Monday, August 27, 2007

At my niece's peewee soccer game

My Father (in an obnoxious sports spectator voice) - Pick up the ball kid! What's wrong with him? Doesn't the goalie know he can pick up the ball?

Other spectator (calmly but deadly) - Yes. He knows. That's my son.

***Moments later***

My Father - "C'mon kids! Spread out. Spread out! You've got to cover the other team! What are you doing? It's three on one!

Me - Dad! They're four! They can't do math. They can't even tie their own shoes yet! Did you not notice they didn't even know there was a second net?

My Father - [more yelling at four - six year olds about things he needs to chill about]

Me - Oh my god Dad! I am so glad I didn't play sports as a kid.

My Father - Why?

Me - You! You're That Guy Dad. The guy that gives soccer parents a bad name.

I don't think my chastizing did much but I felt better for calling him on it. What you have to know about my father is that he neither plays nor even watches sports. He is not an armchair warrior. But, somehow, when he is at an amateur sporting event with very few spectators to hide amongst, he turns into a sideline monster. He did the same thing when I brought him to one of my softball games. He was one of about 3 spectators and spent the whole game yelling at my team. I didn't invite him back.

Update: Blogger now lets you upload your own videos! Perfect timing. Now you can hear me tell my Dad to stuff it. Or at least try to difuse the situation. You can't hear him but he's grumbling about the goalie. FYI - My niece is the one with the great kick at the end. Of course, it's to the wrong goal but whatever. She rocks.

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