Is it me, or are our youth athletes becoming needier? I am currently in the midst of my second Little League child—but my first one is thirteen years older, so it has been that long since I had to play the parent spectator role for Little League baseball. Some things never change, like the parents who seem convinced that their seven-year-old’s team MUST WIN in order for life in the Western World to go forward. Never really my philosophy.
Maybe it has to do with the fact that this league is situated in a somewhat higher brow neighborhood than our old one. It is certainly populated by far more moms who work at home. You know what I mean. Some actually have time to do things like shop, exercise, keep up with daily Pinterest-inspired projects. Yeah, I try to squeeze these in too; I just have the working mom syndrome of doing all of those at a much less adequate level. Take, for example, my snack provider faux pas. Having volunteered to provide a snack for the team after the game on opening day, which lasts about 17 hours and is about as colorful as a Kardashian wedding, I showed up with *gasp* granola bars. My fave type A mom tactfully queried, “You mean you didn’t bring a drink?? Yeah, generally the expectation is blah blah blah and a drink. I’m sure you’ll get another chance, so just FYI.” Hmmm. Forgive me. In all my years of bringing snacks to various sporting events, I have never received the message that snack means snack and drink. Hell, when my older son played, it just wasn’t a thing, this need for snacks. Let alone a special little drink. Once in a great while, the coach bought pizza for the whole team. It was special, not expected. Doesn’t everyone just bring water? I guess that I need to bring vitamin-balance-zen-life-power water to these poor dehydrated waifs. (To the kids’ credit, not one of them expressed an expectation of anything more—I can’t imagine how embarrassed I would have been if one of my kids ever said, “WHAT? No drink?”)
Scary thing is, this isn’t even suburbia! They’re probably setting up monogrammed cheese trays out there with an assortment of organic sparkling grape juices to keep those urchins alive.
Seriously, we need to reexamine this practice—God knows we don’t want to breed a generation of weak, thirsty Americans who lack the ability to hydrate themselves independently. Man up, little folks. Suck on a rock! It’s good for you! Play ball!