Soccer field...9:30am Saturday...Yorba Linda California. I'm coaching my 7-year-old's team...the green strikers and we're missing two of our better players. A mixup in the email chain left us playing short...grid-iron-soccer. For three and a half quarters we keep our dignity against our opponent, the number one team, but are still loosing 2-0. Finally, my assistant coach and his daughter, our best player, show up! We ask to sub her in for the last 3 minutes of the game...I'm not sure what the rules are, but SHE'S 7-YEARS OLD FOR GOODNESS SAKE. The ref is cool with it, but I suddenly hear some "hen party" start up on the opposite side of the field. Some boisterous soccer mom is clucking around about the depravity! I yell across, "Is it really that big of a deal?" Her response, "Bite Me!"
I didn't hear it. Lucky for her...I didn't hear it! BUT, all the parents on my sideline did and the drama ensued...but turned into our own hen party with a cluck-cluck here and a cluck-cluck there. Before I knew it, the game was over, we still had a goose...I mean chicken egg on the scoreboard and I was left to internalize the childishness that we parents vicariously envelope when trans-competing through our kid's games.
As an adult-child, had I heard the insult, I would have invited the lady to the parking lot, where the other parents would form a circle around us, and we would duke it out. All the while hearing, "fight! fight! fight!" chanted in the background.