1-Year-Old Knows Her Blazers

Very sweet, particularly "Kobe sucks." Either Gabe's first word was "Tebow" -- or I have just convinced myself it was. (Either way, it was one of his FIRST words.)

Better Dad Than I Am

Logan Tebow Bradley. I tip my cap to you, sir.

The best I could manage with Kid No. 2 was a first name that anagrams to "J. Noah"

Source of Fandom: Ta-Nehisi Coates

One of my favorite political bloggers this year was The Atlantic's Ta-Nehisi Coates, who also happens to plug his sports fandom regularly. Here's a post from him today about how a kid from Baltimore became (and remains) a Cowboys fan. Think he'd appreciate my fandom-by-marriage?

-- D.S.

Best. Photo. Ever.

Yes, he's doing the Heisman pose.

This photo came when his grandma took him to the new Sports Museum of America on Monday for their Family Day.

The Heisman room was a highlight, but he also got to hold a Ken Griffey bat, try doing play-by-play of famous sports moments (not quite) and a ton of other stuff.

I have to say, the museum is amazing for kids -- and any sports-fan parent will love it, too.

On your next trip to NYC, I highly recommend it.

Deadspin Wishes Me Well Into Fatherhood

As only Deadspin can.

Jets Coach Names Son After Favre

I don't feel like my "Should I name my kid after Tim Tebow?" thing seems so ludicrous after finding out Jets coach Eric Mangini named his kid's middle name "Brett" -- after Brett Favre.

Lessons on Baby-Naming, Cont'd

Continuing yesterday's discussion of whether a tribute to Tim Tebow is appropriate for my pending baby's new name...

Here's another tip for naming your baby, inspired after one DS.com commenter suggested "Levi" -- not sure if he was serious or kidding. Here's the tip:

If a potential name is nominated and the first person you can think of who shares that name is a douchebag (ie, Levi Johnston), do NOT give your baby that name.

(Now, in 20 years, we may have forgotten all about the d'bag Levi. But for these next few months -- which is the only real time people care about a kid's name, just after they're born -- it's a millstone.)

This is especially true if, as a sports fan, you know a lot of athlete names. You will probably hear a name suggestion, think of a d'bag athlete and go: Oh, HELL NO.

(But there are probably several athletes who share the same name, at least one of whom you will like -- or feel neutral about, at the very least.)

-- D.S.

Yes, But Will Tebow Do The Circumcision?

Big announcement over at DanShanoff.com, with substantial implications for this site.

Wearing a Rivals' Colors

In a laundry crunch (and self-selected, presumably for the purple-and-gold picture of the Tiger on the front), Gabe wore an LSU T-shirt on Saturday, and I think I saw his mom visibly wince. I thought about taking a photo for posterity, then figured it was best left a haunting memory for her -- god forbid her family see it. (Needless to say, he will be back in his Percy Harvin jersey next Saturday for Tennessee.)

BallPark Baby Crib Bedding

My only question: Is the stadium accurately detailed? Because that would be amazing. (What? They only have Arkansas so far? Well, it *is* SEC, I guess...)

OK: This isn't nearly as bad as Team Baby. (Sheets will get poop or drool on them, but they won't rot your infant's brain when you force them on them.) But unless your entire room is created in a motif of "Razorback," you may muck things up a bit. Fun as a novelty gift, though, for sure.

Sorry for the lack of posts. (I mean, for god's sake, I took the kid to The Swamp two weeks ago and haven't even posted about it yet!)

I'm re-committing myself to one Varsity Dad post per day. Which should go over great, given that No. 2 is due in a month. (Bad news: Due-date is Florida-LSU game; good news: Tebow available for bris?)

(h/t: ModernDayDad from Babble's Droolicious)

Debbie Phelps and How To Raise a Great Kid

This blog is specifically NOT about raising athletes or youth-sports participation. It is about raising a great sports fan.

That said, some things transcend that mandate -- like hearing about how Debbie Phelps raised her son Michael Phelps.

(h/t Mark Hyman of Youth Sports Parents via Beacon Broadside, referred by Andrew Sullivan.)

The First Baseball Game

The first real, ticketed sports event is a big milestone for any Varsity Dad. A few Saturdays ago, the family braved a spotty NYC subway system to head out to Coney Island for a Cyclones game.

Coney Island alone is a pretty wacky place -- the stadium is almost an afterthought; compare that to going to Yankee Stadium or Shea, where everyone on the train with you is going to the game.

It was a 6 p.m. start. On its face, that would be problematic, given an 8 p.m. (at latest) bedtime for the kid. But I figured that we would only stay 3 innings anyway and get home by 8-ish.

Thought about an obligatory trip to the famous Totonno's on Neptune, but the train took us 90 minutes and we were a little late.

Considered scalping -- I have had good success at Cyclones games simply being handed free tickets outside the stadium. We got an offer for two freebies in the bleachers -- eh.

