I have two sons. One plays baseball and soccer. The other plays football and lacrosse. They may play in high school. They are not going to college on a sports scholarship. They are not going to play any of these sports professionally. And while I loathe the NCAA, read this article. Print it out and paper bomb the fields where your kids play sports.

Unfortunately, as any sane parent knows, there are plenty of parents who actually think their boy or girl is better than everyone else. They think they know every nuance and rule of the sport their little snowflake is playing. Surprise, they don’t. They know nothing.

All they remember are their failed fucking dreams of being a jock. They remember atomic wedgies in the bathroom courtesy of the badminton team, because the football team couldn’t be bothered with their wretched puniness. They remember rolling in the rotten stench of failure, and never scrubbing it off, like Carrie standing on a stage, soaked in pig’s blood.

These people are dumb and need to be machine gunned. Maybe that’s too harsh. They need to be lined up against a wall and pummeled with empty malt liquor bottles until they bleed.

The end game to kids’ sports should be happy memories about playing, and friends you’ve made that last forever and a couple of golden moments where you shined. You shouldn’t have memories of when your parent got into a fight with another parent, or harassed an umpire, or criticized one of your team mates.

A recent study – can’t look it up, lazy and tired – surveyed kids who played sports. And their least favorite part of sports was the ride home. Think about that. A kid goes out, plays a sport, has fun, gets dirty, learns some valuable lessons . . . and a parent ruins the entire experience by degrading the kid, giving shitty tips, regaling them with “when I played” stories, and tearing them down.

These are the parents who should be fed into wood chippers, and their remains can be used as fertilizer to grow crops that would feed our society. I bet those crops would taste bitter and sour, so fuck that idea. Just grind them up and burn the remains.

And dear god in heaven, let’s not forget to put coaches in the cross hairs. Many of them are fine, upstanding volunteers who enjoy guiding kids – like priests, but without all the chloroform and molestation. However, there are an equal number of starving athletes who were coached by people dumber than syphilitic Cro Magnons.

This legacy of coaching stupidity is passed down from generation to generation. And the result is meat-headed morons who think wind sprints and screaming build character and make life miserable for the kids. Their actions make Bill Belichick appear saintly. (The only thing they share in common with Bill, many of them try and fuck their players’ moms.)

No matter where you’re from, if you’re a parent who’s not unhinged and grounded in reality, you have your own horror story. Here’s one of mine from the first lacrosse game of the year. It’s a scrimmage. This total douchebag’s son scores. He yells, “You see? You get that ball to my son and he’ll score every time!” Every parent took one step away from him. I went to the other side of the field, because I wanted to practice my Draymond Green impersonation on him. (He later pulled his kid off the team. Thank god.)

Here’s another sad tale from the coach’s perspective. My wife volunteered to coach an 8 year old basketball team. One of the kids, who I had also coached in rec league soccer, is a complete and total out of control asshole. If lives past 18 it will be an achievement on par with the discovery of the Higgs bosun particle. His parents own a strip club where he hangs out.

My wife didn’t start him because he missed practices. Her reasoning was simple: you miss practice, you don’t start. It’s a good lesson about commitment and dedication, right? Nope. One night, around 10 o’clock, the kid’s mother leaves a two minute drunken voice mail on my wife’s phone. Calls her a stupid bitch and says she’s taking the matter to the league commissioner. I wanted to confront this broken down whore, I wanted to tear her apart for giving my wife shit. I didn’t because there have been whispers that her family has ties to organized crime. I’m not going to wind up bullet ridden in the trunk of a Cutlass Supreme over a voice mail message.

So this is what makes me angry this week. Boiled down to its base components: parents who think their kids are going to go pro at sports are insufferable, misguided cockroaches. They ruin the game for everyone. They ruin their kids. They are a waste of space and consume natural resources that could benefit other members of our society.

Don’t be that parent.

On A Lighter Note

(Each post will end with an event that made me happy.)

The family and I cuddled up on the couch this weekend and binge watched the Human Centipede trilogy. Fun times!