Well, you’d think from the title, I was about to impart some maternal wisdom from my many years of trudging to the football field/baseball field/gym, but the fact of the matter is, how the heck would I know? Before every game I breathe a little prayer, “Lord, please help me not to embarrass myself/my kids/the coaches/my husband.”
Because, I’m a yeller, let me tell you. Just the other night I was watching Emma’s softball game and I yelled at one of her teammates to take a base because Ball 4 had just bounced across home plate. She kinda looked up and then the ump held his fingers up to indicate that was ball 3, not 4. Whoops! Don’t listen to the crazy woman in the stands, sweetie! So she stood in there and struck out, probably too rattled to pay proper attention.
I don’t know how to not make noise…I’m scared to have a conversation with a stranger, but I sure enough will yell at that same stranger’s child, given the necessary motivation.
Look alive out there, girls!
Call the ball!
Throw it! Throw it! Throw the dadgum ball!
We live in South Spartanburg County, don’t you know, where dadgum is a completely appropriate descriptive word.
And when they’re batting…
Wait for yours, honey!
Way to get a piece of it!
Now you’re ready!
RUUUUUUN! Run hard! Run, run, run, run, RUN!
I have words of advice for my kids after every game, as if I had played the sport and excelled at it in my own youth. I’ve tried to put a lid on that, though, after I made Emma cry because I didn’t think she was aggressive enough stealing home. Come to think of it, I made my own sister cry when we were teenagers and she was trying out for cheerleading. I can’t remember what she got wrong, but I was pretty emphatic about it being wrong, I know that. I think I could safely take coaching off of my giftedness list.