The snowy weather this winter reawakened my husband’s love of skiing and he took all that fluffy cold stuff as an invitation to initiate our son to the joys of skiing.
Skiing is not a convenient sport where we live, at least not downhill skiing. The closest place in New Jersey is more than two hours away and the better skiing is in the Pocono’s or in New York. My guys decided on a night ski up at Shawnee because the cost would be reasonable for the lift tickets and equipment rental and some other reasons he mentioned, but by that time I had tuned him out because skiing is not on my list of fun things to do and whatever he wanted to do was fine with me beyond the desire that neither one of them break any bones and return in basically the same physical condition that they left in.
The one time I went skiing with him was up at Gore Mountain during one of our vacations and after an hour I hadn’t made it off the baby bunny trail. The bazillionth fall later, I decided I didn’t want to go swishing down a hill on sticks that seemed beyond my ability to control and he should go have lots of fun on the mountain and I will go inside, site by the fire and have some booze. I do not regret that decision. They served excellent booze.
So he headed off one late morning a couple of weeks ago to get back on ski’s and teach the boy how to get his groove on sticks. I’d like to note that it’s been over sixteen years since he’d been on skis and well over twenty since he raced on them. Apparently skiing is a skill much like bicycle riding, once learned is never forgotten, and my husband was thrilled to fly free down the slopes once again.
Ace apparently took to it like a duck does to water and really enjoyed himself. When they got home in the wee hours of the morning, he was exhausted, somewhat damp from his stumbles and face plants in the snow but giddy with this newfound ability. He grumbled plenty the next day from the muscle aches that came with learning a new sport and the pounding he took during his falls, but spent considerable time nagging his father about the next time they could get back on skis. Translation, I wanna go soon, Dad!
My husband likes to have fun and do all sorts of exciting things with the family. He also likes to do those things at the lowest cost possible and thinks nothing of spending hours online comparing prices, costs, packages and other bargain hunting. This is what makes him the perfect family travel agent. This bargain hunting is a hobby of his, a passion really. He is nothing if not dedicated to the cause of finding the right value for the cost. And skiing was no exception.
Every time I nudged him away from the computer to read email, or try and write a blog post, multiple internet windows were open displaying different ski equipment online shops. He had an excel spreadsheet listing the sellers, the prices, the type of skis and ski boots. This was serious shopping, a man with a purpose. When I asked him why he didn’t just rent the equipment again, he had a well thought out response based on use, time, money spent over time, rental vs. owning, blabbity blabbity blabbity. Really all he had to say was that he wanted new skis and I would have said fine. By the twentieth online store and hundredth or so different ski, my eyes would glaze over and my automated response was whatever-you- want-is-fine. One ski is very much like another in my mind and now I know how woefully wrong I was uttering that statement out loud while he was on the hunt because I now know more about ski types than I can forget.
At one point he asked me to look at this one online shop because the prices were so good, too reasonable, he was afraid it was a scam of sorts. He’s a little skittish that way and doesn’t trust the Interwebz as much as I do.
So he called the next day and spent almost an hour on the phone with some guy named Big Jon U and they discussed skis, ski boots, bindings, poles and who the hell knows what else but he was thrilled with the level of knowledge and customer service he received from this company levelninesports.com. Still somewhat skeptical he asked me to help with some research online about the company so as to not loose many hundreds of dollars after pressing the buy button. It didn’t take very long to ferret out the fact that this place had excellent deals on all sorts of ski and snowboarding equipment for all levels of skill. Their prices led many to believe that they could be a scam but every testimonial we found said they were a great place to deal with, that the equipment was top notch and their prices were not to be beat. Being based in Utah, a place as well known for skiing as Mormons, doesn’t hurt, I suppose. Our sense of security increased and my very frugal husband placed an order for two sets of new skis with mounted bindings, boots, and poles from Levelninesports.com. And he didn’t hyperventilate, overmuch, at the total charge as the same two sets were twice the price anywhere else. Imagine a new Harley for the price of a used Moped.
Hubbie & Ace tracked the shipment on UPS.com as if they were counting days til Christmas Day. Just over a week later the lot of it arrived in a couple of BIG boxes. The Head skis were well packaged and labeled with the personal specifications of the order and the boots were shiny and new. Both husband and son lovingly caressed their new skis and pranced around the house wearing boots that looked like they should have been attached to spacesuits. It was kind of weird, watching this display of manly sports equipment lust. But I suppose I get that way over new jewelry supplies. Oooohhhh, Sparkly!!
