There’s been a lot of talk recently about parents behaving badly at their kids’ sports games. Screaming on the sidelines, having punch-ups and hissy fits when their kids’ teams don’t win. Apparently some grown-ups need to be told it’s not OK to yell abuse at small children or punch each other in front of them.
In defence of all those parents across Melbourne who brave freezing cold weekend mornings to take their kids to sport, who have long ago cast aside the idea of a warm cuppa in bed with the papers on a Sunday so they can stand on a muddy oval and cheer on small people running around after a ball, I would like to say this: Good on you.
Not all parents care if their kids win or lose. Some of us are just delighted to see them giving it a go, being brave enough to run around in the rain, enjoying their jumpy fit bodies while they can before running becomes painful.
Most of us are thrilled to see just one goal. Just one. We take the time to learn all the other kids’ names so we can cheer them on, too. It is possible for parents to have hour-long discussions about fitness levels and how so-and-so’s skills have developed so much this season, but not for a second even imagine criticising any of the kids, the other team, or the coach. He’s a parent, too; he gave up his Sunday as well. All around me on Sundays I see parents donating their time and energy to coach, organise, bring oranges and put up goals.
Everyone’s smiling, even if it’s very early and they were up late the night before and haven’t had coffee yet.
We are also happy to clap the other side when they get a goal, as much as we are beyond pleased when we turn up to an away game to discover they, too, have a weekly sausage sizzle. Most of us are happy to car pool, to take it in turns to work out where the hell Gisborne is or Thomastown, or to stand around in the dark on a weeknight after a long day at work while the kids train. I’m doing it right now, working on the laptop in the car where it’s a bit warmer. Can’t see a thing, though.
On match days, I don’t mind if one of mine is on the sidelines. One of them usually is. But I’m really thrilled when they come off with muddy knees, all fired up about the team song or because someone got a goal.
We’re all learning stuff, too. My oldest that she doesn’t always get to be striker now she’s gone up an age group. After not winning a single game last year, she’s also learnt it is possible that, with experience and lots of training, eventually you might even win occasionally. Now it’s finally happening. And my youngest has learnt kicking a ball can feel just as good, if not better, than kicking her sister.
I’ve learnt some stuff, too. After two seasons, I know I really should insist, no matter how hungry or tired everyone is, that soccer boots be extracted from feet and put in plastic bags before everyone gets in the car. I’ve also learnt that gumboots are extremely useful, even if they’re animal-print and kind of ugly, but dinner parties involving dancing the night before a match are not.
