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.   

“We’re in an ambulance. Don’t freak out. They think Lynden broke his leg.” 

My heart sank. My wife’s voice was calm, though, despite our son screaming in the background.

That was April 23, the last soccer tournament of the spring, two weeks before a full summer of fun was to be had. Gone – just like that. 

Scared and bummed out, I forced myself to focus on the positive, thinking, ‘At least it’s the end of the season, Lynden will bounce back quickly.’

Nearly four months later, Lynden has not bounced back from his injury.

In fact, he is still limping, favoring his previously broken leg and complaining about pain if he attempts any physical activity. Despite being given full recovery status from his doctor, he is, in my view, at half speed.   

My patience with his slow recovery from this injury is waning. My sympathy is quickly turning into disappointment at his lack of grit. I am beginning to wonder if his elongated recovery says as much about me as my son.

Rehab of injury deliberately slow

Lynden’s cast and walking boot came off June 15. ‘Go time,’ I thought, assuming the two months of inactivity would have him itching to start moving again. We had marching orders from our doctors: a list of rehabilitation exercise to complete daily and no limitations on participation. 

Nothing, though, has happened. Lynden seldom does the prescribed rehab exercises.  He has completed short jogs only a handful of times over his summer months of freedom. And, no, he has not attempted to kick a ball with his left foot since the day his leg buckled on the pitch that April day. 

I have tried everything to get him going. From being supportive to helping devise a workout schedule to, now, demanding he complete the assigned injury rehab exercises in the morning each day without exception, I tried.

I can feel my frustration mounting. 

I shouldn’t have to urge him to get off his butt, and get to work, right? 

But I shouldn’t be the one who watches him limp while worrying that soccer practice starts in a few weeks. 

I shouldn’t have to create a workout schedule, another thing I will have to oversee so it is completed daily.

The simple fact may be that he may not want to come back from his injury as much as I want him to.

Does this reflect poorly on me?

Reflecting on the slow pace of Lynden’s return to the soccer field, I am facing a fact that I hadn’t before – I may be experiencing some personal self-worth vicariously through my kids’ activities. After all, many of our friends are connected to our children’s sports. Much of our non-working time is spent attending games, practices or traveling to the pitch. The financial and familial impact of these activities on all of us is all-encompassing.    

I may also be taking an ego hit as Lynden’s slow injury rehab casts doubt on the level (or lack thereof) of perseverance that my wife and I thought we had instilled in him. Our kids need to overcome adversity and, from my view, every limped step Lynden takes tells me that he might need a lesson in toughness.      

So, why do I care so much? 

After all, if Lynden does not return to the soccer team, I benefit – freeing up the time and money associated with keep him on the field. I guess I care because I know he’s capable. I care because I want my children to be active. Team sports, to me, are an excellent way to help our kids deal with diverse groups of people socially. And, somewhere deep maybe I care because all the efforts over the years feels for naught if this is the end of the road.   

My own self-interest is involved, and it should not be. After all, none of this ordeal – not the broken leg or Lynden’s slow return from it – has anything to do with me. 

From this point on, I’m done being frustrated. Everything will work out in due time.

I’m done trying to over zealously attempt to cultivate passions for my kids. I’ll provide the paths; it is their choice to continue or not.    

It has been a slow process for me to learn these lessons. Not, though, as labored, limped, and lethargic as my son’s comeback (or not) to the soccer field.

Injury rehab photo: © Elnur / 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.

“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.

I read far too much about what I’m NOT supposed to say or do when I watch my kids play competitive sports.

“Don’t be negative.”

“You shouldn’t raise your voice.”

“Don’t embarrass him (or her).”

Being told what not to do in regard to my kids immediately makes me defensive.

I felt this way after hearing about the “Silent September” instituted in a South Carolina soccer league at the end of the summer. The rule that immediately turned me off because I paraphrased it as, “Parents shouldn’t cheer.”

Maybe I’m too much like my hard-headed 4-year-old, Everett, whose ears shut down as soon as I start any behavior correction with “don’t.”

“Don’t” simply does not work for me – at home or as I think about rules imposed by leagues on spectators at a kids’ sporting event.

Let me start by making one thing clear: I completely agree that parental behavior at youth sports needs to change. One overzealous fan at an 8-year-olds’ sporting event is one too many.

Additionally, I agree that leagues have their hearts in the right place when they attempt to demand decorum from their spectators.

