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. Continue reading “Sideline Act” →
My boy in this case is #9 Simon Nassar, the U of T backup QB. And to paraphrase his coach, “the most popular guy on the team.” Yes, Simon is/was the reason for my lunacy. Continue reading “Cover Boy” 