This very weekend they toddled off, new skis stuff in hand and spent 7 hours zipping down a cold mountain, during this winter’s worst freezing rainstorm no less. Why does anyone want to do that? They loved every wet cold minute of it. Both husband and son were amazed with how fast the skis were over the rented equipment they had previously used. My husband, who was pretty familiar with the skis of the past, made more than one comment about how fast his skis were and how sharp they turned – oh they can carve! I don’t really know what this means but I’m led to believe these are important factors. They were very happy with their new fast sharp sticks purchased from levelninesports.com. Practically giddy even as they talked about the near misses, almost wipeouts, hills they were able traverse and turns they could make on their new ski stuff. My husband was so thrilled with his new toys he asked me to tell the internet about levelninesports.com. I told him yes I would if he will just stops talking to me about skis.
I’m retaining the privilege of blaming levelninesports.com if my husband and son become ski bums.
Just sayin’
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Friday, February 19, 2010
olympic figure skating scoring surely is a befuddling mess
Normally watching people twirl around on ice skates does very little for my attention span and within minutes I'm drooling on the sofa arm dreaming of chocolate and Mark Harmon. Not necessarily in that order. I get that it is a hugely popular past time and passion for some people, just not me.
But it is the Olympics after all, and despite NBC continually pushing Bob Costas down my gullet and airing less events than talking heads, to my surprise there are skaters who captured my eye for their grace, athleticism, fluidity and down right spark. Which means I've been staying up waaaay past my bedtime, existing on about 4 1/2 hours sleep, watching the Men's figure skating events. Evan Lysacek, Daisuke Takahashi and Johnny Weir are the type of skaters I actually enjoy watching and prevent me from drifting immediately into unconsciousness.
Last night Evan Lysacek took the Gold Medal, which he very much deserved, considering his short program and freestyle performance. Yevgeny Plushenko won the silver medal and Daisuke-of the poofy hair-Takahashi, won the bronze medal. You all know that by now, so I'll move on to my target rant.
Why, in all that is glittery and lycra, was Johnny Weir not on that podium? Really? Did the judges decide to take a pee break when he was throwing down one spectacular skating display? Because he was robbed. Snubbed by a bunch of uptight traditionalists who clearly can't get the sticks out of their collective asses to see artistry in action.
Now, I freely admit that I have NO ice skating skills whatsoever. As in the first and last time a pair of ice skates were attached to my feet, which just happened to be on the outside ice in Lake Placid many distant moons ago, my feet started heading in different directions at the same time resulting in a split my muscles and pelvis had not warmed up for and a face plant on the ice which still retain the imprint of my nose. Because I am graceful and talented like just like that. Next up, the World Klutz Championship!
I also know absolutely zilch about Triple Axels, Toe Loops, Choctaws, Swizzles or Salchows. (Who makes up these names, by the way?) A Layback Spin usually involves the effect on my brain and equilibrium after too much bourbon, but I doubt the U.S Figure Skating terminology interprets it that way. What I see as a smooth skate routine, might very well be a clusterfuck of imperfections in a routine per the scoring sheet. Do you suppose the official Olympic tally sheets look a little like a Yahtzee score sheets? I'd really like to know. It's that kind of trivia that tickles my brain.
Johnny Weir ended up placing 6th. SIXTH!! And the judges were booed viciously for being such jerkwads. As they should have been. Had I been there, I might have thrown a beer bottle or twenty at their heads. Skaters who fell, stumbled and generally fucked up were presented better scores than Weir, who except for one small error in a spin, performed a graceful, fluid, emotional, and artistic ballet on ice. He deserved to win the Silver or Bronze.
Now that the judges have shown that scoring is completely baseless and subjective, that they are influenced by who knows what, when an event is not clearly a time performances alone, the Olympics have lost much of their interest, and NBC's for shoddy coverage can take responsibility for some of that as well. I hope Johnny Weir becomes a household name, makes some major bucks, so when he thumbs his nose at figure skating scores, he can tell the judges to go suck it at the same time.
**due to my technical stupidity, I can't seem to remove the background text color that I accidentally clicked on.
But it is the Olympics after all, and despite NBC continually pushing Bob Costas down my gullet and airing less events than talking heads, to my surprise there are skaters who captured my eye for their grace, athleticism, fluidity and down right spark. Which means I've been staying up waaaay past my bedtime, existing on about 4 1/2 hours sleep, watching the Men's figure skating events. Evan Lysacek, Daisuke Takahashi and Johnny Weir are the type of skaters I actually enjoy watching and prevent me from drifting immediately into unconsciousness.
