I love football. Setting my fantasy football lineup and cheering on my teams are among my favorite fall traditions. As a father, I try to share my love of the game with my kids. Watching football together is becoming a tradition with my boys and, in addition to it being fun entertainment, I am finding great life lessons that can be learned as we watch together. Here are seven of the best that I have found:

1. Even with talent, you need to work hard

Talent is not enough to succeed. You need to practice and condition your body so your talent shines. Every level of the sport has a weeding-out process. Just because you are talented in high school doesn’t mean you’ll shine at college football or even have the chance to play. What separates those who excel is the work and effort players put in to use their talents. Our kids need to know that as they discover their abilities they need hard work and practice to develop them. Talent may get their foot in the door, but their work ethic gets them a seat at the table.

2. Don’t give up

Most of the time, in football someone is trying very hard to knock you down, to make you fail. Many times they will succeed. But you have to get back up, go back to the huddle and try again. The lesson for our kids: you stand a better chance of winning by getting up and trying again.

3. Success comes through setting goals

Football is a game of inches. You are always scrambling for every inch of the field you can get. Trying to come up with one play that will get you the 100 yards you need for a touchdown is tough. So since you get a brand new set of four downs every 10 yards you need to break it down into 10-yard goals. Each play should get you closer to that first-down line. If you keep making that goal you’ll be in position to score before you know it. When our kids are faced with big tasks or problems we need to teach them how to break them down into manageable goals so they can be successful.

4. You win through teamwork

Football is a team sport. Every player needs to do their job and do it well for the team to succeed. The quarterback needs to be able to count on his backs and receivers to move the ball down the field when he gives it to them. The quarterback, running backs and receivers count on the offensive line to make time for a play to develop and make gaps in the other team’s defensive line. Every player on the field has a job that the other players rely on him to do well so that their work is successful. It is a great way to illustrate to kids how teamwork actually works and how everyone’s role affects everyone else.

5. Sometimes you lose

You are going to lose sometimes, it is an unavoidable fact. An undefeated season is a rare feat. The most successful teams usually have at least a few losses. They don’t let those losses set the tone for the rest of the season. They accept them, learn from them and prepare for the next game, intent on winning. Learning to accept defeat and failure and move on with a positive attitude is one of the most valuable lessons kids can learn.

6. Great things happen when you put in great effort

It could be that the effort was put in at practice or at the gym. It could be extra effort they used during a play. Whatever the case, it is the extra effort that they put in that the other players didn’t that allows them to make or receive incredible passes, break off for big runs, stop other players from getting the ball or getting to the ball. Big plays are always the result of someone putting extra effort to do their job well. This translates so very well off the field. Effort is the key to big successes in life. The sooner our kids learn to put effort into what they want to be successful at, the sooner they will realize those successes.

7. Nothing lasts forever …

As soon as a team finishes one play, be it successful or disastrous, it needs to start preparing for the next one. When a game ends, win or lose, the team needs to prepare for the next one. The moment the season ends the team starts preparing for the next one. Not everyone will be back. That play, that game, that season may have been a player’s last one. Planning for the future and remembering the past are important skills to have. You also have to be able to do your best in the moment you are in. In football and in life, it is the moment you are in that matters. Enjoy it, do your best in it—live it fully. Your success is determined in that moment, which will soon be gone.

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This football lessons post, which first appeared on our Chicago Dads Group blog in 2018, is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Baseball begins this weekend for my son and me, his coach. This is his last year in the league, and he made his goals clear.

Me: What are you thinking about for the upcoming season?

Son: We have to win a championship.

Me: Well, every team wants to win, and only one will. I mean I want to and everything, but to say we have to…

Son: No. If we don’t win, it’s a fail. It’s our final year, and we haven’t won yet. So, it has to be this year.

So baseball wasn’t about the time we spent together. It wasn’t about him getting better as a player. It wasn’t about him getting exercise. It wasn’t about him getting to be part of a team.

I’ll be honest. The answer stung a little bit. My son is obsessed with winning, and nothing else matters. What kind of child are my wife and I raising?

But then I thought about it.

Was I that competitive?

Ummm, well, yeah. I am or at least I was that competitive. (Maybe I still am in some ways but that’s another story.) When I was in Little League, all I wanted was to play and win the championship.

When I was playing ball, I was on one championship team. I was 10 years old, and I didn’t get to play much that year. The coach played his son and his son’s friends more than the rest of us.

