Football vs. Futbol
Elijah has started playing American football this year. Flag football actually. And I’ve noticed some huge differences between football and soccer. Unexpected differences, but not surprising ones.
First of all, it is apparent to me that those who are involved in football must have secret prescriptions of testosterone somewhere. At the sign-up, there were gruff men everywhere, loud voices, shouting. Imagine if you will the Tim the Tool Man growl going on every single second. It was a little overwhelming. It would appear that Bowling Green dads take football much more seriously than soccer (which I suppose they must consider some sort of foreign sissy sport). Practices seem to be modeled after the US military with a lot of hurry up and wait. As the boys have learned a bit more, the practices have been a bit more active. And there is really nothing more exciting than seeing 5 year old boys having to run because they weren’t paying attention. I of course know all about running in football thanks to Joel Taylor, the history teacher I work with. Running is apparently an effective punishment. Odd that I haven’t seen it included in any parenting magazines. Is your son out of control and disrespectful. Have him run to the edge of your property and back. Eventually, that child will be just too tired to do anything.
More dads attend the practices as well. There are still the mom’s, typically grouped in bunches chatting and laughing, occasionally looking up to cheer for their son. But the dads, well they are out there in the practice. I’ve seen a couple of dads pull their kids aside for a intent discussion on the finer points of the game (looks a lot like a lecture to me . . . but I’m sure they’d disagree). These dad take this flag football very seriously.
Now those of you who know me, know that I’m a relatively competitive person. Those things I can do well, I like to do the best (or at least better than anyone I know). But Elijah is bigger than most of the other kids (at least 2 – 3 inches taller than most and probably 20 pounds heavier). And those of you know football, know that means he plays center. The first game, I watched my son hand the ball, slowly and carefully, to the coaches son (who surprisingly plays quarterback), a total of 3 times. The rest of the time, I watched him sit on the sideline, play with his friends, or just stand around a bit. Once the ball is handed off, the game tends to lend itself to a bit of a melee. A free for all where everyone is running about. The running seem to take on a bit more organization once the boys find out who has the football. Elijah doesn’t set any speed records, and tackling is a penalty here – so he sort of stands on the field a bit after that.
Another huge difference is that at the game, instead of having an 8 year old boy or girl ref the game; there are 3 to 4 adult men in referee uniforms. This last game, we even got to see a few flags thrown. There were penalty yards awarded. I think Elijah got called for holding, which by the way he did very well. He grabbed that little boy and that kid couldn’t go anywhere until the play ended. The referee took a few minutes to show them how to push with their folded arms instead of holding – which I thought was a very nice way to address a teachable moment. And of course, then Elijah spent the next 30 minutes sitting on the sideline. It’s a hard game for the parent of a slow runner to watch. There’s no glory there; nothing to really cheer for. The first game, it took me until the last 5 minutes of the game to talk myself into being proud that every touchdown we scored was because Elijah was able to pass the ball off well (if they drop it or set it down, it counts as a fumble). But still, that’s a bit of a straw grasper by any definition.
Jose is, of course, little help. He doesn’t watch football, doesn’t understand the rules, and is indifferent to any success that Elijah may have in the sport. Elijah likes soccer more. And I can understand that because in soccer at least he’s on the field and doing something. But, Elijah is not going to be a small, slim, slight person able to dart about on the field. There’s a slight chance that he may build some speed – even a rhinoceros can lumber along pretty quickly. But, I just don’t see him on a soccer field as easily as I see him knocking some poor kid down and running over them, leaving cleat marks on their cheeks. So we’re focusing on learning the game, enjoying the practices, and waiting until we can tackle. And we’ll make long term decisions when he’s older and it counts.
In the meantime, I’m going to start carrying a bit of estrogen spray in my bag and sprinkle it over everyone. When they are 5 and just playing a game, I don’t think it’s really a matter of life, death or penis – it’s just for fun.