Last night Evan Lysacek took the Gold Medal, which he very much deserved, considering his short program and freestyle performance. Yevgeny Plushenko won the silver medal and Daisuke-of the poofy hair-Takahashi, won the bronze medal. You all know that by now, so I'll move on to my target rant.
Why, in all that is glittery and lycra, was Johnny Weir not on that podium? Really? Did the judges decide to take a pee break when he was throwing down one spectacular skating display? Because he was robbed. Snubbed by a bunch of uptight traditionalists who clearly can't get the sticks out of their collective asses to see artistry in action.
Now, I freely admit that I have NO ice skating skills whatsoever. As in the first and last time a pair of ice skates were attached to my feet, which just happened to be on the outside ice in Lake Placid many distant moons ago, my feet started heading in different directions at the same time resulting in a split my muscles and pelvis had not warmed up for and a face plant on the ice which still retain the imprint of my nose. Because I am graceful and talented like just like that. Next up, the World Klutz Championship!
I also know absolutely zilch about Triple Axels, Toe Loops, Choctaws, Swizzles or Salchows. (Who makes up these names, by the way?) A Layback Spin usually involves the effect on my brain and equilibrium after too much bourbon, but I doubt the U.S Figure Skating terminology interprets it that way. What I see as a smooth skate routine, might very well be a clusterfuck of imperfections in a routine per the scoring sheet. Do you suppose the official Olympic tally sheets look a little like a Yahtzee score sheets? I'd really like to know. It's that kind of trivia that tickles my brain.
Johnny Weir ended up placing 6th. SIXTH!! And the judges were booed viciously for being such jerkwads. As they should have been. Had I been there, I might have thrown a beer bottle or twenty at their heads. Skaters who fell, stumbled and generally fucked up were presented better scores than Weir, who except for one small error in a spin, performed a graceful, fluid, emotional, and artistic ballet on ice. He deserved to win the Silver or Bronze.
Now that the judges have shown that scoring is completely baseless and subjective, that they are influenced by who knows what, when an event is not clearly a time performances alone, the Olympics have lost much of their interest, and NBC's for shoddy coverage can take responsibility for some of that as well. I hope Johnny Weir becomes a household name, makes some major bucks, so when he thumbs his nose at figure skating scores, he can tell the judges to go suck it at the same time.
**due to my technical stupidity, I can't seem to remove the background text color that I accidentally clicked on.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
What do they call those uniforms?
We all went to Ace's first wrestling match ever last night. Gym bleacher seats are as uncomfortable as ever, regardless of how much padding my backside has these days. Unfortunately Ace didn't get to wrestle as the opposing team didn't have enough kids to wrestle the army that is our middle school team.
I had no clue what to expect as wrestling is a sport that has never, not once, in all my years, ever entered into my radar, so I was going in blind. A series of things struck me immediately after sitting on the nasty bleachers.
The first was seeing all these lanky skinny teenagers in the one piece wrestling suit. What are they called? A unitard? I have no idea and calling it the wrong thing could be an unbelievable offense in Ace's moody teenage days.
The second was a sigh of relief, because when I saw all of these lanky skinny teenagers, I was reassured that my kid was not malnourished and emaciated. They all look like that. Except a few who look much older than the 13 to 14 years. Muscles, lots of muscles. No wonder all the managers of the team are girls. Good for those girls, I say.
The wrestling match was very interesting and I was surprised at how involved I got as it moved along. I could feel my muscles tightening when one of our team stryggled to make the pin and I even ended up cheering them on. Ace called it electricfying when we got home. He might be right. It was a blow out for our team, they won all but one match and that was close.
The award for best entertainment of the whole evening must be given the Referee, with his dramatic hand gestures, throwing himself down on the mat to watch for pins and fouls, his fierce whistle blowing and hand slaps to the mat when the match was won. I was mesmerized by all of this officious drama and barely smothered my chuckles when he called out points in his high pitched voice as he flung his hands in one direction or another.
School Gymnasiums still smell like sweat and lysol.
I had no clue what to expect as wrestling is a sport that has never, not once, in all my years, ever entered into my radar, so I was going in blind. A series of things struck me immediately after sitting on the nasty bleachers.
The first was seeing all these lanky skinny teenagers in the one piece wrestling suit. What are they called? A unitard? I have no idea and calling it the wrong thing could be an unbelievable offense in Ace's moody teenage days.
