To the parents in front of me: I hear what you’re saying about my son, the referee

To the parents in front of me: I hear what you’re saying about my son, the referee

I Love To Watch You Play

To the parents in front of me: I hear what you’re saying about my son, the referee

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An open letter to the parents sitting in front of me at the soccer tournament:

I just want you know, I get it, I really do. I have been a soccer mom for a while now. I know how excited we get and how we love watching our children play. I’m sure you would have been more subtle if you knew that the mother of the ref you were yelling at was sitting behind you, but I guess since you did not know I was there, I felt I should reach out to you.

MORE: Great advice from I Love to Watch You Play

Your daughter’s team did not lose because of my son. He is not an “idiot.” The assistant ref who you said is also an idiot is a young woman who plays and loves the game as much as your daughter on the field. Your daughter’s team did not tie 0 to 0 because the refs did not call a foul or make a call.

The score was not Nil to Nil because you felt the ball was kicked out by the other team who was rewarded the ball. Your daughter’s team did not miss scoring a goal because my son did not blow his whistle loud enough for you to hear, or because he softly told the girls to replay without shouting it so loud you could hear. I could have returned the favor and yelled “Hey, Number 43, what are you, an idiot? You just tried to dribble through 3 defenders while your left wing was wide open calling for the ball.” I could have yelled “Hey, Number 28, you need to dribble while looking up so you can see the girl you are about to collide with and then your dad is going to scream for a foul.”

I could have responded to the mom whose daughter texted her during her game that she was losing her game 3-1 at half because they were getting “slammed” by the referees by telling her she should tell her daughter to stop texting at half time and listen to what her coaches were saying. I could have yelled, “you suck,” every time your daughter passed to a player that wasn’t there or lost the ball because she held on too long, but I did not. I just sat one row behind you quietly as you continued to berate my son.

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