As the parent of a young lacrosse player, I’ve learned many valuable lessons. Chief among them is this: lacrosse is less a sport and more a geographic scavenger hunt. For reasons I cannot fully grasp—possibly rooted in ancient prophecies—our child’s team cannot, under any circumstances, compete with anyone within a 50-mile radius of our home. Instead, we must embark on epic odysseys to find “real competition,” often traveling to places where cell service is a distant memory and the local gas station doubles as a bait shop.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love lacrosse. Watching a team of kids sprint around with sticks and helmets, resembling a coordinated Viking raid, is genuinely thrilling. But I can’t help wondering: is it really necessary to pack our lives into the family SUV and drive six hours to compete against another group of teenagers who look suspiciously like the ones from our local league?