Confessions of a Netball Dad: What I learned from writing about my daughter’s toxic school

Illustration / Rod Emmerson

Opinion

OPINION

Writing Confessions of a Netball Dad has been cathartic, but not in the way most would assume.

Despite what some people have obviously thought, the series was never about venting, or attempting to find some kind of closure or solace.

It was never about unleashing the bitterness, for the simple reason there was no bitterness to unleash.

This was the point some readers apparently failed to grasp, as there were sporadic comments saying “this guy needing to get over himself” or “he is the pushy parent he writes about, but doesn’t realise that he’s one”.

Some readers, not many, also felt I was guilty of having unrealistic expectations for my daughter and wrongly believed she was a much better player than she was.

For those who misunderstood or misinterpreted, Confessions of a Netball Dad was written to share an experience I suspect many parents would be able to relate to, having endured something similar themselves.

And while my focus was on netball, I knew some of the toxic practices I recounted would be equally prevalent in many other sports.

It seemed I was right, as most of the feedback came from parents who had endured similar sporting experiences with their child or children and were relieved and perhaps vindicated to learn they weren’t alone, nor had they been paranoid or delusional to have wondered whether the system was rigged and seemingly only accessible to those gifted a magic code.

To find a community of like-minded souls was cathartic, and it was gratifying that most readers worked out that I didn’t care that my daughter never played for the top team, but I did care that she, and many other kids just like her, were never afforded a fair chance to do so.

It was the injustice of the process rather than the outcome that troubled me.

To be clear, I am not angst-ridden or angered about the toxicity that pervaded the netball programme at my daughter’s school.

I am not mad or even sad that she never got picked to play in the Premier team, and I never harboured dreams of her being a Silver Fern.

All I ever wanted was for the selection and development system to be free of artificial manipulation and ego, and to be run as a genuine meritocracy.

A system that didn’t give 14-year-olds fancy kits that set them apart from their peers and somehow served as licence of entitlement.

A system that enabled late developers to be noticed and promoted: a system that didn’t wrongly and strangely protect those students who were first tagged as probable stars, and a system that considered character and conduct as much as it did talent.

If the trial at my daughter’s school had been run as a real trial, and the coaches had taken a proper look at her and said they didn’t think she was a Premier player – then no problem.

But when it’s obvious to everyone – kids and parents alike – the coaches have favourites, pre-determined views on who they want and don’t want, and are willing to condone or turn a blind eye to all sorts of terrible behaviour from their chosen group and remain entirely inflexible in their thinking, then as a parent, you can’t help but feel frustration at the stupidity and needlessness of it all.

This is maybe because most parents with teenagers lived in simpler, less pressurised times, when school sport wasn’t obsessed with finding and nurturing elite athletes and over-emphasising the importance of winning.

It was a more innocent age 30-plus years ago, when no one, bar the obviously brilliant, was on a pathway to playing professionally or harbouring thoughts that sport might be a career option.

There were no coaches or so-called directors of sport either, hoping that if they could produce a winning school team, they too would be noticed and invited into the big leagues.

People played because it was fun. It was where you got to challenge yourself in different ways and forge closer bonds or friendships with both the people you played with and against.

If you won, it was a bonus, but often some of the best memories came in defeat – little moments of pressure bringing out the best in teammates to provide a shared experience that could last a lifetime.

And really, Confessions of a Netball Dad was a lament for that lost innocence, and a plea for the clock to be wound back so that kids across New Zealand could experience school sport as it should be.

There are now several extensive and highly credible reports that have been published, all of which say school sports programmes have been professionalised to far too great an extent, both in their intensity and the number of children they try to capture.

The research suggests 90 per cent of kids want to play sport for fun and to be with their friends, and yet this cohort if not catered for.

Instead, far too many kids (and their parents), many of whom have precisely zero chances of making it as professional athletes, are conned into believing they are on a pathway, forced into specialising in one sport far too young and take it much too seriously.

The maddening thing is that the children say what it is that they want, what matters to them, but the adults don’t listen.

And this is primarily, almost exclusively the problem with school sport, and certainly what marred my whole experience with netball - it has been warped by wildly ambitious, pushy and frankly deluded parents who interfere in matters they shouldn’t and condone poor behaviour from their children under the broad and unjustifiable basis that life is a jungle and they need to be ruthlessly competitive to get what they deserve.

Ultimately, too many parents think winning is so important and defining that the end always justifies the means.

I found it insightful and vindicating that some comments attached to the series suggested that the writing was imbalanced because when my daughter wasn’t picked for the top team, I needed to march down to the school and inquire with the coach as to why not.

These people I’m sure were offering this up as the solution, not realising this sort of behaviour is precisely the problem.

Firstly, my daughter would have been mortified if I had done that. Secondly, how would that question be framed without it sounding aggressive or threatening?

Thirdly, I had compelling evidence they hadn’t even looked at her during the trial, and so what advice could they possibly proffer?

Fourthly, I would have no idea where to find the head of netball. Fifthly, neither me nor my daughter cared about the outcome, only the charade which was the process.

Sixthly, I knew already why she wasn’t in the team – the trial was a sham and the whole process of selecting kids is a rort, so I didn’t need an answer.

Finally, I’m a grown adult, with more important things to worry about than what team my daughter plays netball for.

My last observation as Netball Dad is aimed at my daughter’s former school and the many others that I suspect are just like it - to compel them to make changes, to stop pandering to pushy parents, to run fair trials and reset as inclusive, fair and fun.

Also, let kids play multiple sports and not hold them hostage to just one, and who knows - maybe if the adults in the room could just be adults, this whole sorry mess could be cleaned up.