To the Soccer Coach of the Opposing Team

Dear Sir,

I don't know you.  I don't know your name or where you live, how many kids you have or what you do for a living.  I don't know what happened at your house this morning before you left for our game.  I don't know what kind of childhood you had, or what your father was like, or what unspeakable pain you may be carrying in your heart.  I don't know what dreams of yours were shattered with one word, or what disappointments you faced, or what bitter failures litter your path.

You don't know me.  You don't know that I am the mother of three boys who love to play soccer.  You don't know that I was tempted to blow off today's game because our weekends have become so laden with activity that all I really wanted to do is stay home with my kids to bake cookies and play Mad Libs, but we came to the game anyway because we are part of a team and that matters.  You don't know that I look at the world with a glass half full; that I believe in the good of humanity almost of the time; that I have been accused of being a Pollyanna but I take that as a compliment.  You don't know that I don't care if we win or lose.  I care that we play well and that we do our best as a team.  You don't know that my youngest son is always the first to run to an injured player - his team or not - to make sure they are ok.  You don't know that this simple action matters more to me than any goal he will ever score.

Perhaps you know that you yelled too much (like, the whole entire game).  Maybe you know that you insulted our team numerous times and encouraged your players to "crush" us while we were "sleeping."  You must have had some sense of remorse when you approached our coaches after the game to apologize for maniacally screaming at one of our players for "tackling" one of yours (even my 8 year old knew this was not true.  "Why did he yell at him, Mom?  ____ just tripped over the ball and fell onto that other guy!  It was an accident!").  I saw that teammate's mom confront you (in the classiest of ways) after the game, and I was so proud of her for standing up for her son with such grace and composure.

You, sir, like so many others in our country this week, are an adult behaving badly.  You have forgotten that by agreeing to coach, you have shouldered the huge task of being a leader, and you have somehow lost your way. Along with leadership comes responsibility.  It takes bravery and character and intuition.  It means focusing on the positive, while working to strengthen the weak spots along the way.  It takes rising above and being better than your regular self.  It takes character, backbone and humility.  Your son, along with all the other little boys on the field, had your (unbelievably loud) voice ringing in their ears for 90 minutes today.  It was not encouraging.  It was not inspirational.  It was, quite frankly, embarrassing and destructive, for children and parents alike.  Next time, please do us all a favor.  Leave your unfulfilled adolescent athletic fantasies next to the remote in the La-Z-Boy and show up to the game with an open mind and a clean slate.

Recognize that you have a rare chance to be a powerful role model for a group of impressionable 8 year olds who look up to you every week for guidance and support.  Being a winner is not always reflected by the numbers on the scoreboard.  Raise the bar.  I dare you.

You can do better.  If you volunteer to be a coach who works with our children, you must do better.  They deserve more.  And so does your son.

Sincerely,
A Soccer Mom on the Sidelines