That said, the approach of these leagues needs to change because, from my seat, I just haven’t seen the “don’t” rules work at any pitch my little ones play on.

How about this: Leagues begin to tell parents how they COULD cheer to avoid embarrassment and to ensure a good time for their kids? No “don’ts” would be required.

For me, there are only two key guidelines for enhancing the civility of spectators at any field of play:

1. The other team, their fans and game officials are invisible – ALWAYS.

There is no reason to address any participant other than those on your kids’ team as a fan – not if the big kid on the other team checks your son into the boards, not if there is an obnoxious spectator ringing a cowbell on their sideline, and not even when the referee makes a call you deem horrendous.

Nothing good comes from turning your cheering attention away from your own team’s sideline.

Two facts make this important in youth sports:

• you’re very likely to see the competing team and parents repeatedly, and
• the same kids (along with their parents) could be on your team next season.

Game officials should be the farthest thing from any parent’s mind when attending their kid’s game.

Refs are, generally, nameless servants to the sport they love. Most of the ones I know simply want to continue to be part of the game in some small way. They are retired teachers, coaches or high school athletes looking to make a few bucks.

I’ve heard several big-time referees say that if no one notices them during a game, they have been successful. They are right.

Do officials screw up? Yes. Do the officials have a better grasp of the rules than a typical spectator? Also, yes.

Parents should help referees achieve their one goal — becoming incognito on the field during a game.

2. The only name that matters is the one on the FRONT of the jersey.

When I watch my kids’ teams take the field, I’m trying hard to remind myself that I’m not cheering for Yosef (my 11-year-old) or Lynden (age 10), I’m supporting the team they represent.

In fact, my new goal for the upcoming season is that the only way others will know which kids are mine is by noticing that I take them home after the match.

I must admit, it’s a struggle to keep the “team only” mentality alive in the heat of a game. After all, when my son scores a goal, I’m bursting with pride. I’d love to stand up and proclaim, “That’s my boy!” as he runs down the field clapping the hands of joyous teammates.

And, although there is nothing wrong with cheering and feeling proud of your kids’ accomplishments, such individualized kudos are better done in the car on the way home – not in front of a grandstand of friends and neighbors secretly hoping their kid will have the same scoring opportunity next time.

Said another way: Cheer for the front of the jersey while they’re on the field and love your kid individually off of it.

With these two guidelines in mind, I’ll be a better spectator during upcoming athletic seasons for my children. I’ll be at every game that I can – and cheering loudly for our team. And, although I’ll be disregarding the “don’t” rules that tell me to sit down and shut up, I’ll be minding their worthy intentions – keeping youth sports fun, light-hearted and free of over-the-top parenting.

I invite other parents to join me – with one resounding, “LET’S GO TEAM” from our chairs on the sidelines followed up with a giant hug for our budding sports superstars as we head home.

Don’t miss your chance

The whistle blew three times causing my kids to jump in exuberance while their faces lit up with joy. By “my kids,” I’m talking about a soccer team that I coach. I have been a part of their lives for seven years. That’s 14 seasons of soccer — fall and spring. I would love to do the math and answer how many practices, games, and hours that I have spent with these kids, but I’m too tired right now to crunch numbers. Let’s say I’ve put in a lot of time. And so have they. After all this time, they are not just my players. They are my kids.

Back to the game …

The whistle blew and my kids ran around and hugged one another. Suddenly, water poured down my back and in my face. My first thought was, “They need to drink that water instead of wasting it.” I was afraid they would cramp up because they were running around in the hot sun. But, I went with the celebration.

At the start of the game, I shook the other coach’s hand and high-fived with the opposing team. We wished one another “good luck” and then I regrouped with my team. After pumping them up with excitement and doing my best Vince Lombardi impression, I released the kids to play their game. Playoff games for any age and sport are always emotional and difficult to keep in check. So I was prepared for a heightened game.

The refs started the game and a clash of 6^th graders began. My kids played their hearts out right from the get-go. The refs were letting the kids play, which in soccer means a lot of grabbing, shoving, and forearms. Calls were missed and made against both teams. Parents of the other team yelled at my kids and the refs. Curses flew across the field. My kids continued to play … and play hard.

