Let The Kids Play

Picture this: it’s 1942, and a 9-year-old boy is walking around his neighborhood in Anytown, USA. He gathers a few friends, and they go to a nearby sandlot to play some baseball; a great way to spend the summer afternoon. Now, imagine that as they’re playing, laughing, arguing over strikes, and having genuine fun, a large crowd of their parents shows up. Then an adult umpire or three make their way onto the field. Within minutes, the parents are shouting at the kids about what to do. The umpires are discussing calls while fielding angry accusations from the parents. The kids are given strategies, commands, and nice jerseys. They are brought together for practices and out-of-town tournaments for the rest of the summer. Their style of play is no longer their decision. In fact, it hardly feels like play at all.

That’s what we’ve done to the domain of youth sports. We’ve pressurized it. We took what the kids did for fun, and turned it into a fierce competition that prioritizes winning. We’ve made a terrible reversal between competition and fun.

Competition is integral to the human condition. When we lived as hunter-gatherers, it was vital. Winning resources from other groups meant higher odds of survival. Today, in our industrialized world with grocery stores and office jobs, we still have that same brain, with that same drive. Games are a great way to scratch that competitive itch. It’s what makes striving to beat your friends in a little game of baseball fun. Competition is the means, fun is the end. This is what we reversed. We hijacked what our children did for fun, and turned it into a means by which we get them to win a competition. Only, we’re figuring out that it isn’t very fun at all. I see children confused, scared, sometimes crying as their dads and coaches yell at them to do better.

My mom often tells a story of my brother’s championship baseball game when he was 8 years old. We were all packed into the bleachers, shouting, cheering, aching for the win that was just a few pitches from becoming a reality. My cousin, seven years old at the time, had been off running around with other children in the park, and walked up to ask my mom what all the hoopla was for.

Mom: “They’re about to win the championship!”

Cousin: “Oh! What happens if they win?”

Mom: …

It was a poignant reminder of the hysteria that was occurring. There would be no contract extensions, no boost in tourism, no million dollar bonuses if they got the win. They will have simply played another baseball game. I don’t mean to rain on the parade. I was there, and it was genuine fun to watch my brother and his friends win a hard-fought league championship. They had a celebratory team cookout the following week, and all seemed quite happy with the newfound praise that came with their champion status. My point in telling this story is to remember that it doesn’t actually matter if the kids do well. They can have a team party for the heck of it. We can be happy and have genuine fun simply because the kids got to play a tight game of baseball with their friends. That alone is a beautiful thing. The kids are there for the fun, not the competition. When we yell and freak and gripe, we are convincing them of the opposite.

Some might say that children need the guidance of adults and the long days of practice to develop a good work ethic. However, I argue that childhood sports are not the time to teach grit and work ethic. That can come in the home, perhaps by having children do chores to earn an allowance. Let play time be play time. That’s their chance to have fun with their peers and learn valuable skills in an unstructured, unsupervised manner. A childhood development group in Minnesota puts it this way: “Unstructured play encourages social skills and teamwork. Children take turns, learn to listen and share, develop imaginary scenarios and make decisions together. Because they are the ones driving play, they have the chance to learn on their own among friends.” Of course, another unfortunate reality is that some of these angry parents are mad at their child’s poor performance because they tie their own self-worth, and that of their child’s, to how well the child performs in a game. It’s a hit to their ego when their kid can’t play like the superstar kid. So, they publicly take out their frustration on the only one they can think of: their child. This is a deeper problem that takes a serious reflection of one’s values… a concerted look inward. A good way to analyze yourself is to ask yourself questions, and force yourself to answer. Here’s a guide with some thought-provoking example questions.

I have one last glaringly obvious critique for all the tournaments, practice, pressure, money, and time spent: it isn’t worthwhile. Depending on the sport, kids have a low to extremely low chance of playing a sport in college. Since we’re talking about baseball, we’ll highlight those numbers: High school baseball players currently have an 8.1% chance of playing in college. The odds of that being a D1 school shrink to 2.4%. The odds of those select few college players going pro? 5.1%. Do you see what I mean? High school athletes have a 0.04% chance of going pro. Imagine how low that percentage is among 9-year olds.

We’re ruining our children’s precious play time for a reality that will almost certainly never come to pass (assuming the kid even wants to continue playing). Why else would we put so much time and energy into a sport, unless it meant that they might one say get a free college education or a payday?

I’m not advocating for the removal of organized youth sports. In the age of the iPad kid, they’re a great way to make sure kids get valuable outdoor time with friends and learn to get along with each other. It also helps organize games for kids who live in cities dominated by highways, who can’t simply walk around their neighborhood and strike up a game with their friends (like how I snuck in a critique of suburban sprawl?).

I’m advocating for a youth sports where we, as the adults, cool off a little bit. Just let the kids have fun. I promise they won’t be as upset about the call at home plate if their parents laugh it off and abstain from screaming at the 23-year-old umpire earning minimum wage.

Competition is the means, not the end. Let the kids play.