‘Hi coach,’ says the fount of all perkiness, mother of one of my best players.
‘Hi there,’ I reply, resisting the temptation to ask whether she’s a walking commercial for some energy drink or if she’s always that depressingly upbeat.
‘I’m so glad I ran into you because I’ve some bad news,’ she says in a suddenly somber tone.
‘Oh yeah,’ I say, feigning nonchalance.
‘Yeah, my son can’t make any practices in August at all.’
I don’t even respond to this obvious attempt at provocation. This unnerves her. Just as I wanted it to.
‘Eh, you see, eh, he’s in the gifted and talented program at school and they’ve recommended he attend a two-week residential science camp. And then we are going away for two weeks to France as well so unfortunately, he won’t be available until September.’
European vacations and science camps. This is what I have to deal with. I’m trying to produce an elite soccer player here. Yet his parents are determined to turn him into some sort of Francophile, Gauloises-smoking lab rat. As is my way, I take a deep breath before telling her my opinion of her plans for her 10 year old.
‘I’m sorry that you are so selfish that you are going to deprive your son of the chance to play soccer this season because no kid who misses an entire month will start any games for me! He’s a very talented boy and could go a long way in the game but if you want to put him in a white coat with a Bunsen burner and then put a beret on his head swanning around Paris so be it!’
I smile when I see how shocked she is at my response. Then, before she can retaliate, I walk away, already wondering who I’m going to put in his spot on the left side of midfield.
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