The University of Idaho Argonaut

When there were snacks after games, team parties at arcades, and car pools from practice with the weird mom; when coaches played everyone — even the kid who’d rather pick his nose on the bench than catch fly balls in the outfield — memories were made.
The days of youth sports should be laughed about, remembered and treasured.
I watched Moscow’s seventh grade football game to see a friend coach, and it sent me way back in time.

Each kid reminded me of a character from my youth football team — and we had some characters.
There was the chubby kid who forgot everything. He’d forget the game time, his shoes or his jersey. He forgot his helmet and had to wear another player’s along with the kid’s mouth guard. He had a hard life at home and hit you even harder.
Another kid was in and out of juvenile detention and every year we wondered if he’d come back. Somehow he always did, always smiling but always breaking and entering. He scared us and he’d fight kids at recess but we loved him. He was our stud linebacker.
We had a kid with a rat tail haircut whose pads and helmet were bigger than his body. His knee

 pads touched the top of his shoes and his mouth guard made him drool a little but he was lightning fast.
Our offensive tackle was as skinny as a line on the field, and our quarterback barely made weight, but when dad’s the coach, you’re a Heisman hopeful.
Our defensive backs ran from ball carriers and our offensive yardage looked like a professional golf score.

We were a team of leftovers. Misfit kids from all over town who’d never played, signed up late or whose parents forgot it was football season. We sucked, but we loved the game.
Before practice even started, someone wound up hurt or missing. A bee sting sidelined a starter and the head coach even sat out a practice after our center snapped the ball to his groin.

If it wasn’t injuries, it was illness, especially the Western Idaho Fair epidemic. No matter how many times coaches told us, kids showed up to practice bellies full of corn dogs and funnel cakes. Wind sprints and cotton candy mix like oil and water.
Practice was a parent’s daycare provider rather than a player’s job, and the teammates made it memorable. Even if they scored goals on themselves or struck out in tee-ball, everyone played youth sports.

There weren’t any weights, summer workouts or film studies because getting a jersey was the most important part of the season.
It doesn’t matter if the crowd consists of a few parents, a grandma from the Midwest and an older sister who’d rather be anywhere else. Kids feel like heroes on the field. Michael Jordan tongue impressions and pretend touchdown celebrations were more important than a team’s record.

Hopes were high every game and if you won, your smelly uniform stayed on all day.
If you didn’t win? It was nothing a Sunny Delight and Rice Krispie treat couldn’t fix.