I played outfield primarily, and the ball only got out there a few times a game. Once during practice, I had a rock catch with a friend of mine, a fellow outfielder. No one noticed.

Despite my relative inactivity, I still have a few memories of that team. We were the Giants, and we wore purple jerseys. The friend I had a catch with was named Mike. We rarely talked after the season ended.

When I was 12, my basketball team made it to the finals. We started the year poorly – losing our first few games. Then, there was a long strike involving the schools, and the league was halted.

When the league started up again after the strike, only seven of our 11 players returned. Those of us who returned got to play a lot. And we started winning and laughing.

I could give you a breakdown of the championship game – go all Charles Barkley, Kenny Smith and TNT on you – but I’ll spare you the details.

While I can’t remember the name of the team or the color of our shirts (I might have a picture somewhere), the memory of that team and how we bonded still makes me smile.

Sure, I want my son and his teammates to be competitive and experience a championship. Having such an experience is special. So, along with my fellow coaches, we’ll try to put the players in the best position to succeed.

However, it will be the same balancing act as past years, one between winning and helping the boys improve their skills.  When the only focus is winning, something is lost.

I hope my son can appreciate that as much fun as winning is, coming together as a team is even more special.

Maybe, this kind of thinking only happens with time, perspective and maturity. Either way, I hope my son and the rest of the team enjoy the season and, one day, will look back upon it fondly.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

A version of this first appeared on Me, Myself and Kids. It first ran here in 2017 and has since been updated. “Competitive children” photo by Eduardo Balderas on Unsplash.

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Those words from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt served as an encouraging rallying cry for Americans navigating the Great Depression. But to an 8-year-old who got pegged in the helmet by a “fastball” in his first at-bat of the new recreational baseball season, they mean nothing.

Sports bring out the best and worst in us, whether we’re fans watching our favorite team (go Knicks!) or participants on our church softball team. That’s a lot for parents to handle because much of our life seems to revolve around watching our children play sports, organized or otherwise, as soon as they can walk. For example, all three of my kids play on rec teams. This means two games a week for each child. Then add on one of two practices — again, for EACH CHILD. Then add that to all three kids’ other extracurricular activities. It is, to put it mildly, a busy life. For me.

This brings me back to FDR’s quote about fear. 

When I checked on my son, Jackson, after he got hit with that pitch, I could see his desire to play baseball had left him at that very moment. It was a brand-new experience for him. Two years ago he hit off a tee in games. Last year was coach pitch, so fathers lobbed slow pitches he could crush to the outfield. He had always been one of the best players on his teams up until that fateful at-bat. I loved watching him play and believed he could be a special player for many years. 

But after taking that less-than-fast one on the helmet, even though was OK physically, he was not OK emotionally. His not wanting to play for the rest of the game hit me in a way I was not expecting.

It got worse after the game. That’s when Jackson told me he didn’t want to play baseball anymore.

I was mad.

‘Fun’ comes first in ‘fundamentals’

Something felt like it was taken away from ME. I had spent time getting him ready, taking him to practice, doing pitching drills, and many other things to prepare him for another great season. The moment became about me, my time and my feelings rather than about my son and his state of mind.

Baseball soon became a struggle between the two of us. Two games later into the season, Jackson was still apprehensive about playing. I would spend an hour getting him dressed for games and practices. We’d argue the entire time about why he had — NEEDED — to go and couldn’t just not show. I was getting frustrated and so was he. I could see he was getting further and further from wanting to pick up a bat again.

Then, one day before practice, I was talking with another dad who coaches the team.  He didn’t blame Jackson for not wanting to play. He even admitted he would be scared to get back into the batter’s box after an experience like that too. While Jackson warmed up with his teammates in the outfield, the dad reminded me of a simple fact.

“They’re only 8,” he said. “This should be about learning the fundamentals of baseball but also having fun. If they aren’t having fun, then why are they doing it?”

That’s when I realized my duty as a father was not only to provide for my family. It was also my duty to listen to them. I wasn’t listening to Jackson about his genuine fear of getting hit by the ball, a fear anyone might have. It is no different than being afraid to get behind the wheel of a car after a traffic accident. Trauma affects everyone differently, and as parents, we must learn to recognize it in our children and address it.

