All Fit, No Form

How a Boy’s Soccer Game Demonstrates Modern Childhood

A long time ago, I was part of a soccer team. Run through the park district, I was fortunate to find a place on the competitive team known as the Eagles.

I was a rookie and a kindergartner, and though there were a few others my age, most were a year older. Being undersized as the younger child certainly didn’t help. The leaders of the team were big, strong, and fast. They simply dwarfed me.

Our coaches were serious and looked like they’d been taken right from an 80’s college football sideline. Our head coach had a presence—big belly, tight polo shirt, aviator sunglasses, whistle worn around his neck at all time—and I’m pretty sure he knew it.

The experience was intimidating. I was nervous to make a mistake, to misdribble, or to miss a pass. I didn’t want to let my teammates or coaches down.

We were treated like adults, or at least like we were much older than we were, and we responded as such. There was virtually no goofing around. We were expected to be tough and to play the right way.

We felt a responsibility about the whole thing.

Maybe we didn’t want to be professional athletes but we were there to learn how to play, to cooperate with our teammates, and to compete. There was point of it all.

After two seasons with the Eagles, we went undefeated and won the championship both years.

Several decades later, I attended my first elementary school-aged soccer game since playing in one. How times change.

The field was tiny so the boys wouldn’t be asked to run much. Parents sat up close as to signal the inability to give them space. Every boy seemed lost in thought, and almost every one of them seemed like they wanted to be anywhere else.

The physical and motor skills weren’t there. Poor hand-eye (or hand-foot) coordination. Young children aren’t expected to have the best control of a soccer ball, but these boys had a tough time even making contact with it. Low aggression level. Low energy level. But water breaks every 5 minutes.

There was little interest in working or breaking a sweat. Little interest in winning or competing. Even the eventual goal here and there led to the dullest of celebrations. Coaches danced around the little field, helping out with every little thing. They might as well have played the game for them.

In that one hour of game time, you could witness every evolutionary change in how we raise our children.

Our coaches called us by our name, taking the tone of voice that we were young men. These coaches call every boy  “bud” or “buddy” with that ever so popular 21st century coddling demeanor. Our coaches cared so we cared. Our parents stayed out of the way so that we could find independence. Our culture made us feel that if were going to choose to be there, then we had a responsibility to put the effort in.

I’m not saying every child’s introduction to sports should be intimidating like mine was, but it should be structured in order to coach them to the aims of sport: how to cooperate, compete, work hard, and play fair.

I don’t think our children are getting that experience anymore.