Your Kids Suck!

Most of you parents who have kids that play on the lesser teams will be smart enough to know that youth soccer is like the rest of life – it’s tough – so I think you’ll all find it easy to accept that, compared to my daughter, your kids suck. My daughter plays for the Vardar Elite Gator Eating Wolves U5 girls in the Midwest Regional Academy Kindergarten League (Premier Division). We rock!

Over the winter we won a tournament featuring teams from as far away as Macomb County; so that effectively makes it a national championship. Actually, now that I think about it, one of teams we hammered had a girl from Canada on the roster, so really that makes us International World Champions. As a reward I presented the coach with a new stop watch so that he can be a little bit more careful in ensuring that my daughter gets enough minutes on the field to ensure we win every game. I appreciate that he might want to rest his hot shot once in a while but not before we have a twelve goal cushion.

Good coaching is the key to our success. The coach runs a fantastic system which he calls “playing to our strengths” but we parents call it “let’s make sure the fat kid plays in goal”. I think the coach has responded well to our lawyer’s letter regarding the way he spoke to our daughter last fall.

Even though she’s only in first grade my daughter tried out for her high school team this spring but the bitch of a coach only offered her a spot on the JV roster – so next year we’ll be using schools of choice to put that coach right in her place! To get over that minor disappointment we’ve purchased my daughter a spot on the ODP roster this summer.

We parents have just as important a role to play in the team’s development as the coach, so myself and a number of the other moms have formed a cheer leading squad to encourage the girls. Our best routines are the “Outrageous Laugh” for when the other team screws up, the “Call It Both Ways” for the biased, old, fat, blind referees the league employs, and the “Good Boot” for when one of our girls hoofs the ball up the field to no one in particular. We call our cheerleaders “The Intimidators”.

Of course all this success comes at a price and I had to beat my daughter with a stick to get her into the car on Saturday morning. She wanted to stay home to watch Hannah Montana and play with her Barbie dolls, but I think she knows there will be plenty time for that when she gets home from therapy.