Survivor: Youth Football

I credit my brother Bill for instilling his view of the world on me.  Bill developed what I like to call the “Bucket O’ Crabs” theory of life.  Simply put, if you look at a bucket o’ crabs, you see that all the crabs desperately try to crawl out of the bucket.  And every time one of the crabs starts to reach the rim of the bucket and make his way out, the other crabs grab him by the legs, pull him down, and climb over him.  And that’s what life is like.

Now, most people’s reaction to a philosophy like this is to think “Gee whiz…that sounds a little harsh…a little negative.”  And yes, it does.  But it also happens to be true.  Whatever you’re going after in this life, whether it’s a job, wealth, a promotion, a girl, or the chance to scramble down the side of a crab bucket to your little crabby freedom romping happily beneath the waves, the world will look for a way to drag you down and crawl over your tumbling shell to get what they want. 

And if you’re wonder how a guy can have such a negative world view, trust me, it‘s easy.  I coach youth football.
 
I’ve assistant coached my sons team for three years now.  And I learned early on how some parents can be conniving, duplicitous, backstabbing ingrates.  What I didn’t realize until this year is that those types become more powerful over time.  Like Anakin Skywalker learning to harness the power of the Dark Side, the strength of evil sports parents increases algebraically with each passing season. And some coaches become their Emperor Palpatine.  Shame on me for not seeing it coming.

I have to take some credit here for at least trying to do the right thing.  I said from the jump that before practices begin in August, the coaches should meet at a bar somewhere and decide what it is we’re trying to accomplish.  Not to be all Jerry Maguire, but we needed to have something like a mission statement. Do we just want to win?  Do we want to make it so every kid gets to play?  Is that an either/or?  How do we reach the kids; do we try the tough guy approach, or do we take it easy on them? 

I think I kind of sensed trouble when we went into practices without resolving these issues.  My Spidey sense was tingling, but I ignored it.  Bad move.  I was lured into a false sense of security my the fact that we had a new head coach, who would be on top of things.  He was a decent, likable, earnest, intelligent guy.  In other words, he was in way in over his head.

Like the framers of the Constitution who said “Ah, the hell with this slavery business.  Let’s just ratify this thing and deal with the tough stuff some other time” we went into the season without deciding as a group why we were here in the first place.  It took about the second week of the season before the dreaded Playing Time Issue reared it’s ugly head.   

You’d think that when you’re dealing with ten year old boys, every parent and coach would agree that every kid should be given a fair share of playing time. And if you do, I’d like to ask you: How’s everything else in Utopia?  Because nothing could be further from the truth.  For every parent who said “We signed our son up to have fun and learn how to play football” there were just as many saying “If my little superstar so much as leaves the field for one play, we could lose, and that would be the worst thing that’s ever happened in the history of the world.” And the coaches were divided down the same party lines.

It was like “Survivor.”  We had the “Only Play the Best Kids” Tribe squared off against the “Every Kid Should Get a Chance” Tribe.  Alliances were formed.  People who otherwise had nothing in common pledged their undying loyalty to each other based on how good they thought each others kids were.  Playing time was like the prize in a reward challenge.  Coaches who were sympathetic to one side or the other got immunity or were voted off. 

One thing life has taught me (other than the “Bucket O’ Crabs” thing) is that you can’t accomplish anything as an organization unless you have one guy in charge who can say “I’ve made my decision.  If you don’t like it, you can lump it; take it down the road and dump it.”   The coaches were divided on the playing time issue.  The head coach quit.  Another coach was fired.  Every week we had a new guy in charge, and with each passing week there was a change in philosophy.  One week everyone played and we won big. The next week we had a built a big lead, but something like 14 kids out of 22 positions never left the field. 

The following week we subbed again, and I and the people who think that every kid should get a chance to play planted our flag on the Mt. Suribachi of those who only want the precious few on the field.  As a reward, I was confronted by a dad after practice who accused me of conspiring against his little Golden Child just so my own kid could get more playing time.  I pointed out to the guy that in three years of coaching, of taking time off from work, swatting mosquitoes in the blistering heat, missing out on dinner with my family and standing out in the freezing rain, these were the first words he’d ever spoken to me. 

“Well…that’s got nothing to do with anything” he said.  Riiight.  So let me make a few salient points to this nitwit and to everyone else who’s aligned with the Dark Side on this issue:
Point 1: Your kid might end up winning a Div. 1 football scholarship eventually.  But it won’t be this year.  He’s ten, and so is everyone else.  Shaddup and let them play.
Point 2: While you’re standing on a chair with your neck in a noose because we lost a game, do you know what your kid is talking about on the sidelines?  Kid’s stuff.  After our last game, my son hung out with a kid who hardly plays and a kid who never leaves the field, and they never even mentioned the game to each other.  They don’t take losses hard, so what‘s your problem?
Point 3: Win or lose, I’m sleeping good tonight.  My team won a championship in baseball last Spring, and I’ve yet to get a call from Terry Francona offering me Papa Jack’s old job.  If we win the football title, I get nothing.  If I win my NFL office pool, I get thousands of dollars.  What do you think I’m spending more of my time on?
Point 4: I’m a volunteer.  I’m doing it because I love football and I want to make it fun for kids.  If that doesn’t suit you, I’m begging you to fire my ass so I can spend more time on Point 3. And would the occasional “thanks” kill you?
Point 5: No one on our team is as good, or as bad, as you think they are.  In spite of the fact that you’ve named your vibrator after your son, we can win without him.  Get over yourself.