Dear Soccer Mom,

Dear Soccer Mom,

You are the worst.

Admittedly, we are not “Soccer People.”

We are new to this whole world of soccer and we are not impressed.

Mr. Gaga was an all-star athlete. He was drafted.  He once led NY State in hitting a baseball.

He and his parents never behaved like you maniacs.

The irony is not lost on me that the term “Soccer Mom” refers to a middle-class suburban woman who spends a significant amount of her time transporting her school-age children to their youth sporting events or other activities.  But take note, it’s not called a “Baseball mom.” It’s not called a “Gymnastics mom.”  It’s not even a “Football Mom.”

Now I understand why America has chosen the term “soccer” as the preface for the douchiest moms in the US.

Is it perhaps because soccer people are the douchiest on the planet?

It started with the “try-out.”

I stood in the pouring rain so that my son could “try-out” for your precious travel team.  We all stood on the sidelines ruining our shoes in the mud while our children danced around with soccer balls in a Nor’easter.


I’m assuming that tryout wasn’t rained out – because “real” soccer players aren’t afraid of a little rain.

I peered out for 2 hours watching my child try his best despite the weather, and saw that not ONE person who was in charge of “accessing the children” even looked his way.  Nobody even had a clipboard or a pen – to pretend as though they were taking notes.  I am assuming this is because the teams were already chosen, and this so-called “try-out” was a farce.

The soccer “try-out” is just a technicality that has to be performed to pacify the masses.

I know you “Soccer Moms” who have an “in” are happy to stand in the rain and cheer for your children – but we aren’t fucking stupid.  We know that this is a bunch of political bullshit.

At the end of all of this “pretend trying out,” the “coaches” called all of the parents and children onto the field.

A man who apparently believes himself to be Lionel Messi, declared that he only wanted “soccer players.” He shouted out to the crowd, “If you love baseball, then play baseball! I only want soccer players!”

What a fucking dick.

These children are 9.

This is not Argentina.

Calm down.

When I got into my car with my sweaty, muddy child, I turned to him and broke the news.

“You will not make the travel team.” I said calmly as we pulled away from the field.

“Why not?” he demanded.  He had played his heart out.  He was bigger and stronger and faster than many of the children that were playing.

“You won’t make it – because not one “coach” even looked your way for 2 solid hours.”

He couldn’t understand and nor could I explain or rationalize the behavior of grown-ass adults pretending that they are recruiting players for the World Cup – when in fact they are washed up old men in suburban Connecticut looking at 9 and 10-year-old soccer players.

We moved forward and signed up for our town “rec” league.

Here we were met with less intense and somewhat more coddling and bizarre behaviors.

I received an email request from the “Team Mom” for cut-up oranges at half-time.  I had to put down my pizza and vodka to die with laughter.


I’m sorry – are the children going to get scurvy from all of this ball dribbling?

Is it because they ran 30 yards a couple of times in the fresh air of Connecticut?  Are they going to die? Are they going to throw up?

Are they going to be sad??

I mean – if I am being completely honest –

Unless Johnny Depp has come and held my child hostage for a significant amount of time on some sort of pirate ship – I ain’t cutting up any citrus fruits…..

This child needs oranges...this child is in some deep shit......
This child needs oranges for sure…this child is in some deep shit.

Fuck off.

I am not cutting an orange…..



Maybe…..I will fill a water bottle for my child.

Maybe…..I will remember it and not leave it on the kitchen counter.

That’s the best we can hope for.

Did you also know that of all of the varsity highschool players in the US – less than 10 percent of them will get a soccer scholarship?

Do you think that your little angel is going to be one of those 8 percenters?

Keep cutting up those oranges!! You might make it happen with vitamin C alone!!

In closing,  I am happy that I am not a “soccer mom.”  I am happy that there are women like you who seem to enjoy this role.

And thank you for making it very clear to all of us - what your actual identity case we missed your
And thank you for making it very clear to all of us – what your actual identity is…in case we missed your “Cut-up oranges email.”

Thank you.

Yours truly,

Lady Goo Goo Gaga


2 thoughts on “Dear Soccer Mom,

  1. Love everything about this post. But I’m sorry I cannot share to my Facebook, unlike you, I’m not anonymous and this is so many of my friends :)

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