Small Talk: Tackle the Turkey

When I was in elementary and middle school, fall Saturday afternoons were my favorite time of the week. During those days, I was a student at a K-12 school and every week, I looked forward to attending my school's football games. My school wasn't particularly good at football. We were a small private school (think 60 people per grade in the high school), though we had A-List coaching (former Philadelphia Eagle Bill Bergey was the school coach- his sons also attended the school). Nevertheless I wasn't necessarily excited to see the Tatnall Hornets storm Weymouth Field. I was more interested in getting the opportunity to run around unsupervised and play tackle football with all the guys. Granted, I was not the typical grade school girl. Most girls my age didn't have hair shorter than their brothers and they had zero interest in grass stains or playing "King of the Hill."

I, on the other hand, look back fondly on these memories. I learned how to settle issues without getting a grand arbiter involved. I grew thick skin and learned that when boys teased me for being a girl, a consequent 40 yard touchdown run would shut them up. It was also during these weekly football games that I stayed out of trouble. I was too busy proving myself on the sports field to be bothered with mischief. Sure, we ran around like hooligans. And I'm sure I've blocked out all memories of errant passes that decked people. But I learned to solve these problems by myself, or at least with the help of my friends.

This past week, I heard about a high school in nearby Elmira, Oregon that this year adopted a policy that forces elementary and middle aged kids to sit with their parents at football games. And if they aren't sitting with their parents, then they have to be seated in the supervised "youth seating" area. The "youth seating" area is in an uncovered part of the stadium (remember it rains a bit here in Oregon) and the kids in this area have access only to vending machine foods. Those who don't obey the rules will be kicked out of the stadium until two minutes before the end of the game so they can be reunited with their parents.

And the justification?

“They’re running around playing tag and playing unsupervised tag football behind the bleachers.”

Now I'm not exactly sure when unsupervised tag became such a liability to the public good, but Elmira may as well just outfit one of their classrooms with a couple of Xboxes or Playstations and confine the kids there for the duration of the game. At least the crowd wouldn't be subject to being caught in the middle of a game of freeze tag.

Perhaps my sarcasm is a bit biting, but it seems to me that kids can't catch a break these days. Kids now already have so much structured time and now we're even confining kids in their free time. Let's face it- organized sports are starting earlier and earlier and as a result, kids are burning out or getting seriously injured at younger ages than ever before. While lots of development can occur in these organized settings, I'm confident that some of my biggest sports strides came in these relaxed environments where the only thing worse than bloody knees was running and crying to your mom about it.

The mental element of sports is probably the biggest hurdle that athletes face these days. Can you jump over that bar? Is 26.2 miles too far? Can you push yourself farther through the pain? If we take away the opportunity for kids to teach themselves just how to build up that mental strength, how can we ever expect to push athletic endeavors forward?

It's these episodes of sports conflict that really blow my mind. By creating unnecessary conflict off the field, we are setting ourselves up for high tensions on the field. I'm not just talking about high school football games in Oregon either. You better believe that when the NBA comes back to playing (if it ever happens) that emotions will be running high. And because of what? For once, it won't be for something someone did or said on the court. I think that every once in a while, it's quite healthy to just stop and take a deep breath. Lord knows, my 9-year-old self appreciated those who shrugged off my wild practice punts much more than those who took my football away.