Braxton scored four goals last Saturday. I have it documented. With timestamps.
My son Braxton is eight years old. He plays on a youth soccer league in suburban Columbus. He’s actually pretty good—I’m not just saying that because I’m his father, I’m saying it because I’ve watched every minute of every game from the same spot on the sideline, fifteen feet from the corner flag, where the sight lines are optimal.
The league doesn’t keep score. “We focus on development, not competition,” the coordinator told me. She smiled when she said it. I did not smile back. I asked her how the children were supposed to learn the value of winning. She said, “They’re eight.” As if that were an answer.
Braxton scored four goals last Saturday. I know this because I recorded the game on my phone and logged each goal in a spreadsheet I’ve been maintaining since the season started. The spreadsheet includes timestamps, field position, assist credits where applicable, and a column for “quality of defending” which ranges from 1 to 5. Most of these kids are 1s. Braxton is facing weak competition.
The Other Parents Don’t Seem To Care
I’ve tried to explain to the other parents why this matters. At the postgame snack last week—which is another problem, why are we rewarding them with Capri Suns for simply existing—I mentioned that Braxton’s goals-per-game average was trending upward and asked if anyone wanted to see the charts I’d made. Several of them suddenly needed to check on their children. One mother said “that’s really something, Gary” in a tone my wife later described as “concerned.”
My wife has concerns too. She thinks the spreadsheet is “a lot.” She asked me why I was tracking shot accuracy for recreational soccer. I told her that excellence is a habit, not an accident. She said Braxton has started asking if he can skip games. I told her that’s exactly what a participation-trophy culture produces: quitters.
Someone Has To Keep The Real Score
Last Saturday, I had a disagreement with one of the parent volunteers about whether Braxton’s third goal had crossed the line. There are no official referees because there’s no official score because apparently we’ve decided that numbers are violence. I showed her the video on my phone. She said she “didn’t want to get into it.” I said the integrity of the record was at stake. She walked away. This is what I’m up against.
The game ended and the kids ran off to get their snacks and nobody mentioned that Braxton’s team had won 7-1. Because officially, nobody won. Officially, everyone had fun. Braxton did not look like he was having fun. He looked tired. My wife said maybe I shouldn’t have been yelling tactical advice from the sideline the whole game. I told her I wasn’t yelling, I was projecting. There’s a difference.
This Is Bigger Than Soccer
My father used to tell me there were winners and losers in life and your job was to figure out which one you wanted to be. I’m trying to teach Braxton the same lesson, but the league keeps undermining me. How is he supposed to develop a killer instinct when the adults around him pretend that outcomes don’t exist?
The coordinator emailed me Monday asking if I’d be willing to “step back a bit” at games. She said some parents had raised concerns about my “intensity level.” I wrote back a three-paragraph response explaining that my intensity level is appropriate for someone who cares about excellence, and I attached the spreadsheet so she could see the quality of data she was asking me to abandon.
She hasn’t responded yet. Braxton has another game Saturday. I’ll be there, fifteen feet from the corner flag, phone ready. My wife said she might sit in the car this time. She said she “needs a break.” I told her breaks are for people who don’t believe in accountability.
She didn’t respond to that either.
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Gary Wendell is an insurance claims adjuster and youth sports dad from Columbus, Ohio. He has coached three seasons of recreational basketball and maintains detailed statistics that multiple people have asked him to stop sharing. His spreadsheet is available upon request, though no one has requested it.
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