Aside from the rather annoying certainty that their child is the most gifted on the field, my main complaint with sports parents is that rather than remain rooted in the terra firma of academic emancipation, they begin tip-toeing in the celestial arena of athletic deliverance. The bar tends to drop as priorities shift. Excellence on the field is prized over excellence in the classroom. "B's" are satisfactory when "A's" had been previously been expected. Fathers encourage kids to watch game films rather than read books. It is often a subtle compromise and it was one I thought I was guarded against.

I began to suspect I might have slipped when my blood pressure rose during a scrimmage and my son, one of the better players on the team, didn't start. I sensed things might be more serious when in my daydreams I began hearing the faint chords of the Notre Dame Victory march. Or was it "The Victors," the song preferred by the Wolverines of Michigan? I had to pull over on the highway when I began humming out loud "fight on for ol SC.!" There was no doubt I had crossed over when I loaded a screen saver of LaDainian Tomlinson on their computer.