I have no words

           Competitive sports are not for the weak at heart.  It amazes me how tough my kids are because I have to bite my tongue more times than not.  You will have parents and kids say cruel things.  You will see parents act like lunatics.  And some coach’s behavior is just, well, if you don’t laugh you might cry.  Sometimes I worry these people are going to bust a vein over these games.

           I had a coach tell me that my son was a “serious athlete”, but he needed to gain some weight.  He advised me to begin giving him protein shakes.  He did warn me to be careful of the amount since they can be hard on his liver.  My son was 8 years old at the time.  Correct me if I am wrong, but i’ve always heard the liver is kind of an important organ, one of those you can’t live with out.  We passed on the shakes.

          Upon going to our first cheer competition I was bombarded by a multitude of skin baring uniforms on small children.  I had to pay extra for the length of our cheer skirts, so they were age appropriate.  Well not everyone sees this as important.  Nothing like a 6 year old in a two-piece cheer uniform.  At least the judges make the older girls remove the belly button rings before competition.   Seriously, just because you can pierce it does not mean you should.

          I have had parents tell me my kids were not good enough to make certain teams.  I have heard complaints over my kid’s performance; I have learned to roll my eyes.   I think it is a good thing to have no words, because the ones I do have are not very constructive.

Correction

I incorrectly reported the name of the team that played in the semi-finals.  I reported their name as Master Bladders.  They are the Master Bladers.  Due their old age and dirty style of play I feel this is a mistake anyone could have made, but I apologize for any offense.  Anyhoo, my bad.

Pepsi Center Bound

     My husband’s team won their semi-final play off game so we are Pepsi Center bound.  It was a heated re-match with the Master Bladders, their archrival.  Their fans can’t cheer for them, they have to yell, come on white, since they have kids present. 

     Clearly, their reputation preceded them; this poor team spent the entire first period in the penalty box.  The ref’s warned them that if they talked back they would add penalty time.  Most 2-minute penalties became 4 minutes.  I’m laughing myself silly, I mean come on, typical adult man, has to argue everything.  What am I saying typical 11 year old man as well.

     My sweet passive husband even got a penalty.  He was sprinting for the puck and got a bit out of control.  He barreled into a player, not on purpose, it’s e-league hockey, and he just couldn’t stop.  Unfortunately it was the only female player and she got angry.  She is yelling at my husband and he just looks at her with a glazed over look and skates away.  It’s the same look I get when I yell at him.  At least he is consistent.

     So stay tuned, 9:00 am this Sunday at the Pepsi Center.  After the game, we will all go to brunch like civilized Hockey Fan’s!

My bracket is better than yours

I’ve established I know little to nothing about sports.  I was never athletic; I was bad at the few sports I tried.  Most of what I know about sports I learned from watching my kids play and listening to my hubby.  I do enjoy basketball and am saddened by the shortness of my children.  I do not know the difference between double dribble, travel and walking, unless a vacation is involved. 

So it was much to my surprise when several years back my hubby asked me to fill out a bracket for the NCAA tournament.  So I did, and I won.  The very first time I filed one out I won.  Do you want to know my secret?  It’s very complicated.  I pick all the first seeds.

At first my husband laughed at me.  My reasoning was simple, isn’t that why they are ranked highly, because they are supposed to win?  Well it made perfect sense to me.  Well this year I am winning both my brackets.  I am even beating my husband’s family, which is crazy because they fill out their brackets with the care of a neurosurgeon. 

Next year I am considering consulting the bookies in Vegas.  If my simple approach wins I might ought to try getting some cash out of it. 

Those pants are sneaky little buggers

I don’t know about you, but in my house sports uniforms and gear get lost all the time.  My daughters ripped jeans I try to throw away keep showing up, but the sports uniforms are like elusive endangered animals.  I feel the need sew in tracking devices.  I mean the kids wear these things weekly, I am so careful to wash them and hand them over gently, with strict instructions to put them someplace safe.  Apparently, they have hidden hands and feet.  No matter where the kids put them, they end up someplace else.

Today we had a scrimmage at 9:30 in the morning.  I am not going.  I don’t need to drag the 9 year old out of bed at the crack of dawn on Sat. to sit in the cold watching a scrimmage.  So Dad gets the job, and I figure he would want it.  When I ask him to get the gear out the night before, so they don’t have to scramble in the morning, he gets irritated.  Clearly, what do I know about these things.

So this morning as they are scrambling to find the gear, the words I told you so are on the tip of my tongue.  I don’t say it as I realize this will not find the missing pants and will only heighten dad’s fragile state.  I inquire as to the sights that have been searched thus far.  I realize waking me was a final and highly resisted option.

