Sunday, October 01, 2006
Open mouth, insert soccer cleat
I like to infiltrate enemy lines, and set up my chair in the opposing soccer team's den of mother bears. And then I sit. And listen. I don't do or say much to give myself away. I know they know I am not one of "them," but they don't know who I belong to. So it makes for a good hour's worth of entertainment.
This afternoon, the Queen played a team they had played once before, and I was not in attendance at that game. The opposing team consisted of a few of her friends from her class, so it is always interesting to see that dynamic in play. But the girls pretty much play, oblivious to one another when in the heat of the moment.
The mothers, on the other hand, are oblivious to nothing.
Go Brianna! Go Benji! Go Morgan and Maggie and Jules and Sarah! Go go go go!
Doesn't matter if none of those children belong to that mother. They just yell. At everyone on the team. I wonder if it is their own stealth tactic, knowing that there is an enemy amongst them.
But, sooner or later, I figure out who is whose child when they start bribing them with a $ 5 bill if they score a goal.
Me, I yell at my kid. Not a lot. I just give her a few pointers here and there, but only when I am right beside her. And not "ok ... now go over and stand and .... OOOOO don't kick the ball THAT way. Kick it THIS way." I say things like "you can play that whole area there when you are on halfback." Or "oooo.. don't touch the ball out there."
I figured that these mothers had figured out that I was for the other team. But apparently this one hadn't figured it out yet, or she thought she was being sneaky in her comment, thinking I couldn't hear a word she was saying.
Wrong. So wrong.
Word for word:
Maybe the reason the other team is scoring all of the goals and our's aren't is because we don't have a loud, obnoxious coach yelling at them and intimidating them all the time to score those goals.
Now. It took EVERY ounce of my self-restraint to not shoot a retort directly back at her.
So I called Ace instead.
Word for word:
Ok ... get this. You wouldn't BELIEVE what I just heard (repeats comment).
Are you SERIOUS? Does she know you heard you?
(in my most loud and carrying voice) Well how couldn't she know I heard her. I am sitting two people away from her.
From the mouth of that mother came only good comments afterwards.
And lady .... that isn't the coach who is scoring the goals. It is a better team than your kid's. And THAT, my friend, is called sour grapes.
posted by Knitting Maniac at 4:22 PM
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.
The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.
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3 Comments:
Word.
I'm afraid what will happen when it comes time for Girlie Girl to join a sport. I don't know if I can handle mothers like that one.
Hi my name is Robin and I am one of those annoying, yelling, screaming, obnoxious with a capital O parents on the sidelines. I honestly don't know what comes over me when I watch a soccer game. Normally, I could care less about being competitive, however, I become a raving lunatic. In fact, I sometimes stop and think "was that really me that said all that?"
BUT, I am certainly not rude to the other team...
ugh...
I do really understand the "hockey dad" syndrome.
:)
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