Soccer parents gone wild

One of the opposing soccer parents, (I call him “angry bald man in blue shirt”) could not control himself. He shouted with hatred throughout the game. Another man, (I call him “angry man in baseball hat”) joined him in his hatred. I challenged my team to not be distracted and continue to play hard. A goal that should have counted for my team was called back. It went through the net and from where the ref stood, he didn’t see it go in. Since the ball went out the back of the net, he ruled against the goal. Actually, it was a goal. A parent has it on video. Anyway, we lined back up in positions and played hard without letting the missed call get to us. Finally, we scored a goal. Another half came and went and the whistle blew three times. We were champions.

After jumping around and after the dousing of water, we walked up to the line to shake the other team’s hands. Half the kids congratulated us and half said nothing. The coach was gracious and offered his congratulations. Some of the assistants shook my hand without saying a word. I turned to head over to where my son was celebrating so we could have a special father/son moment, when I heard shouts from the angry parents.

Angry hat man was next to a player that didn’t even play that much and shouted in his ear, “You don’t deserve this!” Stopping in my tracks, I walked over to him. His actions lit a fire inside my stomach and I yelled back, “Don’t talk to my kids, you talk to me!” He stared at me with hateful eyes and yelled again at my kids. I stepped closer knowing I had many little eyes and ears all around and spoke quietly, “If you have something to say, say it to me. Don’t you ever talk to my kids again.” A couple seconds passed before I joined the champions.

After celebrating and handing out trophies and taking pictures, I said goodbye to my kids and congratulated them on a great season. One kid that I have coached since the beginning, but doesn’t play often walked over to me and gave me a hug and said, “I love you Coach Jason.” I bet he would have done that even if we lost.

My kids … That’s who they are. And I love them. And apparently, they love me. I wonder if coaches who swear at their “players” receive and give the same thing. The same goes for the soccer parents on the sidelines.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad.

Hey, you. Unreasonably Intense Sports Parent.

Knock it off, OK? That’d be great.

For everyone.

Oh, I get it. Trust me. That’s your kid out there. She’s got game, too.

You just want her to excel (and have fun).

You just want her to win (and have fun).

She should also DOMINATE THOSE OTHER PUNKS LIKE JORDAN on EHLO (and have fun) AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN “OUT,” REF? ARE YOU FREAKING BLIND? IDIOT!

I get it, though. I have kids, too. My older son played non-competitive YMCA soccer from age 4 until 9 when he turned to baseball – the sport of my youth.

I want him to excel, to win, to have fun.

So, yeah, I’m a sports parent. I yell, too. I’m into it. No matter the score, no matter if he’s pitching or batting or playing the field, I watch with an alert and practiced eye and mentally record the advice I’ll give him later when we’re out in the backyard playing catch.

And I yell. Boy, do I yell.

“Stay in the box, buddy!”

“It’s in the dirt! Cover the plate! COVER THE PLATE!”

“It’s OK! You’ll get ‘em next time!”

He hears me. Everybody hears me. I’m yelling, loudly, so of course, everybody hears me.

That is, everybody hears me when THEY’RE not yelling, too.

Because that’s what a sports parent does, right? We yell encouragement and advice and even the occasional admonition.

Researchers to the youth sports parent: Chill out!

Here’s the thing, though. Two recent studies – one from Ithaca College, the other from the Boston-based youth coaching consortium, CoachUp – revealed, in part, what common sense should tell us, anyway: When it comes to youth sports, parents just need to chill.

What does that mean?

It means placing an overt and unyielding expectation of victory on a kid is a bad idea. Stop emphasizing performance and outcome ahead of social interaction. Don’t act like a jackass by berating coaches and officials.

It does not mean we shouldn’t place any expectations whatsoever on our kids.

I submit that parents should set reasonable expectations regarding a child’s participation in youth sports. Those expectations should be explained clearly, and parents should be sure their kid understands exactly how to live up to those expectations.

For example, the expectations I place on my son for baseball are these:

• I expect him to have fun.
• I expect him to treat his teammates and his opponents with respect.
• I expect him to learn how to catch, throw, run, slide and swing a bat well enough that he won’t get hurt during the course of a game.
• I expect him to pay attention to his coaches during practice, and he’ll listen to me when we’re playing catch in the backyard.
• I expect him to learn the rules of the game, and remember what he is supposed to be doing at all times on the baseball field. If he doesn’t know or remember, I expect him to ask his coaches or more-experienced teammates.
• I expect him to finish his homework before weekday practices and weeknight games.