With youth sports, we parents sometimes get caught up in the fantasy. We hear about all the benefits beyond physical health — friendship, teamwork, discipline, etc. — and expect results on Day One. Often it becomes about our kids living the athletic dreams we wanted to come true for ourselves. Maybe we even indulge in thoughts about the riches (or at least the college scholarships) it provides only a select few. We make it about ourselves and think our kids should tough it out. 

Youth sports parents: Listen, learn, enjoy

But these are just children. Some just want to hang with their friends, sing a few fun and clever rallying cries, and then get a hot dog and slushy from the snack stand after the game. Youth sports parents must remember to frequently ask their kids one very simple question, “Are you having fun?”

If you know they are having fun, it makes the long road trips, the late-night games, and the rain-soaked practices worth it. If your kid is not having fun, then you as a parent are definitely not having fun. So what’s the point?

As parents, we want our children to be active, but we must have the wisdom to step in when necessary be it youth sports or violin lessons. We should not let them become overscheduled. We need to be sure they are having fun while building healthy relationships and habits they will carry off the field.

As of this writing, Jackson is halfway through the season. He still isn’t swinging the bat much, but he is playing and his confidence appears to be returning. I make sure before every game to tell him the coaches and the other sports parents are there to ensure he has fun while prioritizing that he doesn’t get hurt. I remind him that getting hit is a part of the game of baseball, but it doesn’t happen very often. And I tell him after every game that I am proud of him getting back out there and facing his fear. 

When I see him out there making plays, catching a fly ball or two, I remind him of all he would have missed if had let his fear keep him from playing baseball. However, I let the coaches do their jobs and coach. Sometimes hearing things, especially instructions, from an authority figure who is not your parent, gets through to a child better.

So if this turns out to be his last season of baseball at the ripe old age of 8 going on 9, I am OK with that. If he’s not having fun playing a game, then why should he? He will have plenty of time to do “not fun” things when he is an adult. 

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by Ben Hershey on Unsplash.

At soccer games on Saturday, I’m the dad furthest down the sideline, away from any other parents. I am not chit-chatting with other parents typically, tending to slide in and out unnoticed. While I’m not anti-social, I’m not overly mingle-y during our weekly games. 

It’s not that I don’t like the parents I share virtually every weekend with, but with each passing season, I find myself being less “people-y.” Joining in with the friends-off-the-field type of comradery isn’t me. I guess I’m good with the friends I have and don’t feel a pressing need to make more.    

Most of the time, how friendly I am on the sidelines does not much matter. 

Other times, like on a recent Friday morning, it does. 

With no school because of spring break on Friday, Everett, my 10-year-old, agreed to play in a makeup game across town. My wife and I had work responsibilities that day so we sent our little guy with another trusted soccer parent, Kelly. 

The game began at 10:30 a.m. 

By 10:35, I had missed two calls from Kelly and one from my wife. When my phone rang for the fourth time, I broke from my conference call and picked up.

My wife’s frantic voice didn’t allow me to speak, “You have to get to the hospital now!”

I was confused but assumed whatever was going on centered on the kid outside of our care, Everett.    

“I just talked to Kelly,” she said. “Everett broke his arm and dislocated his wrist. She is taking him to E.R. now. He is in a lot of pain. You gotta go.” 

My minivan had never cut in and out of traffic like it did that morning. As I sped to meet my ailing little boy, my phone rang again, this time from a fellow sideline dad. 

I could tell my son was listening as the other dad began slowly. “Toby, I have Everett right here waiting for a ride to get his arm fixed up,” he said. “He is hurting and scared, so I wanted you to talk to him and tell him that you’ll be here soon, OK?”

For the next few minutes, while speeding down the interstate, this fellow dad and I calmed down my hurting little boy. Then, I heard Kelly’s voice.

“OK, let’s go get you better, Everett. Tell your dad you’ll see him soon!” 

I hung up. My mind raced. 

Mostly, I felt deep gratitude to those parents standing in for me – the same sideline parents I often shun in favor of a quiet patch of grass on the outskirts of the pitch on any given Saturday. These were parents I’d previously stopped short of calling friends. 

Until now. 

Suddenly, the importance of befriending other sideline parents mattered. It mattered A LOT. 

It mattered that the other parents at the field with Everett that day treated him as if he was their own. 

It mattered that they knew how to break the bad news to me and my wife without freaking us out completely. 

It mattered that my son, laying on the ground screaming in pain, could recognize being surrounded by adults he knew and could trust. 

