You Might Be A Crappy Parent - Sports Edition

I need to get something off my chest.  And I don't normally rant on my blog, but I figure I am allowed to do so every now and again.

I coach a second grade boys soccer team.  I volunteered to do this because no one else did.  The rules of this league state that players are to rotate positions and all players are to have equal playing time.  We are allowed seven players on the field during the game, and with a ten member team, this means that I sit three players out at a time throughout the four quarters.  We rotate.  We take turns warming the bench, playing forward, full back, and goalie.  

But we've all heard the saying, "There's one on every team."  One what?  One, big-headed, arrogant jerk of a kid who feels entitled to play his favorite position the entire game and never sit out because he thinks he is The Shit.  'Scuse my French.  I'm really heated over this.

I can't stand those kinds of kids, and even more, I can't stand the parents of those kids who raise them to believe that they are above their peers and that they don't have to respect the authority of their coaches.

Why does there have to be one on every team?  Why can't all parents raise their kids to be polite, unassuming, respectful, and kind?  

Well, to the parents of that one kid on my team, and to anyone else who thinks they might be guilty, I would like to direct the following:

If you only cheer for your own kid, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you ignore the coach and spend the entire game shouting play-by-play instructions to your kid, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you allow your child to throw a tantrum on the field whenever he is told to sit out, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you tell your child that he doesn't have to go to practice because he's already better than everyone else on his team, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you yell at other players on your kid's team for not letting your kid have the ball, you might be a crappy sports parent.

And finally, if you truly believe that all the other kids on the field are simply there to facilitate an hour long show-off exhibition for your own kid, you are definitely a crappy sports parent.  And if you're going to play it that way, you might at least want to make sure your kid scores a goal.

Just so you know.  Oh, and nobody likes you.

TAKING ONE FOR THE TEAM

Last night I got a little present. An ace of spades, a golden ticket, a free pass, if you will. A really good one. One that can only be used once, so it better be good.

And to get what I want, or to get out of what I don't want, all I will have to say is this:

"Andrew, remember the time that you forced me to help you work on your bug, (even though it was freezing outside and I am a girl and I had expressed concern over the absence of safety glasses), and you sprayed half a gallon of premium gasoline directly in my face? Remember that? The burning, the eye-washes, the 9:00-on-a-Friday-night calls to poison control and my optometrist, the ice packs, the inability to use a blow-dryer for who knows how long for fear of my head bursting into flames, and, oh yeah, the insane burning? Remember that?

You owe me."

And that, my friends, is all I will have to say.

Now I just need to use this ace wisely.

One of these would have been exceptionally helpful.