Don’t Be an A-Hole Sports Parent, The Bible Tells Me So

I honestly didn’t know I was an a-hole about kids sports until I was driving my family home from a little league game, two of my kids in the backseat crying because my attitude had completely robbed them of the joy of America’s pastime.

This is my story of how I realized I was an a-hole, and what I’ve been doing to become less of one.

I never set out to be this way. I never yelled at umpires. I never berated my kids from the sidelines. I never threw tantrums about playing time. Compared to the unhinged videos I see on my Instagram feed, of parents arguing with coaches and throwing punches at umpires, I was one of the good guys.

That’s the most insidious type of a-hole: the one that's in denial. But that Saturday afternoon, with kids crying eye-black off their dusty faces, I got the message loud and clear. I’d been making their sports about me, hyperfocused on outcomes, talking much more than I listened. A lot of things needed to change, and quickly, or my family wasn’t going to make it to the end-of-season pool party.

Believe it or not, I found help in the Bible. The old book actually uses sports metaphors to describe a life of faith, and athletes have long found inspiration in its wisdom. But what about the moms and dads left to watch the outcome from the sidelines? I had no clue spectating would be this challenging.

Below are four lessons, straight from the pages of the Bible, that God impressed on me to help wring the a-hole sports parent out of my system. Good news: It’s working.

While we hit a low point halfway through, I’m pleased to say that not only did all three of my kids complete their first season of baseball and softball—they’re actually excited to keep playing, improving, and advancing.

Here’s what I had to change about myself to help my kids go from crying in the backseat to finishing the season strong:.

1) Listen Before You Teach

Our baseball low-point came after a particularly long, and hot, game where—from my vantage point—both my boys were incredibly distracted. They were unfocused in the outfield. They messed with their necklaces (every self-respecting baseball player has a chain) in between batters. They missed plays because their minds were obviously somewhere else. They watched strike after strike come across the plate without even swinging.

I knew they were better than this. And I was furious that they weren’t even attempting to try.

The first three years of our baseball journey, we played in a junior league. It was financially affordable, but by the end of our tenure there, we’d long stopped being challenged by it. After our third season learning the fundamentals, my kids were begging me for a change. “Can we please play real baseball next year?”

We found a league near our home. It cost quite a bit more money, but it had everything they were asking for—kid pitch, live ball rules, and a much higher level of difficulty. Despite the comfort we had at the junior league, we made the move.

My kids did what most of us do when faced with a new challenge—they wilted underneath it. Although they dominated the junior league, on their new teams my kids struggled with all aspects of the game, from hitting, to defense, to hustle.

I didn’t expect them to be all-stars, but I knew they were better than this. After the game, we had a come-to-Jesus-meeting on the way home. Meaning, I sternly reminded them of the sacrifices our family was making so they could play baseball—the higher price, two-times the amount of practices and three-times the amount of games, the longer season, and better gear.

I grew up the son of a small-town pastor, so I know how to preach when the need arises… and I was crafting a sermon for the ages. That’s when the sniffles started. I opened my mouth to keep going when God sent a verse into the forefront of my mind. It shut me up quicker than a Randy Johnson fastball.

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” - James 1:19

Yikes. I had failed at all three.

We sat in silence the rest of the way home, where, with all of us calmed down, I was able to patch things up with the boys. Through red eyes, they explained that they were trying their best, but the transition to the higher league had been hard. And I had to admit, playing right field in a kids’ league is a lesson in patience. It’s pretty boring out there.

I can’t take credit for what happened next. I honestly think God dropped it in my lap. But after their next game, we started a new tradition—a post-game review.

No matter how good, or poorly, our kids perform in the game, our conversation topics on the ride home are always the same:

1. What are you proud of today?
2. Where can you improve next time?
3. What did you learn about the game today?

Instead of a post-game conversation where dad explains everything they did wrong on the field (as well-meaning as I was), these questions open up conversations that help all of us grow.

After poor games, these talking points encourage the kids to find something about their performance to celebrate, and after their best games, it reminds them that we’re always trying to improve.

These questions have unlocked incredible conversations in the car, and they’ve led to real improvement on the field—because when a kid identifies where they’re doing great, and where they can improve, it produces an ownership that “dad-pointing-out-their-mistakes” never can.

This is first on the list, because, more than anything else, taking an approach of listening after the games, instead of teaching, changed our family’s attitude toward the rest of the season. Even more important than the jersey they wear on the field, my kids are part of our family team. And these conversations build all of us up.

Small tweak, big results—even better than a fresh pack of Big League Chew.

2) Let The Coaches Coach

From our post-game reviews, I learned something I never knew before: one of my boys doesn’t like being coached from the sidelines. Meaning, it was utterly confusing to him to have both his baseball coach, and his parents, shouting instructions at him at the same time. It was too much to take in.

