COMPETITIVE DADS SIMPLY AREN’T COOL
ARARE joy to be back at the National Game Awards a few weeks ago, the first time I’d seen anyone involved with this fine organ in three long years. Apart from the free food and drink – and Messrs Badcock and Couch’s inimitable double act – one of the highlights was talking to the Young Player of the Year, Solihull Moors’ Joe Sbarra, flanked by his proud parents.
In between me relentlessly mining him for forensic details of each of his multiple goals against Wrexham, he told the table an anecdote that struck a chord. While a member of the West Brom youth academy, Joe had been enjoying a holiday at an unspecified Center Parcs along with a number of his mum’s side of the family. However, this blissful idyll was brutally interrupted when he and his dad had to hastily leave so that Joe could turn out for the Albion when all he really wanted to do was hurl himself down the water slide.
A decent tale, but also a stark reminder of the pressures that can be put on kids at an early age. Only a tiny percentage ever make a career out of the game, and it’s important that they are allowed to have a childhood to complement their dreams. As Joe’s dad confirmed, there are some terrible parents out there, channelling their own ambitions through the fragile husks of their bewildered offspring.
This is something that I have witnessed first-hand to a lesser extent with my own son’s peewee football team, thrown together a few years ago and miraculously moulded into a vaguely competent outfit by a bellowing coach. In the early days, as touchline parents we would routinely give it the big ’un, an inadvertent homage to The Fast Show’s memorable Competitive Dad. This culminated in me once shouting, “Take him out!” to our last defender when faced with a marauding striker. Of course, what I had meant to say was, “Take him out with an orthodox tackle!” but was unable to get my words out before being accosted by the rival management team, one of whom asked me if I was ill.
There are worse crimes, one of which saw an opposing parent march onto the pitch and move the ball forward for a free-kick, much to the bemusement of the intimidated teenage ref, who simply resumed play from the new position. I’m pleased to report that we have calmed down over the years, largely as a result of other parents holding a mirror to our behaviour. That said, during the dying embers of a recent cup final, I did find myself screaming at the ref while tapping an imaginary watch. Said ref replied with a two-fingered riposte, and we ground out the remaining 120 seconds for a famous victory, slightly tarnished by an opposition parent aggressively ordering his kid’s team not to cry.
Ruthless
It’s a complex issue, and my son has actually admitted that he likes being shouted at. It certainly didn’t do Alex Ferguson’s teams any harm, at least in terms of results. Is the fun in playing or is the fun in winning? At the beginning of the season, my lad’s coaches stated that their aim was to win the cup as a reward for their years of voluntary hard work. They achieved that, albeit with an often ruthless selection process which led to enraged phone calls from embittered parents who had turned up on a freezing morning to see their pride and joy get a two-minute runout in injury time. But at the end of the day, everyone went home with a medal.
I write these words shortly after watching Andy Murray crash out of Wimbledon, albeit as a legend of the game and the result of what has been described as pushy parenting, alternately branded as supportive. But a stat recently revealed that in America, where it’s arguably even more toxic, 70 per cent of kids give up sport before high school.
I don’t know what the answer is, or even the question. Perhaps I should ask Simon Day, the actor that played Competitive Dad, who I once saw pick his kid up from training...