Angry isn't the word
This morning our eldest daughter stood at the side of a football pitch for an hour while the rest of the team played. She stood in near freezing temperatures, physically shaking. During the game the coach told her one story, and at the end of the game he told me another story. I'm guessing he didn't realise I might actually talk to my child as she cried on the way homeor that everybody that watched or was involved in the game realised what they had just seen.
I had heard rumblings of discontent from other parents at the football club for some time, but thought it was just pushy parents doing what they do best; presuming the sun shines out of their children's backside, and arguing for completely unjustified preferential treatment. I'm not going to do that.
Our eldest used to enjoy playing football. While she was never the fastest, or the most talented player on the pitch, she liked playing. Of the entire team she was often the most fearlessthe most bravewhich often singled her job out as “a last line in defence”.
It's also worth pointing out that she's only 12 years old. At that age sport is supposed to be fun. It's not supposed to be about winning at all costs. How on earth do you nurture new players if you're going to flog your most experienced or talented players for the entire duration of matches?On the way homeamid the floods of tearsI asked what other sports she might like to have a go at. The immediate answer was swimming. In some ways an end to Saturday mornings at the football ground will work out well for the rest of the family; she loves swimming, and her younger sisters still haven't learned to swim properly. If we turn Saturday mornings into a regular trip to the swimming pool, we make it to the summer with everybody as (hopefully) confident swimmers.
Throughout the day I had been weighing up the pros and cons of taking the events of this morning's football match any further; wondering if I really wanted to open pandoras box. In the end W made the decision for me, and spent some time this evening containing her anger while writing to the “proper channels”.
I guess mostly I'm disappointed more than anythingboth for our daughter, and for the rest of the team. Pandoras box has been openedby other parents before us, it transpiresand it can only mean trouble for a small club.
Tomorrow morning I will be at the rugby ground watching Miss Eight charge up and down with the boys. The difference in approach could not be more marked; on the rugby field all the children are involved throughout every session. Talent and ability are of no concernit's all about effort and enjoyment.
Anyway within a couple of weeks we will find ourselves in a swimming pool on Saturday mornings. Roll on the early morning starts, changing rooms, wet clothes, and grinning children. It's time we started having fun again.