Who's got the Muzzle?

Okay, so there's this one mom that I just can't sit beside during the game. Here's why:

"Ok, now push up. Push up! I said push up! Ok, now come back. The ball's coming to you. Ok, now get the ball. Get the ball. GET THE BALL!!!! Huff, I told you to get the ball. Didn't you see the ball? You gotta go to the ball. Now, here it comes again. Go to the ball. Good, now pass it to Natalie. Pass it to Natalie! Huff! I said to pass it to Natalie. Did you not hear me say to pass it to Natalie? Pay attention! Here's comes the ball. Go to the ball..."

Holy Cow, Annoying Mom! Your daughter has only been playing soccer since she was six years old. She is a starter on a competitive team. I think she knows how to play the game without you moving her around like she's a pawn on a chess board. You are annoying me. I can only imagine how your daughter feels. In other words, shut up already!!!

Parents like her are just about as bad as the ones who complain about every single call. Now I've seen some bad referee calls. And, I must admit, I have made a comment or two. (Like the time I yelled that he should just go put on the other team's jersey colors. But that was only after an hour of blatantly one-sided calls. And it was just the one time. I swear.) But I also have to admit that most referees are way more knowledgeable about the game than I will ever be, so I try to keep my mouth shut. That way I don't reveal my stupidity more than absolutely necessary.

I learned long ago to limit my outbursts to things like, "Go team!" or "Good Hustle!" or "Don't give up. You can do it!"

So I'm not sure what happened last weekend. Perhaps my subconscious decided I had a right to a sideline opinion after nearly a decade of soccer mommming. Maybe I've just been sitting a little too close to Annoying Mom and she's rubbing off. I don't know.

It was beautiful day, perfect for playing soccer. Or watching it. Frank was having a great game. He was hustling, making good passes, keeping his head in the game. There was just this one little problem. I noticed it and, for some reason still yet to be determined, decided to point it out to him.

"Frank, push up."

No response.

"Frank! Move up!"

No response.

"Frank!! You are a forward! Move Up!"

He turns to me, finally, and speaks to me very patiently, as if he's the adult and I'm the child.

"Mom, I'm mid-field."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"Oh, well then, feel free to continue ignoring me. And Good Job!"

He shakes his head and goes back to his good job.

How does this happen? I'm usually pretty good about keeping my oh-so-brilliant coaching tips to myself and the one time I offer something, I get schooled by my 11 year old. In front of everyone. While Annoying Mom rants and raves game after game after game and no one ever calls her on it.

Embarrassed, I glance around. I'm standing by myself, about 10 feet from the nearest parent. This is good. Hopefully no one heard my blunder. On the other hand, I caught a sudden glimpse of what it must feel like to be the one mom no one wants to sit beside.

I walk over to the other parents and plop down in the cool grass. It's a beautiful day for soccer.

Go Team!

I Was Right!

I knew I was right! Ok, it doesn't happen often, but this time I knew there was some validity to my opinion.

Kids need more spontaneous play time. And I have proof. In an LiveScience article about bullying, a child behavior expert agrees with me. (Child behavior expert? Ha! Isn't that just a fancy word for "mother"?)Anyway, this expert claims:

"...the social skills children gain on the playground or elsewhere could show up later in life...Unstructured playtime — that is, when children interact without the guidance of an authority figure — is when children experiment with the relationship styles they will have as adults."

Yes! Scientific proof! This is the first time I've ever been backed up by scientific proof! I think I'm gonna have a t-shirt made. And maybe bumper stickers. I WAS RIGHT. AND EVEN THE SCIENTISTS AGREE WITH ME.

So there you go, all you hovering helicopter moms and you control freak grade school playground monitors. Leave the kids alone and let them play.

This scientific revelation also brings us back to the question of organized youth sports. Are we doing our kids a disservice by sticking them in these programs from an early age? I remember hearing, when I was a kid, about how Nadia Comaneci was forced down the gymnastics path from the womb, practically. I remembering hearing how those other countries took their young prodigies and forced them to focus on nothing but their chosen sport. I remember parents protesting that this was no life for a child. Now, I'm not saying we're as bad as the Romanians once were, but are we starting to slide down that slippery slope?

Studies show that common sports injuries that used to plague adult athletes are now being seen in teenagers. Dr. Phil recently produced a show about a man who injected his young son with steroids so the boy could compete at a higher level in speed skating. The dad is now in jail and is still pretty much unrepentant. Unfortunately, the boy is banned from an activity he has great passion for. Closer to home, even I know that my kids must play organized youth sports if they are to have even the remotest chance to experience the thrill and excitement of competing for their high school team.

So what's a roaring mom to do? Buck the system? Boycott the evil mind control that is organized youth sports? And in doing so prevent our children from the arguably worthwhile experience of high school athletic endeavors? Which, by the way, can be considered another important social skill-building experience. Or do we give in? If your child has a passion for a particular sport, do you even have a choice? Are we powerless against the tsunami that is organized youth sports?

After faithfully fulfilling almost a decade of soccer mom duties, I still don't know the answer. But at this point, I think I'm sucked in already. And with another decade ahead of me, I'm pretty sure I'll be washed away and pulled under before I figure it all out.

So,please, someone throw me a life line! I'm drowning here. You'll be able to spot me pretty easily. I'm the one in the brightly colored t-shirt with the big letters that read, "I WAS RIGHT!"