The second was a sigh of relief, because when I saw all of these lanky skinny teenagers, I was reassured that my kid was not malnourished and emaciated. They all look like that. Except a few who look much older than the 13 to 14 years. Muscles, lots of muscles. No wonder all the managers of the team are girls. Good for those girls, I say.
The wrestling match was very interesting and I was surprised at how involved I got as it moved along. I could feel my muscles tightening when one of our team stryggled to make the pin and I even ended up cheering them on. Ace called it electricfying when we got home. He might be right. It was a blow out for our team, they won all but one match and that was close.
The award for best entertainment of the whole evening must be given the Referee, with his dramatic hand gestures, throwing himself down on the mat to watch for pins and fouls, his fierce whistle blowing and hand slaps to the mat when the match was won. I was mesmerized by all of this officious drama and barely smothered my chuckles when he called out points in his high pitched voice as he flung his hands in one direction or another.
School Gymnasiums still smell like sweat and lysol.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Question
Why does every sport require a completely different type of shoe? What happened to plain sneakers? And why do they have to cost so damn much?
Okay, that was more than a question, but they're all part of the whole.
Ace needed wrestling shoes for the season. I didn't even know they made wrestling shoes.
What was I thinking? Of course they do.
Karate does not require shoes.
Just sayin'.
Okay, that was more than a question, but they're all part of the whole.
Ace needed wrestling shoes for the season. I didn't even know they made wrestling shoes.
What was I thinking? Of course they do.
Karate does not require shoes.
Just sayin'.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Morning Zen
I am a ray of sunshine when I roll out of bed in the morning. Full of such sparkling ambition and optimism for the potential of the day, you might see birds and butterflies fluttering around my head while singing songs of cheer for my giddiness. I practically dance around the house as I welcome the morning sun and begin my morning routine.
This is a lie.
I am surly in the morning and stumble out of bed, moving on autopilot until caffeine is ingested. The dogs even avoid me. If someone speaks to me before that caffeine, I might acknowledge their presence with a grunt. Or a punch in the head. It depends.
Trying to get my equally surly and comatose teenager out of bed in the morning often devolves into my standing in the hall yelling that it's time he gets his ass out of bed.
Getting him to practice his morning Karate routine, before he turns on SportsCenter, is probably more than his morning teenage brain can handle and definitely more than my patience can stretch but it must be done. He's working on getting his black belt and he's very very close. I didn't pay a moderate fortune these last years for him to fall short of the goal. And not getting his black belt is not an option. He desperately wanted take Karate and get his black belt and committed to the full long term program. He's won tournaments and has a knack for the sport. I really believe that if he quit before getting his black belt he would regret the decision and not see that long term effort is worth the rewards. He is definitely an instant gratification type of kid, but what teenager isn't? As parent's we like to reinforce to the kids on seeing the big picture and how actions and consequences all intertwine. We really annoy our kids with this stuff sometimes. How do I know this? They tell us so. We've had lengthy conversations with Ace and while he insists he is committed to the cause, when we battle about practicing and working harder to master some of the more complicated movements, I have my doubts and think that banging my head against a wall might prove more fruitful.
Seeing him through to the end game is important. Being able to see him through it, coax him when he lags in enthusiasm and getting him to practice the movements is frustrating hard work for me and SuperHubby. Mostly as we struggle to retain our patience and not make it worse by exhibiting our frustrations with him. I'm not sure who's going to be more satisfied when Ace gets that black belt, him or us.
I might be able to sleep later.
This is a lie.
I am surly in the morning and stumble out of bed, moving on autopilot until caffeine is ingested. The dogs even avoid me. If someone speaks to me before that caffeine, I might acknowledge their presence with a grunt. Or a punch in the head. It depends.
Trying to get my equally surly and comatose teenager out of bed in the morning often devolves into my standing in the hall yelling that it's time he gets his ass out of bed.
Getting him to practice his morning Karate routine, before he turns on SportsCenter, is probably more than his morning teenage brain can handle and definitely more than my patience can stretch but it must be done. He's working on getting his black belt and he's very very close. I didn't pay a moderate fortune these last years for him to fall short of the goal. And not getting his black belt is not an option. He desperately wanted take Karate and get his black belt and committed to the full long term program. He's won tournaments and has a knack for the sport. I really believe that if he quit before getting his black belt he would regret the decision and not see that long term effort is worth the rewards. He is definitely an instant gratification type of kid, but what teenager isn't? As parent's we like to reinforce to the kids on seeing the big picture and how actions and consequences all intertwine. We really annoy our kids with this stuff sometimes. How do I know this? They tell us so. We've had lengthy conversations with Ace and while he insists he is committed to the cause, when we battle about practicing and working harder to master some of the more complicated movements, I have my doubts and think that banging my head against a wall might prove more fruitful.
