As a rugby head I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a paradigm shift when my sons decided to embrace the round ball.
Thing is, the most alarming cultural change proved not to be the shape of the ball, but the sideline ethos.
During the ensuing years in the local junior club grade the demeanour of supporters and the odd-coach was at times barbarous. On Saturday mornings the "beautiful game's" frosty tramlines were peppered with some of those hell-bent on firing barbs at the man holding the whistle.
One intense parent made a habit of pacing the chalklines baying like a bulling heifer.
It was a far cry from the gentrified sidelines of my rugby youth, where refs were, bar the odd exception, sacrosanct. Back on the soccer scene my sons were beginning to blame the ref for any defeat. The unremitting din from the sideline was having an effect.