It mattered that I knew he was in good, caring hands when I could not be there.   

This situation has forever changed the way I’ll think about my fellow parents on any team our kids play on. That day I learned any team he plays on needs to have a similar “I got your back” mentality among the parents watching the game. 

That type of sideline comradery does not mean everyone gets along all the time. It does not require getting together socially after the game for beers and wings. Hell, I can even have every parents’ back from my preferred position of solitude on the sideline. 

It does mean, though, that every time our kids take the field, we are there for each other and our children. 

I felt that sense of community after Everett was stable as I stood at the side of his hospital bed. He and I spent the downtime responding to kind texts about how he was doing from everyone on the team. We FaceTime’d with teammates who left the field scared to death at seeing Everett carried off the field crying. Everett reserved a special place on this new, bright red cast for only his teammates to autograph. I felt so proud as he thanked Kelly and that other dad for making him feel OK in my absence.

These are more than fellow sideline parents, each is an extension of us. Making friends with sideline parents doesn’t matter until it does – even for the most non-“people-y” of parents like me.

Photo: © athichoke.pim / Adobe Stock.   

I was second-guessing my decision before the first practice ended. 

As soon as I got home, I told my wife I wasn’t sure if this was going to work.

Growing up, I never played soccer. To this day, I’ve never even been to a game. Sure, I’ll tune in to the World Cup every four years, pull for the U.S. National Team, and enjoy the festivities. But aside from that, soccer is near the bottom of my sports interests.

So, of course, it made perfect sense that I not only sign my 3-year-old son up for soccer this spring, but also volunteer to be an assistant coach on his team.

I had it all figured out. Soccer is the perfect sport to introduce toddlers to athletics. You give them a ball and they run around with their new friends. In my head, this youth soccer experience would be the start of my son’s Hall of Fame professional sports career, and I would be right there on the sidelines coaching him.

Dad excited to coach, his son …

As men, as soon as we find out we’re having a son, we immediately start dreaming up scenarios in which we can have father-son bonding moments through activities we enjoyed growing up, often with our own dads. I vividly remember my dad as a coach for my pee wee football team. When he wasn’t coaching, he and other dads were right there in the bleachers and along the sidelines at nearly every game all the way through high school. It set a precedent I knew I wanted to follow with my own son.

When it was time to start with my child, I was more excited than my son. He had zero concept of what soccer actually was. He just knew we got to go to a park and run around with other kids his age. That was the exciting part for him.

As I attempted to “coach” him, I would soon learn the line between coach and dad would be a hard one for him to understand at his young age. I was Daddy. Who were these other kids I was showing what to do? Why was I talking differently than how I did at home? Why are you even out here? It was interesting to observe.

To his credit, my son locked in when the head coach spoke. It was similar to how he is at swimming class and daycare. He listens to his teachers. But when I’m around, naturally his entire demeanor changes.

I’ve described the soccer experience to date as “up and down.” One practice, he’ll be into it, participating in the drills and such. The next, he’ll be more interested in picking up pieces of grass and playing in the dirt. The irony is that after every practice he says he had fun and immediately asks if we can do it again.

It was clear the problem was not him, it was me.

Adjust and accept

Could I be a coach and be a dad to a toddler who is being introduced to a whole new world? Could I put my unrealistic expectations on hold and let him just enjoy himself?

Initially, I couldn’t. And that was evident at a practice in which my son went into full meltdown mode. Falling out, screaming, and just refusing to cooperate. We’ve all been there. I was stuck between frustration and embarrassment.

I quickly realized I wasn’t angry at him. My anger came from the vision in my head not coming to fruition.

Oftentimes, our vision for what we want our experience as dads to be is smacked in the face by the realities of life. It sometimes just doesn’t work out how we want. This is not to say we shouldn’t have plans and dreams. We just need to be mentally prepared to accept when those plans don’t work out.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but that realization made me step back and look in the mirror. I had to change my approach to what I wanted this experience to be.

Maybe that’s the lesson I need to learn during this soccer experience. When I look at my son, he’s having a blast doing his version of soccer, no matter how frustrating it is for me at times. At the end of the day, this season will be about creating lifelong memories.

That will mean more than any goal he’ll ever score.

Coach dad photo: ©kudosstudio / Adobe Stock.

