THE WEIRS TIMES, Thursday, September 30, 2010 Formerly & Everywhere! RFD# to the gulf stream waters 3 to the New York Island by Lorrie Baird jim-lorrie@earthlink.net KIDDY FOOTBALL IS A LOT LIKE LIFE by Lorrie Baird Yesterday we attended


our first pint-sized football game because our 6-year- old granddaughter was on the cheer squad. If you could bottle cute at this game it would be enough to make the whole world smile. The tiny cheer- leaders were adorable in their kicky little uniforms and matching ponytails bedecked with polka-dot ribbons. The boys wore protective


helmets that made their heads look three sizes too big. Add the oversized shoulder and knee pads and they were munchkins in heavy armor. I would have bet the farm that if they fell over they would be as helpless as tur- tles trying to get upright again. Dressed like this they’re supposed to run after the ball and bring anyone down who got in their way?


This, I had to see. As we watched the play-


ers and the cheerleaders for both teams do a lap around the playing field I realized that herein lies a mini-metaphor for life. The boys get to dress up in macho outfits and play at knocking each other around on the field. The girls are on the sidelines cheering them on. At least that’s the way it was in my generation. But then


I took a closer look…one of the “boys” was a girl. (I was secretly cheering for her even though she was on the visiting team, but don’t tell my grandkids.) When it came time for


our little Bryce to cheer, naturally Nana had to run over and take pictures. For some reason this dis- tracted her. Bryce looked over her shoulder, lost her balance and knocked into the kid next to her which took on a domino effect. Tip for first-time grandparents at games: use your zoom lens. As proud as we were of Bryce’s cheerleading tal- ents, there was an even prouder parent behind us on the bleachers. I think he had control issues. In a voice that sounded like a fog horn on a mega- phone this Dad somehow thought he was helping by screaming instructions to his kid from the stands. This dad was so loud the kids couldn’t hear their coaches if they tried. And he was yelling in a jargon I couldn’t decipher. I am not going to men-


tion the boy’s name be- cause he’s been embar- rassed enough, but his dad shouted confusing in- structions like, “Bring the wood! Bring the wood!” “What’s wood got to do


with it?” It was a football game, not a campfire. “Alligator arms! Watch


the alligator arms!” What the heck are “alligator” arms? As far as I could


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tell there wasn’t an alliga- tor to be found…although I must admit he actually had me looking around for a mascot that didn’t know his boundaries. This went on through most of the game. I cast a


Apparently I clapped and gave a shout out to the kid who grabbed the ball and ran in the wrong direc- tion. I figured he should get some credit for try- ing. And I heard more than a few groans behind


As we watched the players and the cheerleaders for both teams do a lap around the playing field I realized that herein lies a mini- metaphor for life.


questioning glance at our son and Scott just nodded and said, “There’s one at every game.” But what I don’t get is this: if this foghorn father seems to think that he can coach his kid better than anyone else, then why wasn’t he out on the field with the actual coaches? Then again, I got into


my own situations where I wasn’t feeling the love.


me when I questioned out loud if the umpire knew what he was doing because I thought that looked like a home run. Right of f the bat…I


mean snap of the ball…I gave myself away that all I know about football is that when the team color we are cheering on gal- lops down the field with the ball it’s probably a good thing, but only if it’s


in the right direction. Ap- parently in Pop Warner football it’s easy to get turned around when you have a pack of mighty midgets on your heels looking to take you down. By the end of the game that’s pretty much all that I learned. That, and the fact that by the time we left I wanted to stuff a dirty gym sock down the loud guy’s throat. I’m not going to tell you


who won the game. It doesn’t matter because at the end each player gave a running “high five” to the other team. What does matter is that these little kids are learning far more about the game of life on that playing field than simply football. Now, all we have to do is


get the grown-ups to act as mature.


29


H e r From California... , T here...


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From the redwood forest...


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