Soccer Mom Who is Bitchy

Menopause alert. Hormones might be making me a little rant-y today. Just so you know I know.

I guess I qualify as a Soccer Mom. I have a kid in soccer. I drive her to practice two days a week and a game every weekend.

But I’m not sure I fit the image. First, I don’t know crap about soccer - the rules, the positions, the strategy – I’m clueless. Second, I don’t drive a minivan. Third, I don’t take anyone else’s kid to practice or the games. I used to, but the girl decided she preferred the swim team, and that was the end of that.

So I’m not sure “Soccer Mom” fits. “The Bitchy Mom of #9 Who Hates Most Soccer Parents” is likely a better title for me, I think. It is certainly accurate.

Have you ever been to a kid’s soccer game? It’s horrible! So many of the parents are ridiculously out of control! I didn’t think it was really like that. I thought that was just a movie thing, but NO. It’s real! Parents hysterically yelling directions, giving advice no one can hear. Making a huge deal out of a kids soccer game. A kid’s soccer game in a non-competitive league! The kids aren’t even that good! They’re still learning the rules, for Pete’s Sake. I’m horrified every game.

One father, not the coach, is obsessed, “Marietta! MAR EE ETTA! You’re off-sides again. OFFFFFF SIIIIIIDES! Get BACK! GEEEEET BAAAAAAAAAACK. YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU AAAAAARE OOOOOOOF SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDES!” Clearly a soccer star about 20 years and 75 pounds ago, being off sides concerns him greatly, driving him to pace the sidelines, windmill his arms frantically, and turn himself burgundy with the screaming. Poor Marietta turns towards her father, hearing his voice but not quite the words. She squints and leans forward; she points one way, then another, trying to figure out what he wants her to do. Finally the ball sails past her and a thundering herd of girls goes by. There ya go, Dad. She’s not off-sides now.

This last weekend was especially bad. A mother from the other team. She was high-pitched. Painfully shrill. And she never stopped. She yelled every second of the 30-minute 2nd half. It would have been unbearable except for her poor diction.

I don’t know the full name of the team, but “Chicks” was involved. “Soccer Chicks” “Chicks with Kicks”, I don’t know, but the mother just call them “Chicks”. Only, in her shrill voice, screaming as she was well over the top of her capacity, rabid and frothing with the brilliance of her soccer vision, it sounded like “tits”. I’m not the only one who thought so, either. When she first started, several of the parents sitting close by were startled, then annoyed, and then hysterical. It may not sound funny at first, but it was.

Mostly she shouted advice that was so unspecific and unrelated it was bemusing. “Set it up! SET IT UP. HOLD THE LINE. HOLD IT. HOLD IT. HOLD IT.” I know, I know nothing about soccer, but I do have a brain and I couldn’t fit what she was saying to the game I was watching. And I checked a couple of times and she was definitely shouting at the same game I was watching.

But tucked in between all of these ridiculous directions, she’d squeeze in a Go Chicks! or a Chicks! Chicks! Chicks! chant. Only it didn’t sound like that. I heard, “Hold the line! Hold it! Tits, Tits, Tits. Run faster TITS. Look for the Hole, Tits! LOOK FOR THE HOLE! Go Tits, Go Tits, GO TITS!” It was horrible, and wrong, and very funny.

Although I didn’t laugh the whole 30 minutes. I’d get pissed, because it really was useless and grating. But then she’d get another good combo in there and I’d lose it again.

“Tits! Get out front! STOP BEING SCARED! Tits in front! Tits get iiiinnnn froooooont!”

God bless a fanatic, she didn’t notice anyone around her let alone my family, falling over ourselves laughing. Even the fact that the girls completely ignored her and started playing on the other side of the field didn’t register at all.

Am I being mean? Oh, probably. But honestly, if you want to coach, sign up to be a frigging coach. And if you can’t, or haven’t, then shut up with the directions. They have a coach they’re trying to hear, and it’s not you. Shout happy stuff. Shout “Yay” and your kid’s name.

The bald truth is, Soccer Parents Who Scream Advice, you are not helping. At most, you’re irritating the rest of us. At the worst you’re distracting, confusing, embarrassing or discouraging the kids.

At the very worst, you’re providing me blog fodder. And I’m not afraid to use it.

Comments

[uggs boots]

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[ClaudiaInWorld]

Ha. Betsy sent me here. Well worth the trip. School sports...whole new fields for mindful parenting ;D Guess those moms and dads haven't been reading their neuroscience of learning or Project Happiness updates. Go tits.

[vh]

just about threw up laughing

[Betsy Burroughs]

Laughing so hard I'm crying. Could hardly get through the post. This will keep me laughing all day. So many people I'm gonna link this to!

GO TITS!