The Great American Past Time

Although this is supposed to be baseball, it has unofficially become and official change. It is now the glorious sport of football.

Who doesn't like a sport that becomes a personality and a way of thinking? Because that's what this game has become. A way of life, starting with childhood. And not only does the child change, but the parent changes as well. A child will grasp the ball in his tiny hands after a pass has been thrown and fumble. Incomplete. The child will hang his head as the parent screams from the sidelines that they can do better, as if the rest of their life depended on keeping a firm hold on a ball out of your reach. The child will hang his head and fight back tears because he feels that he has let down his team, coaches, and worst of all, his parent.

No parent should act like this. Since Wyatt has begun football this year, I have seen the same parent scream from the sideline, attempting to direct the game, as if the coaches don't know what they are doing. This man is fat, bald, and obviously into the game, despite the players being ten years old. I assume this miserable human being is trying to capture something from his past through his young child. Last game I witnessed this man's son yanking off his pads in a fit of rage and disappointment after a losing game.

No child should be this upset over something so minuscule and tiny. Over a peewee football game. His father is doing him no favors by being a tool.

I loathe this mess of a past time.