That’s not to say that we can’t cheer him on—but active coaching from me (“Lift your elbow!” or “Keep your feet still!” or “Start your swing earlier!”) would get muddled with the coaching of his, you know, actual coach.

In the book of Romans, early church planter Paul encourages believers living under the thumb of the empire to “be subject to the governing authorities” and to “pay to all what is owed to them: … respect to whom respect is owed, honor to whom honor is owed.” (Romans 13:1,7)

This passage of Scripture is often co-opted for political use, but God was teaching me a much harder lesson—give respect to the man spending his time to help your boys become better baseball players. Whether I agree with his calls or not, on the baseball diamond, he is the authority. My sideline coaching was undercutting his ability to invest in, teach, and lead my boys.

So I had to shut my yapper… or, at least, change the words that came out of it. Which leads us to lesson No. 3.

(While we’re at, this respect for authority has to also extend to the umpires too. Don’t argue calls, it makes you look like an a-hole.)

3) Identity > Outcome

At my worst as a sports parent, I was hyper-fixated on the outcomes of the game—did my kids get a hit, run through first base, and keep the ball in front of them on a hard line drive to third?

Of course, a baseball game, like any other sport, is determined by these outcomes. But this season, I realized that baseball is about so much more than batting averages or wins and losses. It’s about forming an identity inside my kids.

When they dust themselves off after getting hit by a pitch, that’s more important than getting to first base. When they keep swinging the bat, even though they’re terrified of the pitcher’s fastball, they’re building endurance. When they shake off a defensive mistake without spiraling into an existential hole, they’ve built mental muscles that will serve them for the rest of their life.

Halfway through this year, instead of focusing on the outcome, you could hear me from the sidelines trying to pump up my kids’ identities:

“You’re a hitter, bud, you can do it! ” “Way to be a fielder, sis!” “You’re a runner, way to steal!” “Shake it off, bub, you’re a baseball player!”

Again, not an idea original to me. It’s taken from Scripture’s mandate for all of us to be aware of the words coming out of our mouths:

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.” - Ephesians 4:29

It’s a small tweak to go from “Let’s go, get a hit” to “You’re a hitter,” but the difference is miles apart. One focuses on what a kid can do, the other speaks to who they are becoming. Even if they don’t get a hit (everyone strikes out from time to time), what they heard from the sidelines was their dad believing in them, even if they didn’t believe in themselves.

That’s more valuable than any 11U win-loss record.

4) A-Holes Steal The Fun

Your kids are probably not going to go pro in their sport. Don’t blame me, blame science. Studies show that much less than 1% of every kid who plays Little League baseball will ever sign a Major League Baseball contract—and for those that do, only a fraction will ever get playing time at the highest level. Take a deep breath. We’re supposed to be having fun, remember.

In his letter to the ancient church at Ephesus, Paul gave some advice that's been living rent-free in my head this baseball season:

“Fathers, do not exasperate your children.” - Ephesians 6:4

You know who's not having fun? Kids who are exasperated. So even if my coaching is well-intentioned, even if my frustration feels justified, even if my kid drops every pop-up and goes 0-4 at the plate… sports are supposed to be fun.

Don’t be an a-hole about their failures or mistakes. Don’t get bent out of shape by their lack of playing time. If their effort is lackluster, talk to them about it, but understand it’s not the end of the world. Because that’s not how God treats you.

The day I made my kids cry, I was frustrated that their effort didn’t match the abilities that I knew they had. Later that night, thinking through the day, God (lovingly) hit me over the head with a (metaphorical) two-by-four.

“Your effort doesn’t match your abilities either, Caleb, and I’m patient with you.”

Gulp.

The Bible says that it’s God’s kindness that leads us to make positive changes in our life—not his disappointment, frustration, or back-seat lectures after baseball games. Maybe I should try to be more like Him.

Building a Better Me

At the end of the day, there are much bigger fish to fry than youth sports… and your fish are more likely to become CPAs or teachers, entrepreneurs or podcasters before they ever become professional athletes. Investing in the relationship for the long run matters so much more.

For me, that means becoming the kind of sports parent that listens before I teach; that lets the coaches do their job; that speaks about identity instead of outcomes; and that encourages my kids to have fun.

That’s how God is teaching me to be less of an a-hole. Maybe some of those lessons apply to you, maybe they don’t. The most important move you can make next is inviting God into the spaces where you feel most like an a-hole, and letting him gently do His work. Even though I don’t deserve it, I’ve found Him to be slow to anger, abounding in patience, kindness, and love.

The sports season is short, but your time as a parent is long. Keep your eye on the ball that matters most.

There’s no crying in baseball… and there don’t have to be as many a-holes, either.