If I'm Angry Enough to Shake, You'd Better Slow Your Roll...
I will preface this post with a couple personal confessions I may or may not need to make based upon your level of intimacy with me.
First, I do not truly enjoy confrontation. If there is a way for me to avoid making a scene in which I am the center, I will do so...I will later talk about what I wished I would have done, but for the most part, if I can not show my ass in public, I'm a happy girl.
Second, I don't like bullies. I don't like loud-mouths. I don't like grown men who show their asses in public. I don't like my children exposed to such reindeer games and if push comes to shove, well, I will opt to abandon the feelings expressed in section First.
Finally, if I am so mad I'm shaking and you think you are going to step to me, in front of my children and continue to act in a completely immature, inappropriate and threatening manner, be ready to have a lawn chair inserted in your anus. Simple as that.
Tonight was M2's last, regularly scheduled soccer game. We played a team we'd 1) not played before and 2) not seen playing anyone else prior to tonight. M2 plays in a youth league associated with the Catholic schools in the area. M2's age group is the youngest so they don't keep score (officially anyhow--the kids sure do) and there aren't outside officials. The coaches act as officials, keeping an eye on the clock, blowing a whistle when needed, etc. That also means rather than being on the sideline, a coach from each team is on the field at all times.
M2's team is coached by a husband and wife (Z & E). Their twin sons play on her team. They are gems. He (Z) is a big, tall, burly firefighter. She, E, is a diminuitive but feisty city employee. Both have a great attitude and are the perfect coaches for this age group. On the other team, there were three male coaches. One of whom was running the show apparently. His son played on the team...we know this because he ran up and down the field yelling at and berating his son from the time the game started until it was called off early.
I cannot detail for you the egregious behavior displayed by this dill hole, but I'll give you a glimpse of what we witnessed. Early in the game, he apparently cursed in the course of yelling at his kid. E must have heard him and, although I never saw her say anything, I did hear and see him reply. (E likely said something in a normal voice only he could hear, "Hey, coach, little ears.") He replied by yelling, "Hey...how about I coach my kid and you coach yours?!" She said, "Well, in that case, maybe just tone it down a bit because I think it's stressful for the kids when it's so loud." He repeated his previous statement, only yelling louder and...walking toward her. Z intercepted his route and managed to take him to the sideline and I heard him, in a very calm voice say, "You seem very excited about something. I'm not sure what happened, but I'm sure we don't need to be this excited."
I noticed the children on this team had been taught some pretty sophisticated dirty playing tactics...kicking their opponents when they couldn't get a foot on the ball (a mother can tell the difference between an accident and intentional kicking), leg sweeping opponents, pushing, etc. I was not impressed. I was also not impressed when I realized that this coach was hammering on his kid consistently to go after only THREE players on our team--our coaches' twins and M2. He actually said, "Git her, son...GIT HER!" when M2 was dribbling downfield. Not "Defense, son! Get that ball." Nope. "GIT HER." Bastard.
Later, his son scored while M2 was goalie and I told the mom next to me: "Oh, good. He scored. Maybe he won't be beaten when he gets home tonight." As he walked past with his son, I could hear him saying, "That wasn't good enough, son." WTF?
Toward halftime, our kids worked the ball downfield, not easy for them, and they kept hammering it at the goal, but not coming up with a score. One of the twins (L) took it to the goal and as he drove to kick, the goalie (other coach's kid), dove on the ground and swept L's legs from beneath him. L fell HARD, arms and legs everywhere and the ball ended up in the net. Z, from midfield, blew the whistle. We clapped, not knowing whether the ball went in or not, but again, who cares? We don't keep score and they are 5.
This is when Crazy really starts to lose his stuffings. By the time I realized what was up, he was at midfield YELLING at Z. He was saying things like, "We're NOT counting that!" Z reminds him we don't keep score. He yells, "Oh, so because your kid is a CHEATER and threw that ball in the goal, you're going to let it stand to tie the game." Z raises his voice, just a bit, and asks the coach to conference on the sideline because he doesn't want to have that kind of talk in front of the kids. Crazy calls L a cheater AGAIN, refuses to go to the sidelines and continues to hone in on Z's personal space.
Z blows the whistle, puts his hands in the air, says, "That's it." and calls the game.
Our team's parents were pretty much ready to go at that point. We knew something was coming, but not sure what and no WAY I was leaving M2 on that field one minute too long. She had been playing goalie and was confused and looking scared. She didn't know why Crazy was yelling at Coach Z. She starts trotting toward Coach Z. who was trying to gather the kids and move them to the sideline. He's no longer looking at Crazy, but Crazy is continuing to stalk after him, yelling things like, "Oh, okay. So, now you're going to QUIT?! We can play your way. We can let you cheat and we'll just play. Just let the kids play. LET THEM PLAY!"
As he yells this last line, I have somehow walked SMACK in between Coach Z. and Crazy. I was solely focused on getting my hands on M2. Just as I put a hand on her shoulder, he yells that last line and as I turn my head, his red, mad face is literally inches from mine. I don't know WHAT possessed me because I did NOT punch him in the throat.
Instead, I gave him The Look (c). The Pissed Off Mom/Wife/Professor/Lawyer/Black Woman in me was written all over my face and I said, "NO. That's IT. YOU are DONE. WE are DONE. EVERYONE is DONE!"
Crazy snapped-to then. I actually think he 1) thought I was ready to jack him right in the mouth and 2) realized he was on the opposing sidelines completely removed from his team and team parents and literally surrounded by US. And we were not impressed, son.
I was literally shaking. Too pissed for words. E. then told me that before the game, he'd been over talking smack about how his team was so great. They'd beaten everyone and were undefeated and what was our record. Z. and E. said we didn't have a record because we don't keep score. He's all, "Oh, no good, huh? Not good enough to keep track?" Ugh. What a chach.
All the parents created a protective bubble around our coaches and kids and made sure everyone made it to their cars and we caravaned from the lot. I honestly, honestly was ready for anything and very thankful Hubs was at training because I'm pretty sure they'd still be trying to disentangle Crazy from the goal net at this late hour had Hubs been there.
On my Friday to-do list: call the division supervior for our division and report Crazy. Mostly, because I want it on record that Z. HAD to call that game before Crazy took it to the next level. Then, likely call HIS division supervisor to report him and suggest that this supervisor observe this a-hole in action at his tourney game this weekend. I also plan to figure out what Catholic school his team is affiliated with and a call will be placed to that school's office. Hey, we ALL sign on to the rules and protocol and he was over the line. WAY over the line. And, I can't help but think if he's like that in public with his son that his son's life is pretty miserable at home. I cannot imagine.
Like I said, it takes a LOT to push my buttons, but this guy touched 'em all and then some. Unfortunately for him, he's now pissed me off beyond all reason and I have tons of time on my hands. And, I write purty letters. Oh, boy.