My father coached me from T-ball up through high school, except for one year. It caused much frustration for him because, like most kids, I wouldn’t listen to him because he was my “dad.” I couldn’t look at him as a coach because … he was my dad.

But it was also one of my greatest joys being able to give him a high five on first base when I had my first hit in high school.

I never knew at the time all that he put into coaching my teams throughout the years. I just took it for granted that every summer he’d coach my team. Win or lose he would be standing there at the end of the game giving encouragement and advice on what we could do better the next time.

It seemed natural that I would coach my own children in baseball as they grew up. As the head of my son’s coach-pitch team, I learned quickly that it wasn’t for me — at least the head coaching part of it. I never thought back to look at everything that my dad had to do leading those many teams.

So before you sign up for coaching your own child in any sport, consider these things:

Coaching your child, others: serious time commitment

Being a coach involves many aspects of making sure that your team is ready for the season. You’ll have to work with your local parks and rec department or league to make sure that you have a place to practice. You are responsible for making sure you have the gear that your team needs and keeping it in working order.

Organizing practices are as important as game planning. Luckily, internet videos and books are easy to find to teach you drills and how to set up practice plans.

Forming a lineup is hard when you must make sure everyone gets a chance to play, sometimes in every position. I recommend taking an hour or two every week to figure out lineups and positions, and how to rotate your players. One of the things that I did with my coach pitch team had the kids bat in order of their jersey number and then rotate them all through the positions throughout the game.

Managing player dynamics

Every player is different. Every player can play at a different level than the other. Some will require more coaching than others. However, you’ll also have ones you can count on to know what to do in given situations without constantly reminding them throughout the game. There are going to be players who want to play certain positions, and that is all they want to play. And then it will feel like the entire team wants to know the score and where they bat in the lineup.

It will become quickly apparent what every kid’s dynamic will be throughout the season. Find out what motivates each player. Some will want to know where they bat in the order every time they come in from playing in the field. Some aren’t going to say much and are going to know exactly what their job is for that given day.

Parental involvement

Managing parents tends to be even harder than coaching their kids.

You’ll most likely have some parents who step up and help you coach the team. If you are lucky, you’ll also have parents who are encouraging throughout the season. These are the ones who aren’t ultra-competitive or complaining about their kids’ playing time. Embrace these parents who want to become involved.

Have a parent meeting either before or at the first practice and set the expectations early for them. Let them know that you want them to be involved and encouraging. You want them to not be demeaning and rude to other parents, coaches, players, and the umpires.

Remember, coach: Your kid is still a player

As a head coach, this is something that I quickly forgot. I was harder on my son than any other player on the team. This is natural when it comes to coaching your own child. Why? I had higher expectations for him than I did for other players. But, I also forgot during that season that he was still only 6 years old. He was going to play in the dirt and not listen to what me, as a coach, had to say.

As an assistant coach, I still catch myself being this way. Our children respond best to coaching and instructions when they come from a parent other than me. One of the best ways to get the point across to your child? Have one of the other coaches be the one who talks to and instructs your child.

These are just a few tips that I have learned throughout my time coaching my own child throughout his baseball career. The thing to remember throughout the season though is, in the end, you want your kid to have fun.

Because if they have fun, you have fun.

A version of Coaching Your Own Child first appeared on The Rookie Dad. Photo: © soupstock/ Adobe Stock.

“That ball was out of bounds!” I tell my wife sitting next to me on the metal bleachers. My butt hurts, but it’s the price I gladly pay. Did my wife roll her eyes? I think she did. That’s OK, I don’t expect her to get it. Not like me. She isn’t a parent-athlete.

Being a parent-athlete is tough. I go to every practice, sit on those hard metal bleachers and drink copious amounts of Diet Coke from a giant bucket I got from the hardware store. That’s true commitment, and I get it if the rest of the world doesn’t understand. It’s a hard life, but one that has chosen me. I didn’t intend to be a parent-athlete, but what are you going to do when greatness comes calling?

At practices, the parents around me talk about travel teams, club teams and special coaches from the Ukraine. I didn’t know those existed when I first started back when my daughter was only 5. But like they say, you have to start early if you hope to have any chance of making all-district. I don’t know what that is, but it’s the collective goal for parent-athletes. I’ve learned a lot from all of them.