Went to the window, looking for seats behind the screen -- I am a nervous parent, generally, and I figured that would be nominally safer from being pelted with a foul ball.

Turns out that there were 2 seats available behind the screen. $16 each. ("How old is he?" "2." "Oh, he can enter free." I love minor-league baseball. Try that at a Mets game -- or Dan Zanes concert.)

Walk in the stadium at around 5:45, first stop: Cyclones store. I am obviously a complete sucker for the kid purchases -- I didn't think twice. They could have been twice the price -- what price "first baseball game paraphernalia?"

Cyclones T-shirt: $20 (yikes... for a toddler? I take it back about the price insensitivity) Cyclones hat: $12 (that's more like it...and he LOVES the hat).

The cliched "priceless" part came next: After grabbing hot dogs (me, V.M.) and Nathan's french fries (V.K.), we were on our way to our seats.

Dead-center behind home plate, the section only went 25 or 30 rows anyway (love minor-league baseball). But we kept walking down, down, down. Row A, Seats 1 and 2.

On the aisle, directly behind home plate, nothing in front of us but a flimsy screen, then about 10 yards of grass before the ump/catcher/batter combo. Oh, and no one in our row, so kid gets his own seat, between his mom and dad.

They were, without question, the finest seats I have ever had at a sporting event. Gabe will never, ever have better seats in his lifetime -- not sure if that is a good thing or bad thing, given that it was his first try. I think he now thinks this is how all sporting-event seats should be.

Couldn't really appreciate the seats as a fan: Between helping Gabe with his food, swiping his fingers out of the netting, helping him track the location of Sandy the Seagull (the Cyclones' mascot) and playing with the 2-year-old directly behind us, also at his first game -- there was little attention paid... not that I expected much.

As it happens, it was a wonderful night, hot but with an amazing breeze coming off the ocean nearby. We stayed for 3 innings. Again: Gabe was limited in his attention span, and it was a good hour of a trek home.

Before we left, I brought him over to Sandy the Seagull to say hi and maybe get a picture. Much like Randy in "A Christmas Story" when he approached Santa Claus, the mascot from a distance was much friendlier than the 6-foot-5 bird up close. Gabe sort of freaked. We left.

(But not before I took a turn at the throw-a-baseball-with-a-radar-gun set-up. I was sub-40 to start, slightly over 40 on Pitch 2 -- sensing an unnatural tweak in my shoulder, for my troubles -- then let Gabe throw Pitch 3. Or "throw," as it was. The guy gave Gabe the prize anyway, a soft Cyclones baseball -- perfect to go with our stadium giveaway for that night, a baseball with Billy Joel's face on it.)

All in all, I couldn't have asked for a better first experience. (What? You mean it shouldn't be about me?) It was so fun that we went back two weeks later -- this past Sunday -- with Gabe's grandparents, only to have the rain pour down. We didn't even bother entering the stadium; the Cyclones lost to the Staten Island Yankees anyway.)

For this first trip though, I couldn't have cared less who won or lost. It wasn't about that, at all.

-- D.S.

Sesame Street Season 39 Trailer!

What does it say that I appreciated and enjoyed this more than any movie trailer I have seen all year:

House Rules for College Football

Earnestly funny post about rules for Saturdays in the fall by a NC State-loving mom. Have to see what the Florida-loving Mom in my own house thinks of these. At a minimum, I know we have all sorts of additional DVR-related stuff in there. One benefit of the 2-year-old is that nap times on Saturdays work nicely with noon kickoffs... but complicates things in the 4th quarter. Those 3:30 SEC-on-CBS start-times are a lot more challenging. (h/t: Orson at EDSBS)

Declaration of Co-Dependence

For better or worse, this totally resonated.

Happy Father's Day Weekend

You would think that an occasion like Father's Day would basically be the biggest day of the year at a blog called "Varsity Dad."

Not quite!

I have been doing a ton of planning to ramp up this site soon -- but in the meantime, I wanted to wish all the dads out there the best Father's Day ever.

I'm on my third, and it's more fun than ever.

-- D.S.

Tom Farrey and "Game On": Varsity Mom Has Her Say

One Varsity Mom -- the one in my house -- took issue with two things in yesterday's post that launched from a review of Tom Farrey's fascinating new book, "Game On." I actually meant to cover them yesterday, but in my rush to get the post up, they were left out inadvertently.

Issue No. 1: This isn't about dads raising kids to play sports; moms are involved, too.

Absolutely! This is about parenting of young kids, and gender lines were obliterated years ago. In Tom Farrey's book, many of the examples of overwhelming sports-parenting are the moms. I would argue that in our case, Margery is far more attuned to high-pressure youth sports. That's a good segue...

Issue No. 2: High-pressure youth sports aren't all bad.