We cover, laundry, drawers, closet, as I get my robe on.  I go check my daughter’s dirty laundry, because you never know what’s in that basket, negative no pants.  I go downstairs doing a cursory re-check.  I hear the whole; I already checked there, blah blah blah. 

I make it down to the bowels of the house, better know as the basement where my son has chosen to dwell.  I look around.   He is sitting on his bed, his dad barking to just wear his black pants.  I stay calm, I get in my zone.  My keen eyesight allows me to scan quickly over the situation. I start to calculate in my mind, I go through the w’s, when, who, where, what the ……

I see the pile of cloths I gave him two days ago, on the shelf above his bed.  IT WAS A MIRACLE, a Christmas miracle.  There they where about a foot from the kids head. It’s always the last place you check.  Actually, it’s always the last place mom checks.

Thank God my kids are special

Some lady in New York is suing the private school her 4 year old used to go to.  She has accused the school of being one big play room, putting the 4 year old in a 2 year old class and thus damaging her kids chances for getting into a prestigious private school, then Ivy League college.

Now we can all sue the various gyms, schools, sports and music programs.  I can’t wait to blame others for my kids shortfalls, although, let’s be honest, they don’t really have any.  But it nice to know I can sue someone if all the money I am spending on him or her doesn’t pay off, even though it will, I’m not concerned.

I mean, thank God my kids are so special, I will never have to worry about this.  I am expecting a call any day now from the top colleges in the country.  I fell so sorry for this woman.  Clearly her kid was not good enough and she was thinking, I’ll spend nineteen thousand dollars and get her up to speed.  Well, we can’t all be winners.

I’m glad I don’t have this problem.  I guess it’s in the genetics.  Who knows what would have happened if they weren’t good and got on the wrong team or ended up in the wrong class at school.  The key to your kid’s success is not in the amount of money you spend.  I beg God daily to make my kids perfect, so far, so good.

Well I better go, the phone is ringing, and I’m sure its Harvard.

Smile, I'm paying for it.

           Since our season is so long and obviously a bit more serious than we had anticipated.  Hubby and I decide it might be a good idea to get the kid some extra help in the batting department.  Don’t get me wrong, the kid can hit, but after his last 6 at bats resulted in 4 walks, one single, one strike out, we figured he needs an intervention.

           

We purchase a 12-lesson package, at a place called Hitstreak.  They film the kid, break down his swing, great stuff, I highly recommend it.  We luck out and get a great coach.  Young guy, Marcus, played high school ball at a local high school and then spent some time in the big leagues.  Very nice guy, he looks like he is having fun, smiling and cracking jokes.  I honesty think this guy is thrilled to be making a living teaching kids the sport.

            My kid is 11 and probably too young to be getting private lessons.  At least I’m not paying for my 6 or 7 year old to take privates.  But let me tell you, someone else is.  I almost fell off my chair.  I’m watching my kid bat, I look over at this little cutie-pa-too-tie, and wouldn’t ya know it, he is in a private lesson.  I don’t know if he is any good or not, but I figure at his age, it’s anyone’s best guess.

Clearly, this has got to be a bit of a waste.  At 7, does the kid even know if he likes baseball, football, lacrosse, perhaps water sports?  We live in the burgs of upper middle class America.  The options are limitless.  Why not wait till the kid has the ability to pick what he really likes.  When my kid was his age he liked Barney and Power Rangers, things change.  I at least waited till me kid could rationalize to me, why he wanted to play at this level.  (His answer, “because I loves baseball, seriously mom, I LOVE baseball, please, please, please……”)

            So junior is hitting, then coach asks junior if he wants to pitch, or should I say lob the ball.  Should they even really throw at that age?  Have you ever seen a 6 or 7-year-old pitch?   If Dante could rewrite the Inferno, he would defiantly make one of the lower rings of hell a 7-year-old kid pitch game, brutal.  Those at bats go on forever.

            Well, me thinks this poor coach was feeling like this private was going on forever.  He looks like I do when I go to the dentist, except this is a game, he chose to do teach it, and he’s getting paid.  I get it, we all do things we don’t really love, just to pay the bills, tide us over till we get to the good stuff.  But for Gods sake, fake it man.  If you look like you would rather be playing in traffic, just say no I’m busy and don’t take the kids money.  Come on parents, you should really go to your kid’s private lessons.  For 35 bucks you can get the 12 year old down the street to watch the brat all night.

            So I’m relieved we got the coach we got.  But I tell you right now.  I’ll be at every single lesson.  I certainly do not need to pay someone to look miserable while my kid plays baseball.  I can do that for free.