Competitive Dad

In this post, I am first going to blow my own trumpet, then mute it and draw a parallel with something I saw last weekend. Here we go.

Between the ages of about 7 and 17, I was probably the best footballer in the county in my age group (that's me blowing my trumpet - I can do this because nobody can corroborate it and I have "moderate comments" activated :-)).
However, I come from one of the sparsest populated counties in the country, so it doesn't say too much (that's me muting my trumpet). We would often travel to Manchester or Liverpool to play against teams with 11 snarling Wayne Rooney lookalikes, or to Newcastle to be humiliated by teams with 11 chirpy Gazza play-a-likes. So, I was the best player in the county which had the worst football team - does that count for anything?

Anyway, I played simultaneously for many teams at different levels (school, club, region, county) which explains why my knees are knackered). At the local level, we often used to play in competitions where there would be several teams, each playing the other and a winner emerging (as they do), and we usually won. Not surprisingly given that statement, we often played against teams that were far inferior. This seemed to infuriate several watching parents, many of whom would berate their offspring for pulling out of a tackle or missing a rare chance to score. I have seen children in tears because dad actually threw his coat to the floor before jumping up and down on it and swearing loudly.

Once, on an icy pitch, I slid the ball past a player, and swerved round him, keeping the ball and myself just on the touchline leaving him standing. However, a parent of a player from the opposition was having none of that and nonchalantly stuck out his foot and tripped me up. I think he got a red card for that.

This weekend, with my youngest son, we were walking past the local pitch when we saw the same sort of competition in progress. It was as if I had been transported back: teams of weaklings with players 2 years younger than others that had accumulated all the best players from the area. I watched coaches shouting at the group of players before their next match, trying to get them motivated, fathers jumping up and down on their coats, loudly swearing '"putain, c'est quoi ce bordel", quietly proud mums and even one child leave the field in tears as another goal went in.

My 8-year old is football-obsessed and he is showing all the signs of being an excellent sportsman and wanted to get involved. However, I don't want to turn into one of these parents who live their dreams through their children and trip up any child who gets in their way. I should be OK, but time will tell!

Maybe I'll force him to play piano 3 hours a day instead - at least his knees won't be worn out by the time he's 20...