Youth Soccer: Where the Parents Play the Toughest Positions

For years, I would drive by Valley athletic fields on Saturday mornings and shake my head in wonder. I just couldn’t understand it.

Every square inch of turf seemed to be covered with soccer players--boys, girls, old and young furiously in pursuit of that bouncing black-and-white ball while crowds of parents and well-wishers rooted them on.

A soccer craze in America? It was awfully hard for anyone to understand who was over the age of 10 and didn’t have anyone in the house under 10. We all grew up in Little League and Pop Warner. Soccer was something they played in other countries because they didn’t know better.

The revolution began quietly in the South Bay two decades ago. The American Youth Soccer Organization was formed with the quiet hope that a new generation could be instilled with a new desire for the sport that has long been passionately embraced by the rest of the world.

When this generation comes of age, AYSO supporters said, they will bring soccer along to the forefront of the country’s sports agenda.

If the games of the very young are going to serve as our criteria, doubters scoffed, then the biggest sport in this country ought to be pro hopscotch.

After 21 years, the revolutionists haven’t exactly taken over. But they continue to advance on a wide front. Particularly in the Valley.

Cal State Northridge soccer has become as big as anything on the campus. High school soccer is flourishing. The L. A. Lazers indoor soccer club has moved its offices out here.

And youth soccer?

Well, I no longer drive down the street shaking my head on Saturday mornings. That’s because I’m too busy shaking my head at a good play or a bad one.

You see, I’ve not only become a believer. I’ve become a participant.

I now have someone in my house under the age of 10. My 6-year-old son, Alan, didn’t want to play baseball, or football, or basketball. He wanted to do what his friends did--play soccer. And since they didn’t have any other volunteers to coach, I found myself, of all places, pacing the sidelines as head coach.

When you take on such a responsibility, no matter how genuine your desire to help, a sublimated portion of your ego is awakened.

Yes, you are doing it because no oneelse will. Of course, you are doing it so that your son will have a team to play on. Unquestionably, you’re glad to help these kids. Sure, you know that, at this age, the winning and losing must be secondary.

Suuuure.

But there is also a part of you that envisions this as an opportunity to become a budding Tom Landry or the next Pat Riley. No longer must you sit at home and second-guess the Tommy Lasordas of the world. You’ve got the first guess now. Oh, you’ll instill the proper attitude in your kids, but that doesn’t mean you can’t also win. You were always good at chess. Now you’ll get a chance to try your brilliant tactical maneuvers with live bodies.

Well, the first game I coached, I found out it doesn’t quite work that way.

This was last year in another youth soccer league with no affiliation to AYSO. I had one substitute to put in, so when the first quarter ended, I called the team over and asked for a volunteer to come out.

Everybody on the team raised their hands.

Just one of the problems Vince Lombardi never faced.

He never had to deal with players demanding to run to the bathroom in the middle of play, either.

Nor did he have to deal with the biggest headache of all: parents. One of the fathers brought his kid late, after practice and after the game had started, and demanded his son be sent in. Immediately. I had to argue with this irate parent while still trying to coach (something else I can’t recall Lombardi doing). I calmly explained that we had a full team out there and his son would have to wait his turn.

He threatened to pull his kid out and take his money back if there wasn’t an instantaneous substitution.

I wished him luck.

I had one mother who constantly complained that her son could never find a uniform that fit. This was the same mother who insisted that her child take a malt, or a hamburger, or a candy bar with him when he went on the field so he would have constant nourishment while running up and down the field.

But she couldn’t figure out why in the world his uniform wouldn’t fit. It quickly became obvious that the biggest problems in youth sports are those over the age of 10.

I’m in AYSO now and the parents have been wonderful.

The kids are older, so the problems are a little more complex. We were told in a soccer clinic that, for the few months of the season, we are the most important figures in the lives of these kids, short of their parents. Words of praise or criticism run deep and may form the basis of their attitudes on sports for years to come.

Pretty heavy. And soon, pretty obvious.

One of my goalies gave up two scores in one half. I went over to him at halftime to try and explain what he had done wrong. As he turned to me, I could see a tear rolling down each cheek.

We lost another game, 1-0, when a member of our own team inadvertently kicked the ball into our own goal.

Our goalie was crying after the game. He tries awfully hard to stay alert for any shots on goal by the enemy. But how could he anticipate, he wanted to know, that his own man was going to kick the ball in? Did he now have to watch out for his teammates?

Those things happen. But try explaining that to a 6 year old.

Winning and losing? Sometimes, it really isn’t that important.

So the next time you drive by a soccer field on a Saturday morning, don’t shake your head. Sooner or later, one way or the other, they’re going to get you.