Seeing him through to the end game is important. Being able to see him through it, coax him when he lags in enthusiasm and getting him to practice the movements is frustrating hard work for me and SuperHubby. Mostly as we struggle to retain our patience and not make it worse by exhibiting our frustrations with him. I'm not sure who's going to be more satisfied when Ace gets that black belt, him or us.
I might be able to sleep later.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Respecting the Volunteer
When I post here about a topic that gets my panties in a twist, we all I know I'm ranting to the world in general, right? Most of the time - I truly can't say none of the time because I'm a little hot headed and passionate about things dammit! - most of the time I never get up in someones face to call them an asshole or fucking stupid or that they don't know dick about the subject they're spouting off on. Except the few times I've been really drunk and/or the person totally deserved it for being a completely ignorant fucktard. Even when the belligerent drunk man pissed on the floor in the biography section of the bookstore I managed years ago, I never once called him a fucking moron to his face. I did chase his drunken dumb ass out of my store with sharp words of rebuke but held back the profanities until after I delivered him into the waiting hands of security. Why did I refrain from unleashing a wellspring of profanity upon his head? Because at some point I left my adolescence behind and started pretending to be a grown up (Shhh, I KNOW I'm only pretending.) and the revelation came that cursing at people when I disagree with them doesn't help solve issues. It is gratifying at times but is unproductive when trying to deliver a cohesive viewpoint. Plus I can always load the story with tons of vicious insults and expletives in the retelling to SuperHubby. He gets hot when I'm passionately fueling my expletives.
The past two weeks have been a revelation as to the abhorrent behavior displayed by select parents of kids on SuperHubby's fall baseball team. Now, we've been in this league for seven years now and have seen serious behaviors that should never be displayed by rational adults but competitive sports seem to bring out the worst in people. I'll never understand what prompts a parent to verbally abuse the VOLUNTEER coaches of sports team's on which their children are currently active.
Even though I've heard similar stories, I was still shocked that the mother of a teenage boy on SuperHubby's team thought it would be acceptable to vent her spleen by calling my husband an asshole to his face and state that he didn't know a fucking thing about baseball. All because her son is in a batting slump and he is not the star starter of the team. Which she expects him to be, of course. What was SuperHubby thinking not giving her kid all the playing time she felt he deserved? Oh I know, he was giving the kids who've just moved up to this division a chance to practice their skills and gain some confidence by letting them try new positions and get more chances at bat and pitching. So they would learn something and feel good about their efforts. What a horrible coach he is, that SuperHubby, trying to build up these boy's confidences. It was to be all about her son.
Or it was supposed to be all about the other boy who's father wanted his son to be the star pitcher even though he could barely get the ball over the mound consistently. Who then called my husband a dictator and lousy manager for not seeing that his son should be starting every game on the mound.
All of this in a two week period. It's enough to make a volunteer wonder what the whole point is in offering your time. Now all of us parent's whose children participate on sports team's have disagreed with how coach utilize our kids. Just last year, I so disagreed with how Ace's coach handled him and a few of the other kids that I had to stop watching the games from their bleachers. This was to prevent myself from behaving like the other irrational parents and start telling the coach what I thought of his behavior. I was able to recognize that he was the Coach and it was his time he was volunteering (which is a whole other story as he didn't really spend much time with the kids at all) and who was I to tell him he was doing it wrong. I just ranted at SuperHubby who sighed and pretended to listen while thinking about the Mets in his head.
I have to wonder how these kids feel when they know their parents have acted like enormous jerkwads and embarrassed themselves beyond repair. What example does a child learn when their parents feel they deserve preferential treatment and are willing to be abusive to obtain same? If my child behaved in that manner, there would be serious hell to pay. I know Ace would be so pissed off he'd tell me to stay away from his games if I ever acted out that way. Which makes me wonder what this woman is thinking when she leaves her kid on the team and then sits and watches each game after being such a monster bitch to the man who is VOLUNTEERING his time to coach her son and has never been anything but polite and respectful to her. Really? What was she thinking?
I don't know if I could coach the kid unbiased after that, but my husband is a better person than I and doesn't treat this kid any differently. The Mother? He'll be polite but for the most part disregard her presence around the field. Part of me wants to get all bitchy back to this woman who so maligned my man, but he's perfectly capable of stripping her bare with a few calm choice words. It's a trait of his that makes me crazy. I'm not above some mean glances and snarky comments however.