These expectations are not negotiable. Nor are they unreasonable. Nor do I go berserk and scream and yell until I’m purple if he doesn’t quite live up to one or more of those expectations. I readily acknowledge that trying to live up to all of those – including the part about having fun – might present a challenge for my son. So be it. Growth happens when we confront our anxieties. We either overcome it or succumb to it. Either way, we learn.

Expectations go both ways. My son should expect me, as a sports parent:

• To be enthusiastic, but respectful, during games.
• To give encouragement where needed and to show empathy when things go poorly.
• To know when to step aside, when to shut up, and when to let him fail.
• To allow him to figure out the best way to respond to that failure, but to be there to remind him that there is another at-bat, another inning, another game, another season ahead.
• To be there for him and be happy for him and to hug him after the game – win or lose.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I want my son to excel at sports. Would I love one day to sit in the stands and watch my son throw a no-hitter, or drive in the winning run on a bigger stage? You bet.

I also want him to make a perfect score on the SAT, never get anything worse than an A on his report card, learn to play the violin like Itzhak Perlman, blaze trails like Susan B. Anthony and President Obama, discover creative ways to transform the world like Steve Jobs, stand up for what’s right in the face of seemingly overwhelming adversity like Nelson Mandela and Malala Yousafzai, and be as kind and generous as his mother.

So, sit down, Unreasonably Intense Sports Parent. Have a seat next to me. I’m right here with you. Let’s talk about our hopes and dreams and, yes, our expectations for our kids. Let’s have some fun.

Photos: PublicDomainPictures.net

This season will be my fourth coaching my son’s soccer team. Coaching him has been one of the highlights of parenting for me. But with coaching comes a lot of stress, anxiety, and weariness – mostly because of other parents.

Luckily, I’m more comfortable than ever because the parents trust me and I know them. Being a coach is a difficult job. Parents entrust us with their most precious gift in the entire world. Every game and practice I remind myself of that. But while I do my best to help children develop, the parent-coach relationship is a two-way street.

Here are some things players’ parents should remember to help coaches and their children do their best:

Coaches are only human

I try and remind my team of this constantly. I am only human and I will make mistakes in judgment, planning, and organization. Many times I’ll get it right, but mistakes happen. Also, most of us are volunteers and have packed coaching into an already busy day. Go easy on us.

The coach sees the whole picture

A parent often focuses mainly (or solely) on his or her child, and there isn’t anything wrong with that. But the coach is looking at the whole team – who is in and out of position, who’s tired, who’s hurt, who’s in a mismatch, who’s doing great, who needs extra encouragement – and trying to balance playing time and many other things. We see your children and every other child on the field.

Talk to your coach

I encourage parents to talk to me because if they don’t, their kids will. Kids always tell me during practice what their parents say. Parents are part of the team and talking to your kids without talking to me first can create disunity and dysfunction on the team.

Temper your praise

I’ve heard a kid say, “My dad says I am the best player on the team” or “My parents say I’m the strongest person on the team.” Then other kids hear this and have no problem explaining to to this player why they are not the best – usually in a not-so-nice way. Encouraging your children is essential to sports, but don’t put them on the pedestal if you want them to be part of the team. These comments make your kid seem cocky and no one wants to hear someone boasting about themselves.

Go easy on the coach’s kid

The coach’s kid is one of the most scrutinized players on the field. I get that. His playing time and position are monitored by many parents. I used to be overly sensitive to that. I ended up being harder on him than I was on any other kid, even to the detriment of the team. Then, one day, a parent who played professional soccer to me, “Stop pulling him out so much. The team needs him.” Another thing to keep in mind?  The coach’s kid is usually at every practice and every game, often the first to arrive and the last to leave. He or she has usually earned that playing time.

Let the kids have fun

Winning is great and adds to the fun, but it isn’t the most important thing. If children aren’t having fun, they won’t learn the great lessons sports instill and they’ll resent being forced to practice and play.

Parents should have fun, too

Over the years, I’ve seen parents almost to come blows with other parents. I’ve heard parents swearing or yelling at their kids, other kids, refs, and coaches. If you are not having fun at the games, then you’re only making it harder on your children. Have fun and enjoy the moment. Don’t let your frustration ruin their time.

A version of this first appeared on One Good Dad. Photo by Jeffrey Lin on Unsplash.