I never thought of myself as a soccer mom. I don’t drive a minivan, car pool or find happiness sitting in torrential down pours watching my sons play soccer. I do however scream like a raging bitch on the sidelines. I morph into a person I am not proud of.
I want to tell you about the 2 games today. The 1st game was at 12 pm so it’s practical that each team arrives 30 minutes ahead of time. At 11:46 there were just 3 players from the other team. They needed 6 to play. When my husband asked the other coach where the rest of his team was, the coach responded, “they on their way….”
We had played this team before and I despise them. Not because all of them are from Mogadishu and speak little to no English. No, I despise them because they play dirtier than Bill Cosby’s DVD collection and very dangerous.
My husband reminded me how late this team was last time we played them. At 11:59, just 1 minute before the game was to start, I looked over to see a caravan of 4 white taxis barreling through the park.
“Oh my fucking God….” left my lips before I had time to sensor it.
As all 4 taxis pulled into the gravel parking lot, the doors swung open and like a scene out of Braveheart, women and children began running towards us screaming in a language I didn’t understand.
Before the start of the game everyone has to be carded. Not for alcohol but for age. The ref has to ensure everyone on the teams are either 7 or 8. They take this shit seriously in soccer with birth certificates.
There is no fucking way half of these kids were any younger than 10 and it was infuriating as our median age was 7.
After seeing our 15 year old referee who’s mannerisms were on par with a 10 year old Amish girl, I knew right then and there he would not be calling out this minor age issue nor really anything.
At 12:07 the annihilation began. Within 5 minutes Morgan Freeman or #53, knocked down one of our kids. No foul called.
A few minutes later the same thing happened and again, no foul. You could feel the mood on the sidelines slowly change. This happened again and again.
C never plays goalie but took a turn today. The rules state that if the goalie has the ball, you CANNOT touch the goalie for obvious safety reasons. As my son dropped to the ground to catch the ball, one of the players on Team Lucifer started to kick the ball pressed in front of C’s face. At just 1″ away, he pulled back but it was too late. He was already in the wrong and a foul should have been called. No foul.
The parents went ape shit. I mean every animal instinct was unleashed on this ref, screaming at him for not calling a foul.
“What about our kid’s safety?”
“Are you blind ref?”
“You gonna’ let them get away with that ref?”
While they were loosing their shit I was calmly taking my gloves off to show I meant business. Just as I stood up to attack the ref he turned around and began to scream at the parents.
I want to paint this picture for you so you understand the absurdity of the situation. According to my oldest son, the young referee currently plays for a team that feeds into the professional team here in our city. He’s supposed to be really good and have a bright future ahead of him.
Appearance wise, he had a full head of hair that caused him to jerk his head back every few minutes as if he had a nervous tick to return the hair back to it’s place. In lieu of a referee uniform, he chose a pristine track suit that donned the name of said professional team. He clearly didn’t want to be there and frankly, I didn’t want him there either.
So the ref turns around to us and screams, “PEOPLE! I am only 1 person! I can’t be everywhere!”
The meltdown had many similarities to a video posted a few years ago on youtube: Leave Brittany Alone
I was even more enraged now with this pansy ref. Not only did he lack the brains and balls to call fouls on these ass holes, but now he was having a meltdown because he couldn’t handle the parents? You have 1 job! 1 job! And that is to ensure the game is played by the rules and the kids kept safe. Here is the text I sent my husband after it happened:
He turned his back to us and took his whistle off. I thought he was going to quit. Nay, I was hoping he was quitting. He yelled over to my husband (my husband is the coach for the team btw) and the assistant coach that they needed to talk to us and if we behaved in same manner again we would be removed from the game.
I will continue with part 2 and how my husband took matters into his own hands with an altercation with the coach of the visiting team.
Maybe you need to rethink the part about not being a soccer mom. LOL
I cannot accept that I am a soccer mom. I am a soccer enthusiast. 🙂
Girl, I had the same experience in the finals last year. Our coach was ready to fight the ref. I can’t wait to hear what happened next.
I know! I am writing about it tonight!
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