It’s time yet again for another entry in the ‘Shit I learn’ series of Mental Poo!
Like you had anything else to do right now.
For more of 'The Shit I Learn,' check out these gems:
The Kid Vomiting Edition
The Broken Hand Edition
The Karate Edition
The Marriage Edition
Today’s episode:
The Shit I Learn – Soccer Dad Edition
Yeah. I’m a soccer dad.
I drive a minivan, enjoy Pina Colada smoothies, bring the kids all over the place, and have a crush on my Latin pool-boy, Guapo.
Don't judge.
Okay...back to the soccer shit.
My 8 year old daughter enrolled in the town’s recreational soccer league this past spring.
How good is she?
Do you know that world famous soccer guy, Pele?
My daughter is just like Pele.
That is if Pele lived in fucking Bizarro World.
Also, Bizarro Pele has no legs and is blind.
So, yeah.
She’s like "Bizarro multiple cripple Pele."
She is awful.
But, I love her with all my heart so I'll try to look past the inadequacies of her pathetic play on the field every single goddamn Sunday but for Chrissakes you'd figure that after practicing and practicing and practicing she'd GET SOMETHING RIGHT BUT NOOOOOO.
Ahem.
Sorry.
So here are some things I’ve learned painfully sitting through games every Sunday:
1) Positions are merely serving suggestions
You know how when you buy a box of Ritz crackers and the cover of the box shows the crackers with, like, cheese and ham and peppers and OMG they look so fucking good shit on them?
Then you open the box, and all that’s in there are some shitty fucking crackers?
So you look at your pack of shitty fucking crackers in your fat hand then look back at the cover of the box and see in teeny tiny little letters:
“Serving Suggestion”
?!?
And you drop the box, fall to your knees, and look up at sky screaming, “WHY GOD?! WHY?!?!”
* cricket
Maybe that’s just me.
Helpful tip: this SAME shit applies to Wheat Thins and Triscuits and shit, too.
Un-fucking-believable.
They build you up and build you up and then tear you right the fuck down as soon as you open the box.
Stupid elves.
Whatever…
…the entire ‘serving suggestion’ thing apparently applies to putting my daughter out in the field and giving her a position to play.
Coach: “Payton…you’re on offense.”
Two minutes later…
...Payton is over by our goal while the rest of the team, defense included, is on the complete other side of the goddamn field actually trying to score goals.
Every once in a while, she looks over and – in her most professional soccer attitude – waves at us...
...and then proceeds to skip around in circles.
Awesome.
Coach: “Payton…defense! You’re on DEFENSE!!”
Payton doesn’t hear this because, apparently, she saw a baby on the sideline and is now over there tickling it’s feet.
I’m so proud.
2) Yelling swear words is not encouragement
So, as the wife and I are sitting on the sidelines, we’re surrounded by other parents shouting things to their kids playing in the game.
Things like:
“Way to go, Trevor!”
“Nice block, Haley!”
“You go, Jared! You did that great, Jared! You are the best, Jared! Jared you are great!”
Admittedly, Jared’s parents are a little fucking weird.
Regardless, all these parents are yelling words of encouragement to their kids who are playing their hearts out.
Meanwhile, my wife and I are yelling shit like:
“PAYTON!! KICK IT! KICK THE BALL! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO KICK THE FUCKING BALL!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I didn’t raise you to be a LOSER!”
“Awful!! You’re awful!"
"You’re not my daughter!”
“Stop tickling the baby!”
(I heard that last line in a porno once)
Tough love.
It works.
Just not on the soccer field.
You know...
Where you're supposed to KICK THE BALL!! KICK THE FUCKING BALL!!!
Sorry.
Gotta run, anyway.
Guapo's here to clean the pool.
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Shit I Learn - Soccer Dad Edition
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23 comments:
I'm with you. What's the point of having to sit in the stands with all those other loser parents (who probably think EVERY kid deserves a trophy) if the kid isn't even gonna try? I mean, that beer isn't gonna drink itself now is it?
I'd suggest perhaps enjoying an adult beverage prior to the game
For the last time, Mooog, quit calling me Guapo and there is no chance in HELL I am going to wear that Speedo you laid out for me.
Odd.
I had this exact same experience four years ago.
My son wants to play soccer this fall.
I better practice up on my swearing now.
bribe her. Tell her if she actually focuses on the task at hand (offense/ defense/ kicking the fucking ball) she gets a cool toy or something....
