Insane Soccer Moms from Hell

What a day.  You know, there are times I appreciate living in a small town, and times I don't.  I grew up in Houston, so, small town life is sorta a novelty to me at times.  And at other times, very familiar, because I spent summers in the small town my dad grew up in.  So, while I'm not necessarily a small-town girl, I do understand the crap that goes on.

I'm sorta dreading the Impossible Son's first game back with his soccer team tomorrow.  Why?  Because of a Soccer Mom from Hell.  

When Mr. Manzie broke his thumb, we told the soccer association and they consulted the waiting list and called a family to let them know there was space for their kid on one of the teams.  We have PLENTY of kids wanting to play... but not enough coaches.  So... sometimes, we have to turn kids away, or put them on a waiting list.  Because the teams are sort of in flux for the first few weeks of the season.  

Well, the mom of the new kid called, and I took down her info so the Husbandly One could call her back.  He's Mr. Manzie's soccer coach.  She brought her son to one practice.  One.  Then she called and asked if he would move the practice to a "more convenient time."

Huh?

Okay, the team had been practicing for about a month on Wednesdays at 6:30.  At that age level, any more is overkill.  Mostly, at the 4-6 age level, you focus on them running and kicking the ball in the right direction.  They don't even have goalies at the U-6 level (which stands for Under 6, for those of you not in the know).   All the parents on the Husbandly One's team were cool with it.  

We figured maybe it was because the local Baptist church has services on Wednesday nights, and the people who go are rather fanatical about attending it.  But no, that wasn't why.  It was because she serves dinner at 7:15, then he goes to bed at 8:30.  We were interfering with his schedule.  

THO said, "Look, I work in Pflugerville, it takes me nearly an hour to get home, sometimes, and there are other parents who commute a fair distance back to Lockhart.  6:30 happens to be the best time for all of us.  I'm not changing it."

She didn't bring her son to the next two practices.  THO called her.  Nothing.  He left messages.  Nothing.

So, when the Impossible Son got his cast off and was cleared for take-off, so to speak, the Husbandly One said, "Okay, that's it.  Little Man is back on the team, and this other kid is off.  If she can't be bothered to bring her kid to practice, or to call me back, then I can't be bothered to put her son on the team."

So... guess who called this afternoon?  Yep.  Mrs. Nutso.  She wanted to know if her husband could drop by to pay the soccer league fee (no, she hadn't paid that, yet, either) and pick up her son's uniform.  I said, "You're going to have to talk to the Husbandly One about that.  Can I take your number and have him call you back?"

"I'm about to leave work," she said irritably.  "Look, I don't see what the problem is.  The league told us that we only had to pay $35, because we're halfway through the season, and that there was a shirt for him.  I wouldn't want to have to call the league to complain."

I raised my eyebrow, but said calmly, "I am not the coach, and I don't run the team.  This is something you'll have to discuss with the Husbandly One.  If you want to complain to LYSA, (that's our soccer league) that's your privilege.  But I have to tell you, I'm on the soccer board, and this is not going to work out the way you're hoping."

I could tell that sort of took her by surprise.  "Well, I don't even know if we have a game tomorrow."

This is where I went' stupid.  Blame it on the sudden crash I heard in the kitchen, the Impossible Son's "Uh-oh!" and the Impertinent Daughter's, "Oh, Mom is gonna FREAK!"  Instead of being evasive, I said, "You do have a game, it's at 9 am."

"Well, I'm going to be calling the Person In Charge to make a complaint."

"I'll be sure to let the Husbandly One know you called, bye now,"  I said pleasantly, and hung up as I heard her slam the phone down.  She really, really wanted to lose her temper with me, I could tell.  There was a lot more said, but I kept my cool and remained polite and pleasant, mainly because she WANTED to piss me off, and you know, I NEVER do what people want me to do.  I'm just contrary that way.

I'm a sub in bed.  Not in life.

So anyway, when the Husbandly One got home, I let him know what had happened, including my stupid moment (the crash was a pile of dishes, which inexplicably never got broken, yay) and he went to find her number to give her a call.  Well, she wasn't home, so he left a message on her answering machine telling her what his decision was, that her son was off the team and why.  Then he called the LYSA registrar, a lovely woman named Eileen who is seriously overworked, to tell her what was going on.