For example, I am an expert in every sport my children play. Soccer, baseball, volleyball — I apparently have Olympic-level advice to give from the sidelines. I didn’t think any of us parent-athletes could be so knowledgeable, but that was before I realized we all had talent. You can’t define it. The talent is tough to quantify, but it’s there. Which is really great because I have to tell my kid what to do when the ball does something.

Some of the parents around me, during practice, talk about where they are going next. Orlando mostly, sometimes Sioux Falls, North Dakota. Then they will talk about spending $10,000 a summer for the gear to do whatever sport we are currently experts in. Gotta have those ultra high-end knee pads when playing something. Uniform shorts affect the level of play a great deal, more than you would think. That’s why they have to be bought from a small island in the South Pacific. Athletic gear isn’t cheap. A parent-athlete can’t go cheap. Go big or go home, like with the buckets of Diet Coke.

We are getting to the point where I don’t even know why we have to hire coaches anymore. I should just make my children play every sport, but listen to me from the sidelines. “Get that ball!” I’ll yell every once in a while when I look up from my phone that’s tracking my child’s stats internationally. That’s top-quality coaching. But still, hiring coaches shows total commitment. So we, all the parent-athletes, got together last week and decided we needed to hire a conditioning coach. Conditioning is important, but only if done in a controlled setting with me watching from the bleachers on my canvas stadium seat. It’s nice, and it’s woven by the same little hands that made my kid’s uniform.   

“I’m going to say something. That ball was out of bounds,” I tell my wife.

“We aren’t at volleyball anymore. That game ended an hour ago.”

“Where are we?”

“Soccer. Your son is playing soccer.”

Excellent. I know a lot about soccer.  What time do I pick up my trophy?

A version of this first ran on Hossman at Home.

Another sports season has started. That means parents are running around, trying to figure out how they will manage to get their kids to practices and games. They should also be figuring out how to be a better sports parent.

I’m taking a sabbatical from coaching this season after eight years as a soccer coach and three as a baseball coach. I know the frustrations coaches and parents can have during a sports season, but I want to cover what a coach needs from parents.

Coaches and parents have a partnership. They both have the players’ best interests at heart. But the coach also has the team’s best interest at heart. Your player has been absorbed into a team and is no longer an individual.

My easiest players to work with over the years are the ones with parents who gave me the freedom to place their child wherever I wanted despite their wishes to have the kid in the highest profile positions. One of my favorite types of “better sports parent” is the one who cheers the whole team on. They know each player’s name, congratulate them when they do things right and encourage them through struggles. Be that parent and your child will be happier. So will the coach and the team.

Here are some other tips on how to be a better sports parent:

Be on time

If a coach says practice starts at 5 p.m. that doesn’t mean you’re dropping your player off at 5. That means the player is on the field next to the coach at 5. Getting out of the car at 5 is late. It is always better to arrive at practices early. When kids arrive at practice, they mess around or chat with their teammates. Once practice starts, that’s when they stretch and warm up. If they are walking across the field at 5, they missed stretching. Also, if one player is late, other players might believe they can be late. Lateness ruins a team’s dynamic.

A better sports parent leaves coaching to the coach

It is confusing for players when parents yell one thing while their coach yells another. Even if a parent knows more about the sport than the coach, they are taking credibility away from the coach while yelling instructions. The coach sees the field and knows the capabilities of every player. A parent knows their child. The coach has spent time with all the players. There may be a different plan than what the parents are seeing. Also, it does no good for a parent to yell during a game. Cheer, but other than that, keep the berating to yourself.

Stay away from team meetings

After a certain age, parents don’t have to listen in on the huddle. Once parents approach the huddle, the players start looking around at their parents and believe the game/practice is over. Just stay away until it breaks. While I’m giving last-minute advice or even coming down on a player for behaving in an unsportsmanlike way, I don’t need him looking around to see if his parent hears.

Coaches see the team, not just one player

I’ll use a baseball analogy. Let’s say I have one great pitcher and he is a good fielder. Let’s also say I’ve got a good pitcher, but a bunch of players with mediocre gloves. I will need to put that great pitcher in the field where a lot of balls are getting through and put the good pitcher on the mound. Sure, I’ll stick the great pitcher on the mound when I can, but most of the time he will play in areas where the biggest gaps are. A great player at a position might not get to play that position because they can help the team in another area. So you might think your kid is the best player on the team and wonder why they are stuck in an unglamorous position. There’s a reason and it is a team-first reason.

