“Jesus Christ Brandon! Kick the ball not the other kids!” Johnny yelled towards the boys on the field. He wondered why he let himself get talked into coaching his nephew’s soccer team. Watching a bunch of 7 yr olds running around trying to kick a ball was not how he liked to spend his Saturday afternoons. Some of the kids were funny to watch, some were little bastards, and some were just completely spastic. Certainly not Olympic material despite what their parents seemed to think. Regardless he had a few cold beers left in his cooler and the game was almost over.
“Sir! Mr. Coach! Whoever you are!” a shrill voice came from behind him.
Johnny turned to see a woman in her mid thirties wearing a typical Karen outfit and haircut gripping a big Starbucks cup in one hand and jangling her Mercedes SUV keys in the other. A large designer purse hung from her elbow.
“I’m Coach Johnny. What can I do for you?” Johnny said.
The woman looked Johnny up and down with a sneer on her face.
“You can start by telling me why my son isn’t out there playing soccer. This is a soccer team, isn’t it?” she asked angrily.