Mrs. Nutso called back and started screaming virtually the moment the Husbandly One started talking.  "You can't do this!  You can't make that sort of decision, you're just the COACH!!  It's a LEAGUE decision!"

THO said calmly, "No, it's a coach's decision, and I made it.  You didn't come to practice, and you haven't paid your fee."

"I'm going to call the league and make a complaint and you'll lose your job!"

"I'm on the soccer board and I'm the U-6 commissioner, and I can't lose this job because I'm a VOLUNTEER!!  But go ahead and complain, that's your right."

She hung up on him.

*sigh*

We called Eileen back to let her know, and LYSA's board president, to let him know, because you just KNOW this nutjob is going to show up tomorrow morning on the field and throw a hissy fit.  The Husbandly One said he'd be sure to jump behind me and let ME deal with her.  I said, "Not with a bunch of 4, 5, and 6 year olds there!"

Though I'll probably use them to my advantage.  As in, "Look at those kids!  You're SCARING them!  Is this any way to behave in front of CHILDREN??  You should be ashamed of yourself!  Come on, let's go to the concession stand and discuss this like adults."  Where I could use my Southern Belle sharp tongue to whittle her down to size.  Or throw a sweet left hook if she doesn't whittle down very well.

Actually, I plan to have my cell phone in hand and preprogrammed to 911 so that we can call the police and have her escorted off the field.  Because that would send a message loud and clear to the other psycho nutjob parents we have around this league.  No screaming hissy fits in front of the kids.

Personally, I would not choose to have my child play on a team where the coach was forced to accept my child.  That just seems to be a recipe for disaster all the way around.  The coach would be brimming with resentment, even if my child was the gods' gift to soccer.  And I would not like to depend on that person's maturity not to respond to that resentment in a negative way.  With MY kid.  The Husbandly One isn't that sort, but not everyone has his patience.  

So... I am not looking forward to tomorrow.  Anybody got some brass knuckles laying around I can borrow?  Or a Taser?  Nah, too violent, and would upset the kiddies.  

Must... not... make... Fist of Doom!!

The Next Day...

This morning, the Husbandly One called the Nutso family, because he wanted to be sure they wouldn't show up at the game.  For one thing, he didn't think it would be good for the kids on the team, and for another, he was quite sure it wouldn't be good for their son, either.  In fact, in all of this, I have to say I feel the most sorry for their son, because he's the one who is suffering the most.  Because of his parents' behavior, he is not going to be able to play soccer this season.  

So, the Husbandly One called, and got Mr. Nutso.  And he talked, explaining what had happened, why he had made his decision, and why he didn't think it would be a good idea for them to come to the game.  

It sort of fell apart after that.

I have to hand it to the Husbandly One.  He was patient, and he kept his cool, even though it was sorely tried at several points.  Mr. Nutso actually hung upon him a couple of times, but THO persisted.  He wanted it resolved before gametime.  

What was interesting was when the Husbandly One said, "Look, I have to tell you, if you show up, and you make a scene, if you start making threats, I'll have to call the police and have them escort you from the fields."

Mr. Nutso said, "Oh, yeah? Well, I'm a cop.  Who do you think the cops are going to believe?  You, or me?"

The Husbandly One said, "Doesn't matter.  My brother-in-law was a cop, and I happen to know, they're going to think of the kids first, and keeping the situation from blowing up, which you would know if you were a cop.  DON'T COME TO THIS GAME!"

It was just a great situation all the way around.

However, THO's persistance appeared to have paid off, because the Nutso family did not show up.  Our soccer board president, whom we had warned ahead of time, showed up at our game as back-up, which was all to the good.  And I have to say, I did not relax one second while we were there, because I am very well acquainted with Murphy's Law, and most of its adjuncts.  I knew if I did, those folks would be sure to show up the very next second.  I didn't relax until we were leaving the parking lot to head to West Creek for the Impertinent Daughter's game.

The Impossible Son had an excellent first game back, and seemed to be full of more appreciation for being able to play.  You wouldn't have known he'd missed three weeks of practice to watch him go!  He even got a couple of goals!  Yay, Impossible Son!

I am wondering how the next meeting of the soccer board is going to go.  This has been quite a stressful event, not just for us personally, but for the entire organization.  You hate to think of parents acting like this.  You hate to think of yourself acting like this.  

But most of all, I hate to think of a disappointed little boy, sitting at home, wanting to play like his older siblings are, and being unable to because his parents are acting like jerks.