As for other nutjob, he decided to remove his kid from the team. For which the rest of the team is grateful. He's been finding it difficult to get his son on another team because he has a reputation of being a complete fucknut. It's a shame for his son but in all honesty, that apple didn't fall far from the tree based on observed behavior from this parent. So I guess the lessons being learned there are pretty clear.
The past two weeks have been a revelation as to the abhorrent behavior displayed by select parents of kids on SuperHubby's fall baseball team. Now, we've been in this league for seven years now and have seen serious behaviors that should never be displayed by rational adults but competitive sports seem to bring out the worst in people. I'll never understand what prompts a parent to verbally abuse the VOLUNTEER coaches of sports team's on which their children are currently active.
Even though I've heard similar stories, I was still shocked that the mother of a teenage boy on SuperHubby's team thought it would be acceptable to vent her spleen by calling my husband an asshole to his face and state that he didn't know a fucking thing about baseball. All because her son is in a batting slump and he is not the star starter of the team. Which she expects him to be, of course. What was SuperHubby thinking not giving her kid all the playing time she felt he deserved? Oh I know, he was giving the kids who've just moved up to this division a chance to practice their skills and gain some confidence by letting them try new positions and get more chances at bat and pitching. So they would learn something and feel good about their efforts. What a horrible coach he is, that SuperHubby, trying to build up these boy's confidences. It was to be all about her son.
Or it was supposed to be all about the other boy who's father wanted his son to be the star pitcher even though he could barely get the ball over the mound consistently. Who then called my husband a dictator and lousy manager for not seeing that his son should be starting every game on the mound.
All of this in a two week period. It's enough to make a volunteer wonder what the whole point is in offering your time. Now all of us parent's whose children participate on sports team's have disagreed with how coach utilize our kids. Just last year, I so disagreed with how Ace's coach handled him and a few of the other kids that I had to stop watching the games from their bleachers. This was to prevent myself from behaving like the other irrational parents and start telling the coach what I thought of his behavior. I was able to recognize that he was the Coach and it was his time he was volunteering (which is a whole other story as he didn't really spend much time with the kids at all) and who was I to tell him he was doing it wrong. I just ranted at SuperHubby who sighed and pretended to listen while thinking about the Mets in his head.
I have to wonder how these kids feel when they know their parents have acted like enormous jerkwads and embarrassed themselves beyond repair. What example does a child learn when their parents feel they deserve preferential treatment and are willing to be abusive to obtain same? If my child behaved in that manner, there would be serious hell to pay. I know Ace would be so pissed off he'd tell me to stay away from his games if I ever acted out that way. Which makes me wonder what this woman is thinking when she leaves her kid on the team and then sits and watches each game after being such a monster bitch to the man who is VOLUNTEERING his time to coach her son and has never been anything but polite and respectful to her. Really? What was she thinking?
I don't know if I could coach the kid unbiased after that, but my husband is a better person than I and doesn't treat this kid any differently. The Mother? He'll be polite but for the most part disregard her presence around the field. Part of me wants to get all bitchy back to this woman who so maligned my man, but he's perfectly capable of stripping her bare with a few calm choice words. It's a trait of his that makes me crazy. I'm not above some mean glances and snarky comments however.
As for other nutjob, he decided to remove his kid from the team. For which the rest of the team is grateful. He's been finding it difficult to get his son on another team because he has a reputation of being a complete fucknut. It's a shame for his son but in all honesty, that apple didn't fall far from the tree based on observed behavior from this parent. So I guess the lessons being learned there are pretty clear.
The coaches of a little league sport coaches for a few reasons, or at least the ones I know and respect do, and those reasons are the kids and the sport itself. My men LOVE baseball and it's a great way to for them to spend time enjoying the sport together. Plus, SuperHubby loves to see a not so confident kid take that leap and become a good ball player, whether it's his son or someone else's does not matter. He has a reputation in this little league for being able to develop the kids with less visible skills and turning them into hitters. Plus he's a coach who coaches ALL of the kids, not just his own son. Everybody plays. And isn't that what youth sport leagues should be all about?
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Baseball Days
The kid's baseball game Saturday was a success! Go Reds!Two solid hits and some great fielding. Now the team heads to the playoffs in the last berth. Had an earlier team won today, well then this game would have been just for fun. But the early team lost, his team won and off they go. It's a good thing as the kid has been dragging about his play recently..So we are mostly happy now. A little sunburned but happy.
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