Alright, so maybe we’re not quite a youth soccer juggernaut, but sitting in first place with one game remaining on the schedule, and in possession of a 6-2 record accords this team of eight- and nine-year-old boys a measure of success that merits a little bit of respect.

I’ve spent the last two months practicing twice a week with this group of boys, and then testing our practice skills in a weekly game, where each game is punctuated by feats of soccer skill that leave you shaking your head at the sheer genius of young boys or laughing at the absolute folly of their latest perplexing tactical decision. It’s been a season that has made me question anyone’s voluntary decision to coach youth sports, but the boys are what make it fun and at times maddeningly exasperating.

Starting out the year, 5-0, the coach was placed in a position of divine reverence that forced all people seeking an audience with him to shield their eyes from the luminosity reflecting off his grand visage. But, as in any great tale there are trials to overcome, and a two-game losing streak unearthed detractors that were not repelled by the golden light refracting off a now bowed but not broken youth soccer coach.

Our two-game losing streak allowed our most temperamental and immature player to start an open rebellion versus the coach at practice. Being our top goal scorer and skillful with the ball, this player had received not preferential treatment but a certain indulgence in his trying ways. As his mother informed me early in the season, “This happens at school. It happens at church. And it happened at baseball.”

Supremely confident in my ability to connect with a behaviorally-challenged eight-year-old boy, I never envisioned a day where the kid would have the temerity to leave practice with, “You’re mean and you’re fat.” The strange thing about the fat comment is that I’ve lost weight running around two days a week with these kids, but in this kid’s world, I am a fat fuck who looks like Santa Claus.

The “mean and fat”  salvo was launched after his team lost a scrimmage, 30-14, and he chose to deal with his frustration by waging an ad hominem attack on his once all-knowing and all-powerful coach. In the scrimmage, I explained that goals could be scored in the traditional manner and that three consecutive passes between teammates would also be awarded a goal. This kid loves to score goals, but loathes passing the ball and this reluctance to play a team game had crushed us in a 6-1 loss.  As his team was losing badly, in the aforementioned scrimmage, our prideful striker refused to pass the ball and launched one long-range blast after another at the goal – resulting in his three teammates angrily beseeching him to pass the ball. I even called a time out, so this unraveling team could find a solution to their passing quandary but that was unsuccessful.

What I came to realize about our temperamental striker is that he is stubborn, lazy and immune to peer pressure. He is probably the only boy on the team that has not made a real connection with one of his teammates. This boy is not interested in being a good teammate, but he is focused on what is good for him – individually – and that is scoring goals.

In a world replete with clichés, this boy’s father is a pastor. The father attended one practice, and spent the majority of it watching two other teams scrimmage. At a game, he spends as much time watching YouTube videos as he does watching his son play soccer. There is something with this boy’s relationship to his father that causes him to act in an Oppositionally Defiant manner, but I am an amateur youth soccer coach and not a child psychologist.

As the son informed me earlier at the “mean and fat” practice, “My dad doesn’t like you.” I guess there will be no novenas said for me at this man’s Sunday congregation.

And I don’t believe the pastor is alone with his antipathy. At our last game, I had a North African Tiger Mom inform me that she wanted her son to play up and not back. As she explained, “He likes playing defense, but I don’t like him playing there. I want him to play up.”

This coaching suggestion was conveyed to me as she stood right next to me in the coaching box while the game was being played in front of us. I explained that her son played defense because he was one of our best defenders, and that it was not in any way punitive. Punitive was the wrong word to use, and she bristled at that, but I was trying to coach.

Her son was going to play forward in the second half, which he did, but then he suffered from second half stomach pains that prevented him from running and he found a seat next to me on the sideline.

With one game left on our schedule, I have mixed feelings about coaching youth sports. I thoroughly enjoy coaching most of the boys, but we’re talking about young boys who are more interested in seeing how far they can boot the ball than properly trapping the ball. It can be trying, but when a boy runs up to you with a huge smile on his face and exclaims, “Hey Coach!”, that sincerity and happiness is palpable.

What some of these parents don’t understand: I am a volunteer.

I religiously show up at practice two days a week. I coach the games. At the conclusion of each home game, I put away the goals and equipment, which involves moving these brutally awkward and heavy sandbags across the field. I deal with their sometimes insulting and difficult sons. I pick up clothing, soccer balls and gear left behind by the boys. I allow brothers or sisters to participate in practice, so please don’t give me any coaching suggestions or tell your son you dislike me. It’s alright that you dislike me, but tell your kid after the season ends.

I know I have a lot more to learn. And at tomorrow’s final practice, I need to find a way to instruct the boys how to beat a team that previously torched us in the second half for five goals and left us with our biggest defeat of the season.

The best part of this experience has been watching the team take something that was taught at practice and incorporating it into live game action. It’s been a blast to see these kids get excited about soccer, learn what a good teammate is and understand that losing is alright when the effort is there.

I may be Old School and a relic from a bygone day, where competition was embraced and winning wasn’t a bad word, but when did losing become a badge of honor? When did losing become acceptable? There is nothing wrong with losing a game, as I told my group of boys after each of our losses because Messi and Ronaldo have lost a bunch of games, but shouldn’t losing be used as a prod to get somewhere better? Losing should inspire one to work a little harder, and not some New Age parenting bullshit about negativity affecting a child’s self-esteem. When a team loses 9-0, the kids see the other team celebrating nine times. Should the winning team’s parents stop cheering after every goal? Oh,  I’ve heard that.

Losing is inherently negative. One can’t change that with pithy slogans, hugs or choosing to ignore the result of the competition. Sports expose a child to negative results. That’s why winning is striven for and celebrated, because it’s so damn hard to win.