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
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.
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.
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.
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:
And you drop the box, fall to your knees, and look up at sky screaming, “WHY GOD?! WHY?!?!”
Maybe that’s just me.
Helpful tip: this SAME shit applies to Wheat Thins and Triscuits and shit, too.
They build you up and build you up and then tear you right the fuck down as soon as you open the box.
…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.
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.
“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)
Just not on the soccer field.
Where you're supposed to KICK THE BALL!! KICK THE FUCKING BALL!!!
Gotta run, anyway.
Guapo's here to clean the pool.