Don't let this happen to your kid
The kids looked cute in their baggy shorts. The shorts weren't baggy for some social statement like, "I'm too stupid to buy pants that fit, so take that corporate America." These shorts were baggy because moms always buy things big enough for a kid to grow into.
The group of 8-, 9- and 10-year-olds ran up and down the basketball court, more concerned with getting somewhere quickly than they were with who had the ball. Sometimes nobody did, which really slowed the rhythm of the game.
Sitting on the wooden bleachers, watching my third grader dash around with more energy than he ever shows when he has to help carry in the groceries, I was just happy for sports. Kids learn a lot playing sports. They learn how to cooperate with others, they learn how good it feels to win, how bad it feels to lose, and the fact that, yes, you do get better at something if you practice.
"You suck," a man wearing a bushy Fu Manchu* mustache screamed at the referee. The man was standing among a group of people who looked like they didn't know whether to hide their faces or throw whiskey bottles.
Oh, yeah, sports also show kids how stupid adults can be. When I was in junior high, I saw a dad scream so hard false teeth flew out of his mouth. This was worse.
"Did the other team pay you?" Fu Manchu screamed, the rest of the people in the gym doing their best to avoid eye contact.
The referee ignored Fu Manchu and kept the game moving, the kids occasionally looking up in the stands because it's always fascinating to a child when an adult looks like an idiot.
"That call blows," Fu Manchu yelled, not sitting down.
The ref stopped the game.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the building," he said, in calm, even tones.
"I ain't goin' nowhere," he said.
The referee crossed his arms.
"The game will not start again until you leave."
Fu Manchu stared at the ref in silence, his face red as a drunk's.
"Kick their ass, Clete**," he said as he hammered his boots down the wooden bleachers, attempting to stare down the referee.
Then Fu Manchu stopped on the gym floor and pointed at him.
"I'll be waiting," Fu Manchu said in a low, cowboy voice, then stomped out of the gym.
And the ref started the game again.
I'm not sure what the questioned call was. I'm not sure which kid Clete was. And I'm not sure why parents get so upset at a game where the players care more about their shoes squeaking on the floor than whether they win. But, as embarrassed as I was for Fu Manchu, I'm glad he threw such a fit during the game. It provided a life lesson for my kid.
"What'd you think of that guy who yelled at the referee?" I asked my son in the car after the game.
"He looked stupid."
Yep, he sure did, son. I'd like to thank you, Mr. Fu Manchu. I think you set a great example of what kind of parent we should all strive not to be.
*A statistical fact: People who wear a Fu Manchu mustache, who aren't members of a Mongolian horde, are usually completely nuts and drive Camaros.
**Real name withheld to protect whatever's left of the kid's dignity.
