Category Archives: Kids

Parents know what it’s like to rush from work to ball games and school events. Maybe you don’t have to be there, but it’s the right thing to do.

I was already destined to be late for a lacrosse game this week because it was all the way in Amsterdam and scheduled to start at 4:30. It didn’t help to get out of work an hour late, but I said I’d be there. After driving like hell to get there, I rolled in with seven minutes left in the fourth quarter.

But my son’s team looked a bit smaller for some reason — and the coach, who can usually be heard from the parking lot, seemed oddly reserved. Maybe some of the kids couldn’t make it. Weird. And did the coach finally give himself laryngitis. Could be.

When the clock wound down and the PA announcer intoned, “And the final score… Amsterdam 6, LaSalle 9.”

Wait… LaSalle? I’m at the wrong game!

I’d been told early that morning that it was in Amsterdam — and don’t you know that Amsterdam’s uniforms are the same purple and gold as our own? It looked like I was in the right place, and I was so blissfully ignorant that I even took some pictures.

I have no idea who this kid is…

So… eventually I figured out that the game was actually in Schenectady.

The take away here is always check and double  check and check again. No big deal, though. I was at somebody’s game, and I guess that’s worth something.

The warmest room in our house is the half bath on the first floor. The heat pours into this closet-sized space like nobody’s business — and even when the rest of the house is freezing, the tiny bathroom is delightful. Could I put a TV in there, maybe?

This has also become our go-to spot for drying gloves, hats, and soaked running shoes, so naturally when my son came home drenched from lacrosse practice, I neatly arranged his gear in front of the heating register.

The next morning I opened the door to  stench so horrid I nearly retched. For a second I though maybe one of the cats peed in there — or ALL of the cats –  but no, this terrible smell was wafting up from the lacrosse gear.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Under normal circumstances the stuff doesn’t smell great, but it’s acceptable; the application of heat unleashed a monster.

I’ve finally shaken that stink out of my head and learned a valuable lesson about drying athletic equipment: if you put wet, sweaty things in a hot little box don’t be surprised when you open the door.

There are a small group of guys at every lacrosse game — middle aged, normal in every aspect — who are the loudest people in the stands. They gather on the top row of the bleachers at midfield and shout, and shout, and shout. It’s terrific that people show up and support their team; lacrosse games are not an event like Friday night football, so it’s good to see an enthusiastic crowd.

But like everything, sometimes it goes too far.

I was at a game recently where the loud guys crossed from cheering for their squad to taunting individual players on the opposing team. For example, a shot on goal would sail high and they’d yell, “Hey, number 11! Nice job!”

That’s not cool.

Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised that adults don’t know what’s appropriate and what is not. I used to coach in a youth soccer rec league, a place where we barely kept score, and parents would sometimes yell at the teenage refs officiating the game. Unbelievable.

Look, you want to go to an NFL game and scream out ridiculous sh*t for three hours, have at it — but these are just kids, so do us all a favor and keep it to cheering for your team. And if you can’t do that, just shut up.