Random Ramblings of a Phantom Blogger.

That’s right. I’ve decided that I’m going to pretend that I can blog again. I do this about once a year, for those of you who haven’t followed my wanderings for long. I tend to go like gangbusters for about 8 months, and then I fall off the face of the earth. Hey. It’s how I roll.

So, now that I’m back, I have to  vent just a bit. As many of you know, it’s September. Which means it’s soccer season. Which also means that I lose all control of my free time and schedule. It’s all about practices, games, snack schedules, banners and mud filled cleats.

 

Having had the 3 boys for a while now, I’m getting used to having my life overtaken by sports. So this is not my rant. My rant is the crazy parents that I’ve had to deal with now for 4 years running. And I have to say, that the longer we’re in the sport, the crazier they get. Let me introduce you to my favorite nutsoid parent this season: SWAT Team Dad.

SWAT Team Dad’s son and my middle boy are on the same team, which means that I’ve had a chance to observe him up close and personal. And it’s not pretty. He’s so intense with this recreational soccer game, that it freaks me out to think about how he must react to really important things like tax season and the toilet overflowing. My favorite quotes from him to his son so far:

“Pick up those feet! We’re not girls!”

“Lap, em’, son! Pass 3 boys and you get an Icee.”

“Put your head in the game!”

“Sprint! You’re faster than that kid!”

“You wanna make money? $1 for every goal you make!”

Did I mention these are 7 year olds? Seriously, Dude. It’s all I can do to sit there, say nothing and not stare. What I really want to do is tell him to take his motivational insults and his Under Armor hat and jump off a cliff. But, in the spirit of sportsmanship and team support, I keep my mouth shut. Thankfully, we have an awesome coach who sends out weekly emails reminding us to do our one job. Cheer.

Game on, SWAT Team Dad.