Sporting Chance

COMPETITIVE SPORT

When I was 15, I snapped my leg in half. Playing at Trelai against Ely Rangers for Cardiff City U16’s. It hurt for about five seconds, especially when I attempted to ‘stamp it off’ as we were so often told to do when picking up a knock. Then the shock kicked in and despite a horrific break, I was able to watch and recall everything that happened afterwards. What I remember more about that night than anything was the reaction on the sidelines. That memory lingers on far more than any pain or upset the injury itself caused.

We were a select band of players, the elite in our age group. This was in the days before Development Centres and Regional Squads, we were playing in the local district league, the future stars against distinctly average players. As a result we were always a target for the opposition, a scalp to be taken, a notch on the goalpost. We were kicked off the park in every game and you know what, I loved it. I could handle myself well enough on any pitch in any conditions. What I couldn’t handle was the abuse that came from the sidelines. The night I broke my leg was the worst level of abuse I ever saw or heard.

Our goalkeeper had already been taken off with two broken fingers, jeered from the sidelines by the parents of the opposition and called names that I would hesitate to use even at my ripe old age. The rain was torrential and I was carried off the pitch following my injury. I sat there for an hour until the ambulance arrived, with a blanket over me. We had no first aid kit, just the old magic sponge and a can of Ralgex. I was subjected to name calling, gesturing and taunts of many natures. My crime? I was a good footballer, better than those children of the jeering parents. They weren’t supporting their own children, they were more determined to exact some intellectually warped sense of retribution that this was what I deserved. I even had the ignominy of being stretchered into an ambulance, my leg bent in half, to taunts of ‘cry baby’, ‘wanker’ and ‘nothing wrong with you ****’!

I wasn’t crying for a start, I never cried on a football pitch, ever. There was something wrong with me, my leg was broken. I have to concede the second insult as factually correct. I was a fifteen year old virgin, of course I was.

That night my dream ended. At fifteen, all I had ever wanted was snatched away with one bad tackle. I played again afterwards but only to prove the point that I actually could play again, as I had been written off. The talent was still there, as was the ability but the desire was gone. Not the desire to play but the drive and sheer willpower needed to train as I had before. The three mile daily runs, the hill training, the pushing of my body to the limit and beyond to the point of exhaustion. Sprinting until you could taste the blood in your mouth. I simply didn’t want it enough.

Fast forward 25 years and my own daughter is now ploughing the same furrow I once did. Her dream was the same as mine. She wants to be a professional footballer. She wants to play in front of sell out crowds and represent her country, to take her talent as far as she possibly can. I should be thrilled, I should be delighted but above all else I have to make her realise that this is HER dream, it isn’t mine. I want her to be happy of course, I want her to fulfil her potential and then some, but, this is not MY dream. I lived mine and it didn’t work out. What she does now is her calling and I will support her, I will cheer her on but I will never put pressure on her. I can give an opinion on her performance after a game, if it is asked for. I can pick her up when she has had a bad game and I can keep her grounded when she has a great game but I would never want her to go through what I did. At such a tender age as she is, every dream you have is realistic. It is a goal to reach rather than a target to fall short of. When 22 players face up on the pitch, at the level she plays at, at least two thirds of those players have the same goal and the same desire. Maybe one will get there, maybe.

So this is why I get so angry at times watching parents ‘supporting’ their children. They are children. They play their sport, whichever one it is, because they enjoy it. I enjoy watching them play because there is an innocence about their play, their attitude towards the game, which disappears at some point as they grow older. My girl is fortunate. She plays for the most ‘successful’ team in the league. League winners for the first three seasons she has played in and competing for a fourth this season. She has more trophies than anyone her age should rightly have but herein lies the issue.

Success should not be measured in trophies won or accolades achieved. Representative honours, as nice and well deserved as they undoubtedly are, count for little at age 13. What does matter is that the children, and they are children, learn lessons through the game that can serve them well not just on the football pitch but in all aspects of life. The biggest trophy a child can carry off the pitch is a smile and the desire to play again.

To be a part of a team is a very special thing indeed. There is a bond formed that makes you work that bit harder, run that little bit faster and tackle that bit harder, not for your own gratification but because you want the team to succeed. To put your body on the line and take the hit because if you don’t your friend will have to. To look around you and see that ten other people appreciate your effort, value your work rate and would do the exact same thing for you is inspiring. The collective quality of a team will always be of a higher value than the maverick egos of individuals.

There are even more important values that can be taught. No matter the result of a game you shake your opponent’s hand. In defeat you learn respect and graciousness, in victory you must display humility. There is nothing to be gained from belittling a defeated opponent or resenting a deserving victor. Defeat can hurt, especially when you have given your all, but, as in life, sometimes things don’t go your way. To learn at an early age that this is the case and develop the inner strength and emotional fortitude to deal with setbacks is an essential life skill that many never develop.