Don’t talk bad about the coach at home

When you speak ill words about the coach at home, it starts an infestation. First, it affects your player. They don’t want to listen to the coach and believe there are better ways. That spreads to other players and soon the coach has lost the team. The coach will find out what you are saying and that is not a fun conversation to have.

This is not your glory moment, it is your kids

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come off the field and heard a parent say: “When I was playing …” I don’t care how good of a player you were. Playing and coaching/managing a team of kids is different. A better sports parent lets his or her children develop their own memory.

Don’t overestimate your child’s skill

I understand you’ve been playing in the park or the backyard with your kid for years and watching games with them. But you haven’t spent time on the field with them during a practice. The kid you tossed a ball back and forth with or kicked a ball into a goal with differs from the one running with teammates. You need to accept that maybe, in a team setting, your player’s team skills need work.

Don’t feed your child junk food on game day

I can’t tell you how many times kids have told me they stopped at McDonald’s on the way to a game. After about 30 minutes of running in the hot sun, those fries and burgers bubble their way up. The same goes for soda. Don’t give soda to a player before a game. Sure, they might think they have a sugar rush, but once that sugar burns off, they are tired and crashing. Plain old water works just fine.

Tell your players to help clean the field

Helping a coach pick up cones and garbage goes a long way. I feel a great sense of pride when I see my players clearing a field after play. When coaches see this behavior, it makes them believe the player is not just a part of the team for themselves but has bought into the “we” attitude. It also helps them decide who the leaders are.

Parents, please have fun

I see your faces after the game. They should look happy. Win or lose, your children were doing something they love to do. You took the time in your day to make sure they got there. It was a beautiful moment regardless of the outcome. Smile at your player when they come off the field, and give him or her a hug and an encouraging word. Don’t bring up the bad plays. The same goes for the coach. Give the coach a handshake and say, “Thank you.”

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad. Photo: © soupstock/ Adobe Stock.

We were a team, a collective. We had an excellent coach (Vincent Pandoliano), and gave everything we had to each other and to the sport. Our game was passionate, honest and exciting. We always got the same feel from the sidelines – loud and proud support.

That explains some of the heartfelt disappointment felt by me and my son, now 14, with his youth soccer academy here in New York.

No skill but lots of spirit

We relocated here from Hong Kong in July 2017. Years before, my son picked up soccer over there. His first team sssssssucked! They lacked basic skills, individually and collectively, and got punished for it repeatedly.

What struck me, however, was the camaraderie among the boys on the team. They did everything together. The sport connected them and, little by little, they improved. Because of this strong team spirit, my son was eager to go to practices, learn soccer skills, and support the team as well as he could – in losses and wins.

He eventually landed on a team at the Hong Kong Football Club. It was his earlier perseverance that helped him get selected out of a group of more than 30 boys. He experienced failure early on, learned from it, and relentlessly worked on his skills. I was superbly proud.

This new team was wonderful: great coaches, friendly and talented players, amazing team spirit. That team spirit carried them to several unlikely victories and, ultimately, to season’s championship. Notably, the boys didn’t really care about individual accolades. They, instead, made numerous rounds of congratulating one another – something no parent was expecting from a bunch of seemingly selfish teenagers. I felt like I was reliving my volleyball days. It was heartwarming.

Smirks, scorn and youth soccer players

This is why both of us were so terribly disappointed when he started playing on his current youth soccer team in NYC.

We took the risk of committing to this program because there were literally no other similar options available given the timing of our arrival in the city (all tryouts and selection are completed in the spring). The uniform and related gear took more than three months to arrive – all because the academy made an agreement with an incompetent “mom and pop” vendor and didn’t have reserve stock. My son ended up borrowing bits and pieces of the uniform from fellow players – only to receive smirks and occasional scorn from them. Smirks and scorn! I kid you not.

Smirks and scorn very quickly became a team trademark of sorts. My son would often return from practices bewildered and sad. Why? Teammates chastised him for making mistakes. The coach seemed to either pay no attention to or encourage this behavior. He’d appear right before the practice and disappear immediately after. No feedback, no individual attention, no care. To date, he hasn’t responded to a single email I’ve sent requesting a meeting.

The clique culture on the team was most disheartening. Boys were friendly only in small groups of 3 or 4, and this was evident in their game on the field: “passing to friends.” Before games, players wouldn’t even greet all of their teammates. I was completely blown away when my son told me that one of his teammates called him “the worst player on the team” after “taking a poll.” When I shared this issue with the program director and asked for a meeting he told me he was “going on vacation” and delegated the task to the head coach. The head coach’s reply was generic and bureaucratic.

