There's many of them out there but the best ones are for kicking. That's what I thought when I decided to coach a little league soccer team, the worst team in the history of the world. Each defeat required ladders to reach, some were so mountainous they required oxygen. Humiliated, trounced, and crushed summed up my feelings of abject coaching failure. I was not to be a hero, revered in little league by the nation's future. In fact, if these kids were to have any memory of me at all, it would likely resonate around these tones: That guy was an asshole!
I pulled my hair out, yelled and screamed:
"What the hell is wrong with you guys!"
And after every stellar loss, the parents demanded I say this: "You guys were great, well done!"
19-0 is not well done, that's burnt.
With parents and coaches bawling and shouting on the sidelines every weekend across America, and blood likely to be spilled, I have come to one conclusion: Adults and kids sports do not mix. So as Pink Floyd said: Leave those kids alone. Let them play amongst themselves. They can figure it out. They don't need adults hanging around. But in this day and age of fear, build platforms at a good distance from the field of play. Parents can sit there and watch junior through a telescope if they wish, or chat, or even shout obscenities at each other. Referees, hated and also banished, can hand out yellow and red cards to the screaming soccer moms and dads, those who have had too much coffee.