Future Soccer Mom On The Loose

We’ve all seen those parents that push their children a bit too hard in a bid to turn them into the next Mia Hamm, Sammy Sosa, or Kristy Yamaguchi. They might yell a bit too harshly at their own kids or perhaps even at someone else’s in the heat of a sporting event. They’re the ones with the Gatorade and Powerbars for their little superstars after the 5-6 year old soccer match, even though no one is keeping score and their kid spent most of the game picking dandelions off the field. Other parents might view them as overbearing, anxiety causing, ulcer creating authority figures who will only too soon learn that living vicariously through their children will ultimately result, not in an expensive contract but, in expensive therapy.

Nevertheless, each year new crops of soccer moms and football dads rise again. However in most cases, these people actually do have a child playing a sport. In my situation, the person being pressured to succeed in the high stakes world of high school lacrosse is in fact me, an adult. My pushy parental figure happens to be none other than my own husband. I have now become my husband’s latest lacrosse protégé, in spite of my numerous protests.

My situation began when the women’s lacrosse team at my husband’s high school needed an assistant coach. While I have logged my fair share of hours at many a high school and college lacrosse game, I have no formal training in the sport. Up until a few days ago, I had never even picked up a lacrosse stick. I enjoy watching and can yell at the players and the referees with the best of them, but that is where my experience and tactical knowledge ends. However, this seemed to be enough qualification for my husband to offer me up to his athletic director as a viable candidate for the position. Clearly, standards were low.

To say my husband was excited about my opportunity to enter his claustrophobic little lacrosse world would be an understatement. This is a man who checks and rechecks the lacrosse web sites every few hours and feels broken up with when a recruit chooses another school. Thus, he viewed my foray into the world of lacrosse coaching as a great chance for us to bond, share trade secrets, and apparently cozy up to lacrosse videos. He was so certain that I was going to enthusiastically embrace his beloved sport that before I even went in for the interview the next morning, I caught him on the computer with a list of women’s lacrosse videos displayed on the screen. There were six of them. Six. “What are you doing? Those had better not be for me,” I contested.

“Sure they are. We’ll watch them together,” he replied with a satisfied grin on his face, eyes glazed over, lost in the zone of lacrosse.

“I’m only coaching for a month,” I reminded him. “I’m not pursuing a career in this and I am certainly not going to watch six lacrosse videos. Don’t buy them it is a huge waste of money.” After a few more minutes of attempting to explain that my brief stint as a high school assistant lacrosse coach probably wouldn’t parlay me into a full time career move, he reluctantly downsized his purchase order to only three videos. Then he wouldn’t budge, insisting that I would never be a good coach if I didn’t take time to learn the game. At this point, I conceded defeat and agreed to possibly watching the videos at some time, knowing full well that I wouldn’t do anything of the sort unless duct taped to my couch. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be an effective coach, it was simply that I felt a huge disconnect with this sport that I had never played and couldn’t quite find a way to muster the same level of excitement that my husband clearly felt.

A short time later, I was sitting in a small, cinderblock room with the women’s head lacrosse coach and the high school athletic director being interviewed for a job where I was really the only true candidate, due to my flexible schedule. How could I say no when I had nothing else better going on and at least it was a reason to leave my house in the afternoon? So, without ever having played lacrosse in my life, I agreed to part with my afternoons of Ellen and Dr. Phil and do my best to help coach.

After my first few days of practice, I decided that I would in fact actually have to pick up a stick and play catch if I was to truly understand that with which my players were dealing. So, one sunny, Saturday afternoon my husband and I found ourselves in the Sports Authority. Surrounded by sporting equipment from hockey pucks to hacky sacks, we eventually made our way over to the two shelves designated for women’s lacrosse, stuck between bike helmets and those super tall, green rubber boots used for fly fishing or whatever they do in Howard’s End. Clearly, this was a booming athletic industry. With about eight sticks to choose from, I made the logical choice and picked the thirty dollar one. It seemed sturdy enough with a blue head, crisp, clean white laces, and a strong metal handle. My husband, on the other hand, selected the ninety-dollar version. With total disbelief I turned to him, “I’m not going pro. I’m not even playing. I just want to play catch once or twice.” My explanations were fruitless.

“Don’t you want the best one? What if you decide to join a women’s league?” he asked, puzzled as to why my lacrosse dreams weren’t loftier, my aspirations weren’t higher.

“For one month and two outings of catch, I think this thirty dollar version will suffice,” I calmly elucidated. This blew his mind. He continued to try and sell me on the merits of the more expensive implement, but I put my foot down this time. Enough was enough. I might be unemployed but I wasn’t going to be my husband’s little Chinese gymnast. While I agreed to help out the team, I was not going to embody his vicarious dreams of a lacrosse-coaching dynasty.

Every night for a week, my husband attempted to wrangle me into watching those essential lacrosse videos. One night, I gave in. First of all, they were not a half an hour long as he had promised. Secondly, they were definitely not worth the thirty- dollar price tag. While I don’t doubt the merits of the coach providing the instruction, I do think he had quite a racket going. These videos were clearly filmed in his back yard or at least at the park in his very nice subdivision, another clue that the low budget-high priced films were benefiting his bank account. In addition, the players in the videos could not have been over the age of 16 and one of whom I suspected was his six -year old daughter. After a half an hour of lacrosse tutelage, thirty minutes of my life that I would never get back, I felt sufficiently more prepared for practice. Against protests from the lacrosse potato seated next to me, I wrestled the controls away and managed to turn off the video, although I did have to promise to finish watching at a later date. Let’s just say that I haven’t held up my end of that bargain yet.

As my first season as an assistant lacrosse coach draws to a close, I am willing to say that I have learned a few things and gained a newfound respect for the game of women’s lacrosse. I did actually use my fabulous thirty-dollar stick to play catch once and I wasn’t atrocious, although my self-esteem was diminished by my difficulty catching the ball. However, I blame my husband for some of my struggle, as his shots at my head did nothing to build my confidence.

More important than what I ascertained about the world of women’s lacrosse is what I discovered about my husband. If he became this immersed in his wife’s athletic coaching pursuits, who knows what role he will play in our children’s sporting futures. At least now he’s on my radar so if I spot him sneaking Gatorade into the water bottle of one of our children headed for t-ball or buying an athletic cup for our four year old, I can hopefully mediate the situation. Credit cards will be closely monitored for expensive athletic purchases and mysterious father-child ventures on the weekends that might result in excessive tutoring will be heavily supervised. I suppose it could be worse and he could show his love with food or expensive and outrageous gifts, but instead he uses athletics. While I agree that it is important for children to be active and healthy, is a lacrosse stick for an infant really necessary?