My wife and I are very lucky to have a resilient boy. He is able to find joy and friendships in various places if not on the soccer field. What’s more, to his teammates’ and coach’s surprise, he shined in an indoor 5-on-5 tournament recently, helping his team win first place.

What about kids who are not as resilient? How would they be affected? What would they learn in a year’s commitment? Will this atmosphere defeat their aspirations in this sport?

Recently, my son’s friends who play on other academy teams started asking him to try out and join them. I’ll be very happy when he does. He still loves soccer.

Learn from my mistakes

A few takeaway points for parents looking for youth soccer or other sports programs:

• Don’t just seek general feedback from other parents and community members about a particular sports program before you sign up. Most don’t monitor the actual team dynamic and other important nuances in organization and coaching.
• Interview the head of the program, head coach, and the specific coach who will work with your child when possible. Ask to observe a few practices and pay attention to interactions on the field (from the coach and among players).
• Talk to your child in advance about various tactics of dealing with pressure and conflicts. Monitor their moods on the field and after practices or games. Be present with your unwavering support.

Youth soccer photo by Isaiah Rustad on Unsplash

“Just let them play,” I said, loudly.

“That’s a good idea,” snapped the referee, staring me down from the baseline.

I was in the front row, mid-court. Everything was a blur save the anger on the ref’s face and the echoing whispers of my wife begging me to stay quiet. She was probably right.

A moment earlier, the crowd buzzing with confusion, I had turned to those seated behind me, a collection of parents from both teams, and shared my feelings on the call that had been made. I had been loud then, too.

It was the 6th grade boys basketball championship. A player on my son’s team had just fouled out, his last coming on a technical immediately following the actual infraction. The foul itself was probably accurate. He’s a quick, handsy kid, tenacious and prone to contact. The technical, however, was given without pause, warning or justification.

The child had yelled the word “no” in obvious frustration to no one but himself. Not the ref. Not another player. He yelled it with the passionate disappointment of a kid in a championship game who knew what the foul meant for his team. The ref, far too heated for the situation, with actions animated and a stance stern and challenging, issued a technical foul even before the “no” stopped bouncing upon the bright, wood floor. He stood there, striped as a zebra and puffed as a peacock, daring the boy to argue, despite the tears that flowed between them.

It was a terrible call, hence my saying so. The referee would admit as much after the game, stating to other parents that he had misheard the player. Fair enough. Still, it didn’t change the fact a grown man had overreacted in an emotional moment in a gym full of people, embarrassing a 12-year-old in the process.

Referees are only human, and despite yelling at me, I truly appreciate the work they do. It is a thankless job, and often the subject of ridicule and harshness. They are there, I presume, because they care about youth sports and the integrity of the game, and not, contrary to popular belief, to be jerks to middle school kids.

Integrity made me speak up

The season had been rougher than anticipated. My son was on a team of nice kids that he hardly knew, whereas they shared years of friendship with one another. He had a hard time adjusting, and even then, in the first championship game of his young basketball career, he still admitted he wasn’t fitting in. It negatively affected his play and his attitude, noticeably so, two things I had never thought possible.

The team he was facing was filled with some of his closest friends. These kids had been to sleepovers at our house, their voices a regular humming from video games and group calls. Their parents sat beside me as we cheered against each other.

The point being, I wasn’t angry on behalf of my son’s team. I was angry for everyone. The game wasn’t very close at that point and, if anything, the player fouling out only guaranteed my son more playing time. Rather, I was angry like I would have been had I seen an adult berate a crying child in any setting. And I still would have said something had the kid been on the other team.

Funny enough, I actually didn’t coach this season because of parents yelling in the stands. I’m not a fan of the “win or lose” mentality, or the intensity that goes with it, and I didn’t care to spend the season on the receiving end of that attention. I believe youth sports should be fun, healthy and educational. The pride I have in my son has little to do with what he can do with a basketball. It has a lot to do with his heart and his integrity.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Perhaps the referee should have collected himself. Some examples are louder than others, and lessons are learned everywhere. The basketball court is as good of a place as any.

“Just let them play,” I said, loudly.

“That’s a good idea,” said the ref. And then they did.