Different Kind of Stress
Sitting in the stands has never been my thing. I get nervous for the kid. He works hard, he carries a bit too much weight sometimes (despite our best efforts to help him realize that’s not the best approach), and I just want to see him succeed. Rather than show him my nerves, rather than trying to distract myself by chit chatting with other fans, or worse, rather than me saying something I don’t mean to say, I pace. I walk down the sidelines, I take a stroll down the foul line. I also hate to hear parents from our team saying anything negative about our players. Any players really. And I tend to not hold my tongue, which can cause problems with parents.
But the stresses I’ve known thus far - as the baseball, basketball, or flag football Mom, even as Coach’s wife + baseball, basketball, or flag football Mom - pale in comparison to tackle football Mom. It’s nerve wracking watching kids lay and take hits. At the Freshman level, it feels like there’s such a massive disparity in the kids’ sizes, too.
There are 14/15 year olds who are bigger than average, who hit the weight room, who have control of their growing body. There are 14/15 year olds who are smaller than average. You have the younger 14 year olds lining up against older freshman who have already turned 15. And, then you have the reclassified kids who are 16, driving, full on beards, lining up against those same “traditional” freshman.
My kid hasn’t played tackle until this year. I thought he’d play safety or corner, cherry picking, using his speed to stay right on receivers, tracking down RBs who break through. But, he’s been lining up at LB, DE, special teams, and going in at TE or FB in a blocking capacity. He’s the one right in the thick of it all. Taking the hits, laying the hits, being in the pile, under the pile. Granted, there have been enough plays and games where’s still learning the role, chasing more than tackling, taking angles instead of taking away angles with his body. But that hasn’t stopped him from getting trucked, “laying the boom” himself, or just plain landing awkwardly.
I thought I’d be a wreck. I thought I’d hold my breath with each snap. In our first game, I was sitting near QB1’s family, a family we’ve known for several years now. QB1 was horse collar tackled and took a minute to pop back up. It looked nasty on the way down, watching his legs lock up as he was pulled down. I watched her stand up and wait for her son to pop up. It took a minute. I think I held my breath the whole time, as I feel she probably did, too. He was fine, a little worse for the wear, but nothing some ice, tylenol, and a time won’t cure. Nothing broke, popped, or strained. When I asked her after the game how she handles it, she shrugged. And I get it. When you are watching your kid do what they love, you need to let them go through it. I can’t be out there blocking for him. I can’t run to the sidelines and see if he’s ok after every play. Once I came to that realization, after seeing how calmly she watched over the pile waiting for her son to stand up, and then hearing the unspoken explanation of that shrug, I started really enjoying football games. It might honestly be the first time in the 10 years he’s been playing sports that I truly enjoy it. I also think I prefer football to baseball, as a fan. Watching him struggle through a rough inning on the mound or an at bat where he just looks uncomfortable is tough. All eyes are on him. All voices have something to say - often times negative - about what’s happening. That’s when my Mama Bear instincts kick in. I want to cheer loudest to he feels supported. I want to tell the other families to shut up. I want to remind him he’s already experienced this and come out with positive results, so this shouldn’t be scary. As Coach Ballgame says, I want to offer to buy him a hot dog when the inning is over. As Coach Pop does to break the tension on the mound, I want to tell him a monkey or fart joke to break the tension and get him out of his head so he can just let his natural athleticism take over. I know I can’t coach from the sidelines. Or I shouldn’t coach from the sidelines.
As he gets older, the sports get more competitive. There are (almost) grown men on the field lining up against each other. The hits are harder, they come at faster speeds, and they are backed by bodies that are near fully grown. I truly can’t do anything but cheer him on and trust in his coaches, intuition, and athleticism to hold his own and excel.
It’s a new role for me, but I’m learning, leaning into it, and starting to truly love it.
