Lyons Mirror-Sun
September 6, 2007
David Friedli
The Center of Attention
I have a new-found appreciation for the parents of certain athletes. To be sure, every parent experiences a mixture of pride and anxiety when he watches his child participate in sports.
No one wants to see a young person fail, especially in the sports arena where every move of a participant is observed, critiqued, applauded or chastised.
A recent television program counted down what the co-hosts referred to as the top 50 blunders in sports.
Of course, the cable-based show had a name for the list that should not be repeated in a family newspaper.
At the center of every blunder, there was one person.
Most of the athletic plays shown were from professional sports, and after all, these folks are paid to get it right.
But those players are somebody’s children. And there they were, standing in the spotlight when it all came apart in the middle of an athletic contest.
Every eye on them. Every critical, analyzing, anybody could do it right but them, Monday-morning quarterbacking eye.
I understand it now.
This past summer, we sat behind the baseball backstop and watched as all eyes focused on No. 55.
No. 55 is my kid. Until this year, folks might be drawn to watch him if a ball made it off a Little League bat into the outfield or a couple times a game when he got up to bat.
This year, No. 55 found himself in the spotlight as a mid-inning pitcher for his team. Every pitch, every spectator’s eye.
“Under pressure, raining down on me,” sang the supergroup, Queen.
We know it. We can feel it.
When the pitches were in the strike zone, the feeling was exhilarating. When the throws became wild and the hits became frequent, the stress extended from the pitching rubber to the splintering benches behind home plate.
Now I know. Certain sports positions get the spotlight. Baseball pitchers. Football quarterbacks. Soccer goalies.
When the performance is good, it is the limelight. When things go poorly, the spotlight becomes car headlights bearing down on soon-to-be road kill.
It might have been coincidence, but the parents of the three pitchers on the team seemed to end up in a small group at nearly every game.
There was an unspoken game etiquette among pitcher-parents: if he’s pitching well, lots of conversation. If not, only the quiet munching of stale popcorn and the cracking of roasted sunflower seeds broke the silence.
It’s tough to know all eyes watching your boy. But there he is, the center of attention.
Hats off to the athlete willing to step into such a role. And my support to the parents who know the pride and the pressure.