Go, Go, Goooo-------- Nooo—the other way!

That was the best parental instruction I heard at a recent Mite Tournament/Jamboree. Whoever determined to label these events jamborees, did their grammatical homework. Webster defines them as; a large celebration or party, typically a lavish and boisterous one.

They most certainly resemble a party and taking in one of these events is, for the most part, good for your hockey soul. It helps you remember where they all start and just how challenging a journey it can be for both players and parents.

For many this may be the first time the scoreboard is turned on and that alone brings a different vibe.
Unlike a few years down the road, when the score will fuel the emotional temperature, these mites aren’t yet slaves to the scoreboard. Yet their body language tells you they understand it matters.  

When that door opens some bolt onto the ice like the running of the bulls with no regard for anything in their path and others carefully venture out as if they aren’t certain the ice is thick enough. When the puck drops their worlds collide and with a steady soundtrack of boisterous instructions from the parent choir, the chase begins. Like English Foxhounds they pursue the puck and when they retrieve it, escape with it like a thief. 

Not all will partake in the hunt, some will be mere observers seemingly distracted by anything and everything. They might even stop to wave at grandma and grandpa. While some will zip around the ice like water bugs, others will be in seventh heaven, calmly enjoying their ninety-seconds of newfound fame. And if they are happy to be there, both should be acceptable.

You will witness both choreographed and humble goals celebrations. Often the execution of the “celly” is more challenging and entertaining than the actual goal. Watching the goalies, some putting on the gear for the first time, is equally entertaining. You think you have figured out how to skate? Let’s try it with a couple of couch cushions strapped to your legs. It’s like watching Terry Sawchuk from the sixties wandering away from the net and sprawling on the ice to stop pucks.   

I was reminded that one of the first lessons to be taught to these young gladiators is, not to lay on the ice. It sends that shivering emotion through parents that is unavoidable. While my trained eye knows 99% of these mite mishaps are harmless, young moms are about to go into cardiac arrest. I always told my players, if you can get up, then do it!

Like the mighty mites themselves, many parents are learning the ropes of youth hockey. Even at the mite level, this is a contact sport, especially when stopping for some is still just an idea. There will be collisions, some might look like or actually be body checks. Don’t lose your mind and pick a fight with someone’s grandmother over it. In the end all the kids will brush their gloves, albeit left-handed as they file past each other in the time-honored handshake line. The coaches are clearly more confused by this than the players.

Overall, the behavior of these mite mobs is exemplary. Their enthusiasm is genuine and entertaining. Win, lose or draw the majority get a high five, a hug and a Gatorade after each game. It seems only a large double-digit loss can temper the post-game mood. It is a scenario that plagues youth sports at all levels. The fix at this level is found in a four-letter word—pass. Conservatively, 98% of all goals are unassisted and often scored by one or two “advanced” players. Learning to set up a few of their teammates would be a great lesson to introduce when it is 12-0.

This may be a selfish observation, but I never hear anybody yelling at the coaches or scheming to get them fired, if you can indeed be fired from a volunteer job. Instead, there are lots of pats on the back, handshakes and gratitude following these pint-sized parties on ice. Then again, the majority is not yet obsessed with winning and everybody gets exactly the same amount of ice time—so that makes sense. 

What a different and less desirable look all of this can have ten years later.

As I watched my grandson’s final game on a Sunday afternoon, I was sadly reminded of how we can get to that toxic stage down the road. I stood along the boards next to a dad whose son we will call Will. Dad’s theatrics made it impossible for me not to know exactly which mite was his son. As if he was hooked up to some jumper cables, he became electrified each time Will touched the puck or made a mistake. His intense stare and rigid body language was intimidating even to me: clenched fists and shadow punches at the glass, turning away and pacing and a constant dialog under his breath. You would have thought the Stanley Cup was on the line. As Will spun past the glass, he often looked his dad’s way, not for a friendly glance, but for approval or some hand signal instructions. 

This was a car wreck I couldn’t look away from. I fought every urge to confront Will’s dad fearing it could escalate into a regrettable incident. He didn’t strike me as someone who would take my advice well. I just wanted him to know how ridiculous and destructive this behavior was and where it will most likely lead. I have seen this movie too many times. 

Will’s team won the game, thankfully. I can only imagine what it looks like when his team loses.

As bad as I feel for Will’s hockey future, I feel equally awful about what his dad’s journey will look like. If you cannot find relaxation and enjoyment at a mite tournament, the road ahead will be a wagon trail of frustration and disappointment. The good, the bad and the ugly of youth sports, much like our society, are deeply ingrained in our parenting skills, or lack thereof. 

I know my words can’t solve this tragedy, but if one Will’s dad reads this and realizes his mistake, and mends his ways, it will have been well worth my time.  

My mightiest observation—don’t be like Will’s dad.

Dan Bauer is a free-lance writer, retired teacher & hockey coach in Wausau, WI. You can contact him at drbauer13@gmail.com.