If that doesn't work, I suggest enough beer to get a pleasant buzz going. Be sure to bring a person who intends to stay sober doing the game.
p.s I feel your pain, btw. My youngest cousin managed to kick the ball not once, not twice but three times into the goal of the opposite team. Why not try dance class?
I had less skills then Payton when I played soccer.
For EIGHT. YEARS.
My dad even tried coaching my team, to help...
The ONE time I had the ball in front of the goal, COMPLETELY ALONE, with not even their goalie there...
I missed.
He cried about that last time I was home.
Like she doesn't have enough problems being drove around in a minivan. poor kid.
My two older sons aren't athletically inclined. My middle son is growing up to be a fine geek. He'd rather read science books.
My oldest, I thought he might want to participate in something that would channel his energy constructively. Because when your kid makes a habit of swinging off the ceiling fan you kinda think he might be able to do something with a ball.
And he wanted to join the little junior basketball league too. Not like I forced him for my sanity.
What he did during games? Hang off the pole supporting the half court basketball standards and TWIRL around it, completely oblivious to the game around him.
He's 15 and still does that shit.
Tits on a Ritz...mmm. good cracker.
...rememember that?
No?
Maybe you should enroll her in like, ballet, when the inability to concentrate is actually a viable skill?
You know how I asked you to be the god-father of my future children?
I'm gonna have to retract that.
I kid. That's the best fucking parenting I've ever witnessed. Keep up the good work.
Christina: You know...it takes a village.
I have no idea what that means...just thought I'd throw it out there randomly.
Peach: PRIOR to the game? Shit. All this time I've been boozing DURING the game.
That explains this 'please do not come anymore' letter from the staff.
Narm: Aw, Guapo...why so angry?
Mjenks: The shorter the swear word, the more effective.
Kids have short attention spans.
Fawkes: Your kid kicked the ball in his own goal twice?
Jesus.
At least my kid's only lazy...not stupid.
LiLu: Weird. It says here in the men's room that you're really good when it comes to ball control.
lbluca: Don't knock 37 cupholders til you've tried it.
Just sayin'.
Becky: Just when I think I have problems...you come along.
Thank you.
Zibbs: How big was that cracker?!?
Mike: Actually...she's awesome at dance.
Luckily, there are no points involved.
Lily: Dammit. I had the horse's head cut off and ready and everything.
Indian giver.
Visiting here after seeing your comment in Soccer Mom's caption contest. You have a twisted sense of humor. I love it...
sounds like me at my nieces soccer practice. I show up still half kicked in the ass from the night before and am tempted to be the half time show...take my top off and gyrate on the goal posts... my niece all red and sweaty and lazy so we punish her and tell her she's a worthless loser, ok we don't actually say it but we are thinking it and she sees that in our eyes.
I feel like this is how Mia Hamm got started.
Fucking Keebler. I know EXACTLY what you mean.
And maybe your daughter is really a soccer-ninja and is trying to lull the other team into thinking that they have her figured out (read: know she's awful) and is just waiting for the right opportunity to strike - which obviously has not presented itself yet. So yea, watch out for her, she might be hiding a ninja-star in her shin-guards.
Oh, ain't it just grand? I made the mistake of coaching my son's soccer team when he was FOUR. Yes, FOUR. It was basically "amoeba-ball" . . . once soccer ball with 20 kids hovering around it. We actually played one game where the score was 2-2, with neither team scoring into the correct goal at any point.
Another game had to be called, due to ice cream truck.
Vince Lombardi would've been proud.
I have tried to read this two times now, and I still cant get past this part with cracking the fuck up:
"My daughter is just like Pele.
That is if Pele lived in fucking Bizarro World.
Also, Bizarro Pele has no legs and is blind.
So, yeah."
Okay. I finally made it all the way through this post and my rib cage literally hurts. I have tears of laughter running down my face. You my friend are one of the funniest people EVER.
Really? An apple slice and cheese is good on a ritz? That sounds disgusting.
we are soul mates
eff these retarded kids and their no soccer playing skills
After 8 years of playing, my kid is far FAR from the Olympics of Soccer. But she's like the line backer of soccer and looks so proud of herself everytime she's in the penalty box. Ok, I'm proud too. Oh, and 1 year, there was a swear jar for the parents. Literally.
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