Peewee Football - Experiencing the Mob Mentality

My son is playing peewee football. He turned 8 last weekend; he was one of the younger ones on the team, most already at 8 years. His coaches have done a wonderful job of showing discipline to the boy as well as the player. One of the first lessons was to always help up whomever you hit. To check on the player, make sure everyone was ok. They answer instructions with "Yes, sir." They run laps when they're needlessly continuing to tackle after the whistle blows. The child receives instructions on how to be a team player as well as how to function in this dysfunctional world of ours.

Digression - In the past, I have taught A Tale of Two Cities to my freshmen. I love this book, long-winded though Dickens may be. In fact, one of the characters had an influence on how we named our son. But when it came to the storming of the Bastille, I always felt I was shooting in the dark. I tried to explain by how excited you get sitting with your friends at a football game. I tried to draw conclusions that the students would understand. But the truth is, I never fully understood, either.

Until this weekend.

Our peewee games have been met thus far with other teams who's coaches acted similar to ours. They all coached all kids, regardless of team. They all demonstrated what it is we hope our children will learn and practice so often it becomes second nature. And then we went up against our most recent opponent.

Before the game even began, there was a feeling - this peewee team was the 'little brother' of one of our arch rivals at the high school level, but the coaches and parents seemed to be trying to hide their feelings for the good of the littles on the field. My son was so excited just to be there, he danced at every play and congratulated every player who came off the field.

Long story, short - they scored and got a two-point conversion (the littles are too small to kick field goals). We scored and missed the conversion, but shortly thereafter, scored again and got it. We were up, 14-8 with two minutes left.

We had a horrible snap and the opponent managed to get the ball. They then ran it in for a touchdown.

This is where the story gets ugly and where my piece culminates. The defensive coach on the opponent's team ran onto the field, yelling for defense to come to him. He then proceeded to jump up and down yelling as loud as he could, "Who's field is this? Who's field is this?" over and over. There were still just under two minutes left on the clock. In peewee time, that is plenty to have the story continue.

Who's field is this? To seven and eight year old children. To littles who've been practicing hard for nearly two months, now. To my bear cub who just loved the game and was hoping he'd be able to make a big play. Who's field is this?

I was livid. I was shaking I was so angry, and I was in disbelief that someone could act so crass.

The ball snapped, and one of our players got past a block, and ran.

He ran that ball in for a touchdown.

I remember nearly every yard his little legs carried him. I remember jumping up onto the seats in front of me. I remember throwing my fist into the air.

I don't remember much else. I don't remember the sound of the crowd. I have no idea what the players or coaches were doing. I didn't even notice the sun blinding me or feel the late summer breeze. All I saw was our little guy outrunning their little guys and triumphing over the bitterness we'd just tasted.

I tasted mob mentality. Or rather, I lost myself in it. I have no memory of so much from that short 10 seconds. I cheered him on, then shook my fist at the other coach and yelled, "Who's field IS this?" and I remember one grandmother turning to me and saying, "THANK YOU."

It's scary, mob mentality is. It washes over one and sweeps one away. Dickens knew what he was saying when he likened the mob to the sea, bathing all of Paris with pitchforks, axes, and torches. And, even for someone who despises losing control, as I do, it is difficult to overcome. I finally had to walk away, turn my back on the game, and breathe deeply.

It wasn't the game. It wasn't the competition. That is merely part of life and something the littles need to learn - sometimes you lose (though, this time, {we don't keep score} we won 20-14).

He conveniently lost his teeth two weeks ago.

It was the blatant disregard for who we were watching that incensed me. That behavior is inappropriate at any age, but for littles who are trying so hard and just learning, it is especially despicable.

I have no doubt the opponent's parents and other coaches had something to say about the conduct of the one. No one from that side of the field left their side until our entire (parking lot) side had emptied. I don't blame them.

But now, the next time I teach AToTC, or any other piece that contains a mob, I'll know more of what I speak. Between you and me, I'd prefer to never feel that way again.