“Lacrosse Parents: Why Bother Helping When You Can Just Complain?”
Let’s paint a scene. Saturday morning, 7 a.m. The coach is on his second Red Bull, dragging nets onto the field while trying to keep track of his own kids, who are wrestling in the parking lot. Meanwhile, an assortment of bleary-eyed lacrosse parents is slowly ambling out of their cars, looking ready to do anything but help. Here’s the twist, though: these parents will spend more time today criticizing this youth lacrosse program than the coach spent on his taxes last year.
And it’s an impressive skill. Parents at these games can pinpoint the exact second they think the coach messed up (probably about two seconds in) but will miss the fact that he’s been schlepping around heavy bags of equipment since dawn. They’ll complain that the practice schedule interferes with swim class, that the snack options are not “nutrient-forward,” and that the jerseys make their kids look “washed out.” And yet, when it comes to stepping up? They’re about as absent as a clean port-a-potty at a music festival.
These parents are masters of avoidance, experts at blending into the background when any sort of manual labor is requested. The request goes out: “We need some help setting up the field.” No one moves. “We need volunteers for carpool.” Suddenly, everyone’s got “very important plans.” You can practically hear them adjusting their Bluetooth headsets, reminding no one in particular that they “have a big presentation due Monday.”
But here’s the best part. Ask them about lacrosse—no, sorry, the management of lacrosse—and they’re all instant experts. It’s like they’ve spent decades running multi-billion dollar lacrosse leagues in their spare time. Need a critique on the lineup? They’ll give you a five-point analysis on why their kid is definitely the next big thing and how the coach is failing them. Want to know how to “improve morale”? One parent suggested getting “motivational yoga instructors” before games.
Meanwhile, they have yet to unbox one folding chair or spend even five minutes on the field trying to figure out how to set up a net. Heaven forbid they’d help put out cones.
One parent tried to pull the, “I did my volunteering when I played lacrosse back in college” card. Nice try, Chad. It’s been 20 years, and the only thing you’re stretching these days is the waistband of those khakis. Look, no one’s asking them to reinvent the wheel. We’re just asking for the occasional Saturday afternoon. How about a run to Costco for post-game snacks that aren’t made entirely of sugar? But that would be “too much of a time commitment” for most of them.
Some days, you almost feel bad for the poor coach. Here he is, putting hours of his free time into teaching kids how to scoop and cradle while getting yelled at for not handing out enough Gatorades. Then, as if in some cruel cosmic joke, he gets hit with a barrage of emails detailing every “opportunity for improvement” the parents have come up with over the weekend. Never mind that these parents missed half the game because they were on a Zoom call.
But here’s the kicker: When the season finally ends, and the coach sends out an email asking for “suggestions” on how to improve the program, silence. Not a peep. It’s like they’re suddenly too busy to even complain, now that the season is over and they’re already focused on their next competitive parenting commitment: soccer.