I was a defender, my daughter is a striker. A striker will get the glory nine times out of ten. They are the ones with the skill, the turn of pace and the eye for goal. When man or woman of the match awards are handed out they invariably get the plaudits BUT, they learn that for them to perform they need a foundation, a base on which they can showcase their talent. For this to happen members of their own team display differing but equally essential talent. Whilst these players may not get the glory or the match winning goals, the striker learns that without them there is little that can be achieved. Again, this can only serve your child well. To develop the understanding that there is little one can achieve on their own that cannot be multiplied when utilising and accepting the skills of others as a complement, rather than a rival of their own.

Another often overlooked aspect of a junior team is the ability to transform a child that is socially awkward into a confident young teen, instilling a confidence that they are accepted amongst their peers. I can draw on my own experiences to know this to be true and is so hugely important. To see a shy child blossom and become confident is an amazing thing to behold.

These are just a few examples of the positive things that can be achieved, there are far more, too numerous to mention. Now I will pose a hypothetical question. Your child is sitting in the classroom. The sun is blazing through the window and your child has one question left to answer in a maths exam. Get the question right they have the grade they need to go to sixth form and pursue their dream of becoming a doctor. Get it wrong and they will leave sixth form and go through the next few years with little to dream of. What would you do if you were allowed one minute with your child prior to answering that question?

(1) Scream at the teacher that they do not know what they are doing and that they should be ashamed of their teaching ability
(2) Hurl abuse at another child sitting the exam.
(3) Whisper in your child’s ear that regardless of how they answer the question, regardless of the result, you are proud of them and trust in them.
(4) Don’t bother even turning up for that minute because you don’t get on with one of the other parents.

Answer anything other than (3) and you are either an idiot or a liar. You would support your child through the gates of Hades and tear the three heads off Cerberus on their behalf. So why, why, why on any given Sunday can a rational parent become an utter embarrassment not only to themselves but to their children as well. This season in particular I have seen and heard some comments aimed at children as young as 13 that would see you ejected from any major sporting venue in the country.

Rivalries exist. It is human nature. Two teams that want the same goal will give everything they have, but there must be a winner and there must be a loser. In terms of the game only. Not in terms of the individuals. A losing team is not made up of losers. There is no shame in coming second, only in not competing. Champion your child whether they are on the winning team or the losing one. Do not look to display your disappointment in complaining about bad decisions or when the luck of the bounce didn’t go your team’s way. Tell your child how incredibly proud of them you are. Tell them that watching them play was a privilege. Dramatic? No.

As parents we are so fortunate to have children that want to participate in sport. We are fortunate to have children that allow us the opportunity to watch them do something that they enjoy. That’s the key to it all. Enjoyment.

When we stand on the sidelines and hurl abuse at them it is a form of child neglect. Again, not dramatic, a simple fact. When we stand there and swear at parents from the other teams, not amongst each other, but across the pitch for the world to hear, we are disgracing ourselves and our children who are wanting our support. That is ALL they want. They want you to simply be there with a hug at the end of the game.

There is a huge rivalry with a local team. At times it has been disgusting the level of bitterness displayed, from both sides. Stares, taunts, foul language, stand up arguments and an atmosphere that is poisonous. I am not saying one side is worse than the other. When my daughter scored a vital goal this season I celebrated as though her team had just won the World Cup. Yes, I was proud of her, yes I was pleased for her team but in hindsight my reaction was pathetic, inappropriate and rightly incited a response from the other touchline. Now, two minutes before this happened a parent had made it clear enough that I could hear from fifty yards away that he wanted his daughter to ‘take mine out’. That was my response. I was wrong. I should have been better, risen above it, but having been taken out myself I was furious that someone else would instruct a thirteen year old girl to end my thirteen year old girls dream the way mine had been ended.

With so much angst on display it is painful to admit that on that day the children served as role models for the parents. They were the ones who took the hits, got up and shook hands, took victory in a humble manner and accepted defeat graciously. To have that rivalry, that level of commitment and desire is essential providing it is tempered in the appropriate manner.

I took a long hard look at myself that night and other then realising I had earned 35 years bad luck for cracking every mirror in the house, I realised I had let my own daughter down. Supporting your child is not about turning up every Sunday and shouting louder than the opposition. It is not in cheering wildly should they score a goal, though of course a respectable level of praise is normal and right. It is not in cursing out a referee who may make a mistake. To support your child is to teach them that winning really ISN’T everything. It is encouraging them when you can see they need it. It is showing them that you are there for them, not for your own ego.

These girls are exceptionally talented and when any of them display that talent it should be something we respect, whatever colour kit they wear. As a parent I want my child to have the same pride in me as I do in them. It is not my dream for her to be a professional footballer, it is only to see her realise her own dreams, in whatever arena she chooses.