple, my mecca, my haven. Whether I am watching my Steelers or my kids. Whether I am coaching or manning the down box.
He needs to understand my sole objective is to share my passion for this game, for teamwork, for overcoming obstacles with his son.
Perhaps he should get off the sideline and try it. Come out five days a week. Spend nights BBM-ing encouragement to the kids or developing game plans.
That’s what I do. That’s what you do. That’s what the Grizzlies coaches do.
Buddy, take your act somewhere else!