For those of us who raised active children Memorial Day weekend brings to mind the traveling youth sports team. Whether it be baseball, softball, basketball, lacrosse, volleyball – whatever type of activity – the memories of quality one-on-one time spent with your child en route to god-knows-where are precious…..but not without pain, particularly for parents of second-teamers, who drove miles of traffic-clogged byways only too often to share their child’s disappointment after riding pine.
It’s a fully preventable situation, most always caused by coaches doing far more harm than good inserting themselves into what should always be the exclusive domain of the kids their efforts are supposedly all about. For my money, and, believe me, travel volleyball took a hell of a lot of it, any but the most select of 13-year old athletes should be coached with their enjoyment and increased enthusiasm as primary objectives. Losing isn’t as fun as winning, but being denied a chance to participate makes any victory hollow. Coaches who don’t get that at this level, I have no use for. Period. Sadly, in my experience, such cluelessness is far from the exception.
It’s important here to distinguish programs. I refer to the modern suburban mutation of teams created for young teens seeking a higher level and more frequent competition than local house leagues can provide. It’s a niche that’s produced a cottage industry of for-profit outfits often competing against each other to lure athletes with promises of more elite coaching and skills development.
The price tags to join such teams are stunning, and require aggressive marketing that the results will be worth the investment. But for every parent convinced they have a prodigy with a future college scholarship on their hands, there are those like me, simply indulging their child’s desire to connect with peers and get some kills. In Northern Virginia, teenage girls volleyball has morphed into a remarkable hierarchy of programs that flourish through word of mouth, each branded by itself as an elite operation devoted to preparing its players for the next level. My daughter seemed to already know which teams she could tryout for with a reasonable hope of being selected and those above her pay grade of talent.
In the parenting division of labor discussions my wife and I frequently engaged in, there was never any question sports participation was my exclusive responsibility. I even volunteered to coach basketball a couple of years earlier, which I enjoyed far more than I expected. Yet and still, when it came to travel-team girls volleyball, I simply followed where my daughter said to go. It was her show; she understood where her skill level belonged, so that was the program she tried out for.
Of course the team’s director was not one to modulate his expectations. Speaking to parents after the selection process, one could be forgiven for believing their kid had just made an Olympic squad. Words like “determination” and “effort,” “sacrifice” and “teamwork” were bandied about. One word used more sparsely was “fun”. The schedule was an eye opener. Tournaments seemed to be held everywhere but within the local radius. Pittsburgh, Ocean City, Lancaster, PA and the bowels of Delaware were preferred destinations.
The Pittsburgh tournament took place during Memorial Day weekend. I had never been to Pittsburgh before, and I will surely never mention it as a holiday mecca. I gulped hard, now fully comprehending the time commitment I was signing on for. Meanwhile, the check I was asked to present before leaving further extinguished any inclination travel volleyball wasn’t serious business. In fact, it was the largest single outlay I made that fiscal year. The fact a sizable line was formed at the “financial questions” – read payment plan – table as we left, said it all…. 21st century youth sports is a pay-to-play proposition.
The caste system of travel team sports becomes apparent almost immediately as the first game begins. There are the team’s undisputed starters and the rest. Parents of players unconcerned with playing time, in my observations, can be some of the least empathetic and self-aware people one will find. There perspective more than too often centers on winning and losing, with precious little attention devoted to much else. Whether kids other than their own are enjoying the event is too often not any concern. Since they take their own child’s playing time fully for granted, the amount others are accorded doesn’t register for many.
The idea that all the kids should enjoy the experience is not a priority for many a 1st team parent. Why has always escaped me, but perhaps that’s because I have often been a 2nd-team parent. I do know for certain this blind spot is pervasive and usually reflects the attitudes of the coach. And make no mistake, the size of the gap between how a team’s parents perceive tournament competition provides a solid indicator of that coach’s priorities. The two go hand in hand. When I coached my daughter’s basketball team, my guiding focus was full participation. Now, it was a house league with clear minimum play requirements, but they were unnecessary with me. Nearly a full half of our final game was devoted to getting the only scoreless girl on our team a basket, I couldn’t imagine her not sharing in that feeling. Several years later I would learn many coaches’ priorities were not near as inclusive.
Six years ago to the day I was in Pittsburgh cheering on the girls of “Poison Ivy.” We had arrived into town toward the end of Friday rush hour, greatly aggravated by a home Penguins playoff game. Nuff said. My daughter was a solid enough contributor to her squad, tall and adept at producing a kill given the right set. However, she was not a starter, her playing time was not assured. Like several other girls, she far from hampered Ivy’s chances when on the floor, but was a notch below her 1st team counterparts. And while I had discussed with her the possibility she wouldn’t get as much playing time as she wanted on a team this talented, I was confident a little would go along way. A kill here, kill there, a couple of rotations each game would satisfy her need for relevance.
Poison Ivy’s coach didn’t see it that way. A Pat Summit caricature, she was in Pittsburgh for the hardware, that was her first, middle and last priority. Whatever experience she saw the girls having began and ended in the win-loss column. Substitutions were sparse, and when made usually meant to punish a starter not playing up to snuff. As one match ran into another the girls on the floor tired, while the girls on the bench slumped and became discouraged. The thing about volleyball tournaments is, unless your team isn’t losing or winning at all, nobody ever seems to know how well it’s going. However, after Ivy lost their second match on the second day of competition, it was clear the big bling was not in the cards. Nonetheless, the coach felt consolation matches would reflect on her performance, so second teamers remained seated. I will never forget the incredulous pain parents showed sitting for yet another match only to see the bored shame in their child’s face. First-teamer parents, as clueless as ever, continued to cheer on their athletes, who were surely tired and sore and would have gladly sat for a change. It was disgraceful.
Our drive home from Pittsburgh was quiet, my daughter processing her feelings, really kind of confused how she wanted to present herself to me. I let her know she had done the work, and it was completely the coach’s failing for the indignity she had suffered. I reminded her how happy she was to make this team, and any step up in life is going to require sacrifice. Moreover, just because somebody is your coach or boss doesn’t mean they can’t make mistakes; it was a part of life.
Still, I was livid and regretful I had paid a few thousand bucks to entrust my daughter’s well being to such a self-important imbecile. At least Issie had actually seen action. One of her teammates, a wonderful, fully competent setter, saw three serves of playing time. Her father, who had brought his parents along to watch her play was speechless and crestfallen, trying to figure out how a trip they had all looked so forward to could produce nothing but sadness and hard feelings.
It would be wonderful to be able to say Pittsburgh was an aberration, it wasn’t. In fact, the next year’s coach was even worse, a young, former college baller, determined to make his mark on the NVA coaching scene, with zero consideration for anything past a W. Even his starters reviled his indifference to their teammates. It was like the twilight zone… deja vu all over again.
I’ve come to appreciate how the differing views of parents on this issue clarify broader dispositions. Some I’ve talked to express support for such nonsense, equating the issue with the “participation trophy” debate. It’s hardly a coincidence that many of this school of thought seem to suffer a general lack of empathy, a recurring penchant to dismiss concerns for those excluded for whatever reason. News flash to knuckle heads: coaching 13-14 year old kids carries one primary responsibility… make sure they have fun and emerge from the exercise at least as enthusiastic as they started, particularly if their parents are paying four figures and devoting all of long weekends to support the endeavor! Be like doctors… at the very least do no harm! As I said before, a little goes a long way; coaches who can’t be bothered to oblige that common sense proposition should find something else to do. Our children deserve better. As always, remembering the fallen on Memorial Day weekend. BC