Travel

Although this may sound unpatriotic, part of me hopes my kids are not great athletes.

I know, many of you are smirking right now, snickering to yourself, “Don’t think you have much to worry about,” but here’s the deal.  In 1996, my wife was chosen as the athlete of the year for her high school.  In 1995, her cousin won the same honor.  In 1994, her youngest brother earned the award, and her older brother would have won had he not been beaten out.  By another cousin.

The point is, my children may have inherited some troublesome genetics.  Troublesome, because, if they show even the remotest athletic promise, I am basically required to schedule away my weekends for at least a decade, traveling to various locales throughout the state, or, if they are really good, throughout the country.

As many of you already know, the face of youth sports has changed dramatically in recent years.  Although the park district, community leagues, and school-sponsored contests we remember still exist, these options have been supplemented and increasingly eclipsed by a much more lucrative model:  travel ball.

Now, for the sake of brevity, the term “travel ball,” in this context, encompasses many variations, from seasonal leagues that offer pre-collegiate athletes the chance to hone their skills close to home, to year-round teams that venture out of state to compete in large-scale tournaments.  One thing all these options have in common, though, besides the moving ball part, is commitment.  Travel ball generally requires plenty of time and money.

This is why part of me secretly hopes my kids aren’t super interested in sports.  It’s not that I’m lazy or don’t like to travel.  It’s just that—and don’t take this personally if you’re a parent—I don’t really want to travel great distances to watch children play softball, or basketball, or whatever, at least not multiple weekends out of the year.  And it’s not that I don’t care about my kids’ happiness or future.    It’s just that—and don’t take this personally if you’re a traveling team coach—I don’t really believe that, if my kid was put on this earth to play sports, your travel team is going to make that difference.

This is a dangerous column to write, of course, because it’s entirely plausible I may someday eat these words.  Five years from now, you may very well see me sitting on some bleacher in Ohio, for example, shivering, sipping on coffee, watching my daughter play softball against a bunch of girls she has never met.  If that happens, you have my permission to take out your smartphone, bring up this column, and laugh in my face.  That will be your right.  Please do me a favor, though.  If that scene does takes place, and I say something stupid, like, “Well, Coach Smarty Bottom really thinks if she can get her timing down, she could play division one in a few years,” please punch me in the mouth.  Hard.

In all seriousness, though, what you and your family do on the weekend is totally your business.  As previously mentioned, I am not an athlete; I am not a coach.  I am not an expert on sports in general or youth sports in particular.   However, Tim Keown, who is kind of an expert on the subject, being as he’s a senior writer for ESPN, had this to say on the topic:

“This is the age of the special child. This is the age of the parent who believes his or her kid playing Little League for the neighborhood team is beneath them both…This is the age of the youth-sports industrial complex, where men make a living putting on tournaments for 7-year-olds, and parents subject their children to tryouts and pay good money for the right to enter into it.”

The article, entitled, Where the Elite Kids Shouldn't Meet  went on to discuss the potential health risks involved in playing year round sports at such a young age, as well as the inherit absurdity behind some of its practices, such as having tryouts for nine-year-olds. The article, which is, admittedly, one-sided but certainly worth a read, basically lampooned a micro-culture that Keown suggests has lost its mind.

But what do I know?  I’m not a sports writer.  I’m just a guy who recently watched his little girl play softball for the first time, who watched her walk off the diamond with a huge smile on her face.

“That was fun.”  She declared, her eyes shining and sincere.  “I really like softball.”

As her dad, of course I want to keep it that way. My gut instinct, though, tells me that having her play one organized sport most of the year might not be the best strategy.