A few days ago I wrote about the debacle that was my son’s soccer games. The attached link will walk you through the hot mess: Soccer Parents Go Ape Sh!$, Part 1
So after our male referee was finished exhibiting signs of PMS, I saw our Assistant Coach walking towards us. I was talking to his wife, actively making fun of the disgruntled ref when I made eye contact with John and said,
“Oh no….we’re gonna’ get it now,” I said jokingly. “Get ready for our harsh tongue scolding.”
To take Sarah’s husband John seriously is like taking Fievel the mouse seriously. John walked with his head down in somewhat of a reluctant stride. About 5′ away he pulled his head up and raised his hands up.
“Now guys,” he said softly. “We need to respect the referee and his calls.”
A parent dressed in a flannel shirt and a John Deere hat piped up, “yeah? Well whatta ’bout our kids’ safety?”
Others voiced agreement while some nodded.
“I know…I know, but we need to just watch what we are saying. Ok?” John emphasized.
I rolled my eyes and nodded. I’m guessing that was everyone’s sentiment. As John walked back, I noticed in the distance my husband began a dialogue with the opposing team’s coach.
“You can’t do that man!” He screamed over. “Our kids are getting hurt every 5 minutes!”
“It’s just a game, kids gonna get hurt,” he responded in a slight Somalian accent.
This was not the answer my husband was looking for. In fact, it only fueled the situation.
“Get hurt? Get hurt?” He huffed. “Yeah, good thinkin’ man.”
To appreciate the concern of the escalating conversation, you have to appreciate my husband and the other coach. My husband is a feisty Italian. He has never been afraid to be assertive and in his early days, would antagonize anyone and everyone if they so deserved it.
For the other coach, picture the tallest black man you’ve ever met and add 6″. This was who my husband was screaming at.
“Oh I’m getting this on video,” I said to no one in particular as I whipped out my phone. To my dismay, I only got a few seconds of the interaction. It would be critical to remove my husband from this situation minutes after the game. Successfully, as my husband’s handler, I got him out and to Wendy’s in just 10 minutes. We had 45 minutes before we played this same team AGAIN.
We have 3 fast food restaurants in our town (don’t worry, we aren’t Amish; we live just outside one of the 20 largest cities in the US). I put a lot of thought into which restaurant to go to in an effort to avoid the other team. Mc Donalds would be the choice the majority of soccer families would go to as it was not only the cheapest but the closest. Taco Bell is too far and Wendy’s in the middle.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized we were the only soccer family. We ordered our burgers, sat down and relaxed a little.
Twenty minutes later, I began to hear loud laughter in an accent I didn’t recognize. I looked over to find 3 Somalian moms 2 tables over. I knew they were with the soccer team as my town is probably 95% white.
I turned around to find the team we had just played sitting behind us. I’m sorry. How did I miss 12 kids coming in? How did my son’s miss them considering they were facing them?
I got up to get tea and noticed the coach ordering for the team. No joke, the only thing he ordered was 12 value fries. This was now 35 minutes before the next game.
I won’t bore you with details but we had a new ref who went by Usher and had a frohawk. He was awesome and called every foul. After the first 3 fouls, the other team began to shape up.
So do you guys see this in children’s sports? I haven’t seen it this bad in a long time. Thank God we don’t play them again this season.