Social Ostracism 101, Soccer Style – Part One

Posted: November 30, 2009 in I love my daughter but I'd love her more if she was good at sports, I'm an asshole, kids, parenting, wife

Today, I present to you a three-part Mental Poo ‘HOW TO’ series:

Social Ostracism 101, Soccer Style

Alternate title to this post:

Why the wife and I belong to no social circles.

Let me explain.

This past Sunday marked the OH MY GOD THANK FREAKING CHRIST end of the fall soccer season.

I. Hate. Soccer.

My 9 year old daughter, Payton, plays soccer.

Therefore, by the theorem ‘post-hoc-ergo-propter-hoc,’ this means that I hate my daughter.

I’m not sure that’s right, but you really can’t argue with the math here.


Payton plays soccer.

When I say she ‘plays’ soccer I mean she ‘is physically on the field but emotionally at a debutante ball and God forbid the fucking ball come anywhere near her because that means she would have to actually use her feet and try to KICK the goddamn thing and we’ve been pretty much waiting two years and $300 later and that just ain’t in the fucking cards.’

So, yeah, if you put it that way…

…she plays soccer.

This being the last round of torture for the season, both the wife and I reluctantly went.

Let’s begin class on how to lose friends and alienate people, shall we?

1) Marking the Calendar

So, my wife and I are sitting on the sidelines.

We’re right in between a mother of a girl on our team, and parents of a kid from the other team.

Payton is playing defense.

This means that Payton is basically just standing next to the other kid playing defense and discussing things like butterflies and shit.

I’m so proud.

The ball, somehow, some way…

…rolls straight towards her.

Oh. No.

This marks the point in the game where we usually have to start screaming at our kid to DO SOMETHING for Chrissakes. ANYTHING.



Jesus H. Christ.

You’d figure that two years into the soccer program that something like ‘kick the ball’ would be pretty much understood by a player as ‘something you might have to do during a fucking soccer game.’

Welcome to my world.

Then. It happens.


* blink

Me: “Holy fucking shit. Holy shit! HOLY SHIT she kicked the ball. I think that’s a sign of the Apocalypse.”

Wife: “Oh my God, I think I’m going to pass out.”

Both: “..hahahahahaha..”

Other parents: ?

At this point, the parents are looking at me and my wife because we are, essentially, shitting all over our own kid and then laughing about it.

Parents out there: if you don’t do it, you should try it.

It’s really really fun.

Me: “Holy crap. I can’t believe she kicked the ball. I’m totally marking my calendar. THIS IS A GREAT DAY!”

* wife and I high-five each other

I look over, laughing, and the other parent is all like ‘the fuck?’ because I’m sure SHE’S never shit all over her own child in public for the sake of humor.

Screw you, lady.

It’s what we do.

Just because it’s to our own kid doesn’t make it any less funny.

Or mean.


Moog out.


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