Before the critiques come back about critiquing a stereotype, let me offer the caveats that one of my kids was accepted to several NESCACs within the past few years and I know what I'm going to write doesn't apply to everyone. But these people do exist... I've met them ...the ones with "feral ambition." They scratch and claw their way to what they view as the promised land....the elusive and priceless (meaning at any price) NESCAC "tip." They'll do DAP and/or ISL and/or a PG year to get there. They'll constantly press against the seams of what is ethical to get there. They'll make videos, and send emails and make phone calls (sometimes to people you wouldn't believe), and cajole their way however to get there. They will obsess about the goal 24 hours a day, with a keen eye on perceived competition and making sure to badmouth the competition with painstaking and creative fervor. Plenty of parents are coming up the ranks, calculating their moves and waiting for their turn to go after the "tip." Go to the threads about U13, U14, and U16 teams and you'll find them, a voracious hunger fueling their drive to an entitled destination.
And what for? To play D3 soccer? Let's say that the competitive level is good. But even conceding that, we aren't talking about Michigan vs. Ohio State at the old Horseshoe. This is more akin to highly competitive games of croquet on lawns of the Kennedy compound on the Cape or the Bush estate at Kennebunkport, after which we open up the Heinekens or the Bordeaux. These are little matches among elite friends... the parents with their lattes thrilled to watch their boys and girls play in such an exclusive and well-manicured neighborhood, with Dad wearing a school cap and proud of his rear window decal. Going against good old rival Middlebury or Bowdoin or Trinity which have some old club-mates with their own proud parents with whom you can bask in a mirrored glow. Could there ever be a better day one could imagine than a NESCAC doubleheader perhaps smack in the middle of Harvard Yard?
They need the "tip" to regulate their narcissistic equilibrium... insulin for being so easily bruised... the ego that can find a slight walking one block down the street, or in one mention or one lack of mention, or mis-mention... or some unexplained and unexplainable 10 minute block of lost playing time. It doesn't work to say you went for the "tip" so your kid could play soccer, because there are plenty of schools where your kid could do that. You want him to play at a certain school, a school good enough to let you sleep at night as you sweat and cringe and stew about your imagined foes. And it's not because of the outstanding education, or the diversity, or the incredible opportunities to grow as a human being. You only want to tell us about the company your kid keeps, the ultra-rich friends inviting her to Southampton or the Vineyard... and how your kid will be making at least a quarter mil within 5 years of graduation from dear NESCAC-ville.
And where is the kid in all this? The kid is simply the instrument, the vessel to fulfill Mom and Dad's needs. We won't even think about what is best for him or what he really wants, because we decided that a long, long time ago. That was decided so long ago you can't even remember why you decided what you decided. It's just what you want and need, period. And, besides, why wouldn't the kid go along. After all, it sounds pretty cool to say that you're playing soccer on the oh-so-green lawn of a grand old NESCAC.
And really, wouldn't these schools be more noble and worthy without "tips"? The percentages of "athletes" on these campuses is a sham and a shame, a blight on the colleges' Latin seals.
And what for? To play D3 soccer? Let's say that the competitive level is good. But even conceding that, we aren't talking about Michigan vs. Ohio State at the old Horseshoe. This is more akin to highly competitive games of croquet on lawns of the Kennedy compound on the Cape or the Bush estate at Kennebunkport, after which we open up the Heinekens or the Bordeaux. These are little matches among elite friends... the parents with their lattes thrilled to watch their boys and girls play in such an exclusive and well-manicured neighborhood, with Dad wearing a school cap and proud of his rear window decal. Going against good old rival Middlebury or Bowdoin or Trinity which have some old club-mates with their own proud parents with whom you can bask in a mirrored glow. Could there ever be a better day one could imagine than a NESCAC doubleheader perhaps smack in the middle of Harvard Yard?
They need the "tip" to regulate their narcissistic equilibrium... insulin for being so easily bruised... the ego that can find a slight walking one block down the street, or in one mention or one lack of mention, or mis-mention... or some unexplained and unexplainable 10 minute block of lost playing time. It doesn't work to say you went for the "tip" so your kid could play soccer, because there are plenty of schools where your kid could do that. You want him to play at a certain school, a school good enough to let you sleep at night as you sweat and cringe and stew about your imagined foes. And it's not because of the outstanding education, or the diversity, or the incredible opportunities to grow as a human being. You only want to tell us about the company your kid keeps, the ultra-rich friends inviting her to Southampton or the Vineyard... and how your kid will be making at least a quarter mil within 5 years of graduation from dear NESCAC-ville.
And where is the kid in all this? The kid is simply the instrument, the vessel to fulfill Mom and Dad's needs. We won't even think about what is best for him or what he really wants, because we decided that a long, long time ago. That was decided so long ago you can't even remember why you decided what you decided. It's just what you want and need, period. And, besides, why wouldn't the kid go along. After all, it sounds pretty cool to say that you're playing soccer on the oh-so-green lawn of a grand old NESCAC.
And really, wouldn't these schools be more noble and worthy without "tips"? The percentages of "athletes" on these campuses is a sham and a shame, a blight on the colleges' Latin seals.
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