Kill the Ref

Can you imagine? A gentle reader suggested to this author recently that I am harsh and–gasp!–judgmental. My thoughtful critic went on to say that I give advice (if I remember correctly, the word “pontificate” was bandied about like undergarments on a clothesline) but no solutions and that what I recommend is as cliché as it is unlikely. “To model sobriety for our kids, you want us parents not to drink?” my friend sputtered. “And you’re always telling us to have fun with our kids–to read to them rather than let them play ‘Shoot, Shoot, Shoot, Blood, Blood, Blood, Kill, Kill, Kill.’ Are you kidding? When do I have time to help them make a lemonade stand? Did it ever occur to you that I have a job?”

With these thoughtful criticisms in mind, I am going to target low-hanging fruit this week. I am going to selflessly eviscerate parents who scream at the referees at their daughter’s soccer games. I hope my temperate readers will agree with my characterization of these boors. (I’ll go back to harder targets–parents who smoke pot with their kids–in subsequent essays.)

You know the one I mean: there’s the guy pacing the sidelines invoking ancient and modern deities to smite the referee. “Kill the ref” he begins in the first period of play then escalates to harsher suggestions as the game–swarms of adorable lemmings massing around a slow moving soccer ball–continues.

Charitably, the man only wants what is best for his daughter. Arguably he believes that his daughter cares about winning as much as he does. Of course he is wrong on both counts.

“Everybody gets the same cards” is as true in poker as it is for seven year olds playing soccer. Unless you are a member of the 1927 New York Yankees, the odds are that in the long run you–and your offspring–will have just as many Ws as Ls. As the law of large numbers is not likely to be repealed any time soon, isn’t is important to teach our children how to win and lose gracefully and with character?

Rather than screaming at the ref–typically a high school kid earning $20 per game–a better message for dad to communicate might be: “Play hard, play fair, go home.”

Because it’s important to distinguish between how the rabid parent and the young player perceive what is transpiring on the field. In grown up world, winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing. Or as Vince Lombardi said, “if winning isn’t important, why do they keep score?”

In kid world, on the other hand, your daughter may be more interested in developing skills. And even the most rabid Packers fan would admit that there were no seven-year-olds on that 1967 team that won all those games. Your daughter may be learning social cues from the other young people. She is certainly interested in your perceptions and reactions. She is eager for your approval and affection.

Win or lose.

Ultimately, the question is whether or not you want to impose your world view on your young child. Inflicting your values is best done with someone who respects and admires you. It’s hard for your little one to admire a person who is psychotically yelling at a 17-year-old in a striped yellow shirt. She would be more likely to value your guidance and advice if there was less spittle frothing from your gaping mouth.

“Love your kids for who they are not for what they do” can hardly be exemplified better than by your calm acceptance of the path your child is walking on the soccer pitch.

And what if your daughter has no interest whatsoever in competitive athletic games? Would you have the good sense to allow her to stay home with you cuddled up on the couch reading books? I certainly hope so. It is my fervent wish that you would allow your daughter to be who she is.