This is true, and I didn't mean to say otherwise. I was speaking in broad strokes. Obviously, there are some for whom high-pressure youth sports is a good thing.

Margery started swimming when she was 6 and by the time she was 8, she was fast-tracked into a super-development program that basically consumed her life for the next 10 years.

(After reading Farrey's book, it is obvious that what was "6" 25 years ago is now probably halved to 3-year-olds...or younger.)

Generally, she was able to find a balance between hyper-intense (Olympic-track) commitment and her schoolwork, her family and some semblance of a life (though I'm pretty sure she would concede that her life wasn't nearly the same as if she didn't have to wake up at 4:30 a.m. EVERY day).

But I would argue that she is probably a unique case: I know first-hand that she was raised by incredibly level-headed parents, who ensured that she had as much of a balance as was possible given her schedule and the expectations. Even then, they weren't entirely successful: You can be the best parent in the world -- and her parents are among them -- and you can get blindsided by a single-minded "elite-focused" coach. I don't meant to set up a competitive dynamic between parents and coach -- it should be coordinated and complementary -- but often that is how it plays out, and the parent isn't in a position to have the influence they would normally have, just as it is in the classroom or in any extracurricular activity.

And it is worth noting that as intensely as she trained and was into the sport and as high as her aspirations were, she eventually burnt out and left the sport before her senior year in college. I barely ever see her in a pool and it is never to actually swim. She doesn't particularly care when I bring up swimming-related news. I can't believe that isn't a function of her experience as a kid.

Now, she really wants to get Gabe in the pool, not because she wants him to swim competitively, but just because it was such a big part of her life growing up and I think she wants him to experience it for himself, too. (He doesn't have to worry about a life as a competitive swimmer: No. 1, half his genes are mine, and I'm a sloth; and No. 2, I'm busy at 4:30 a.m. writing a sports column, so I ain't taking him to practice.)

The bottom line is that (a) both parents are involved -- should be involved, HAVE to be involved -- in their kids' sports participation, whatever that might be, and (b) not all intense youth sports result in corrupting a kid's youth...but it takes even more work by the parents to avoid it.

I sincerely believe that the default state of intense youth sports is that it screws up the kid. If the parents don't do it right in terms of balance and oversight and positive involvement, you can really mess the kid up.

-- D.S.

Amazing Father's Day Gift Alert:The Book "Game On" by Tom Farrey

"Game On: The All-American Race to Make Champions of Our Children" by Tom Farrey was one of the most fascinating sports books I have read in a long time, and it would make an amazing Father's Day gift.

Actually, I would like to send a copy to every dad (and mom) out there who harbors fantasies of athletic glory for their children. I have a simple message: Get over it.

When I launched the Varsity Dad blog, its mission was simple: How to raise an all-star sports fan. I intentionally side-stepped raising an all-star athlete, because I think it is delusional at best and debilitating at worst.

Farrey's book both re-affirmed my perspective and enlightened me to angles of it that I hadn't previously considered.

First, a disclosure: Tom and I worked together at ESPN.com back in the mid-1990s. We got along very well back then -- for an ex-newspaper guy, he "got it" about online media. He has since gone on to fame as part of ESPN the Mag and, most recently, the "E:60" TV show, but he remains someone whose work I really admire. I consider him a friend.

I tagged quite a few details throughout the book as I was reading it, but one stood out as simple, yet profound:

"Kids play, then become fans. Not the other way around."

There are some pretty disturbing things in the book: Youth-sports participation levels are plummeting, particularly in the inner cities. State, local and national government and non-government organizations are gutting sports, park and rec budgets.

Farrey found incredibly compelling individual stories to tell to highlight some of the larger trends. I wanted to loathe these people; thanks to Farrey's fair portrayal, I found myself pitying them.

(That's not to say I didn't find a handful of people to loathe, among them Bobby Dodd, the sketchy impresario of AAU -- perhaps the biggest scourge in youth sports in the last century -- and the various charlatans, like Hoop Scoop's Clark Francis, who "rank" youth basketball players, then box out responsibility by claiming cost-of-doing-business.)

The book is cleverly divided into 14 "ages" as chapters, with each representing a fascinating facet of the youth sports machine that roughly corresponds to that age. Yes, there is plenty to talk about for "Age 1" or "Age 2" or "Age 3"; youth sports mania doesn't start in elementary school. If you believe some of the stories in the book, if you are just thinking about youth sports then, you are already helplessly behind if you want your child to be a star.

And I guess that's the point: Do you want your child to be a sports star? Even if your motivation is to earn your child a college scholarship (which is insanely competitive, usually not that much money, usually debilitating to the kid and, more often than not, going to parents who may not need the help), you are selling out your kid's youth -- not to mention putting a lot more money in than you will probably get back in scholarship funding -- for something that likely isn't worth it.

Don't get me wrong: I want my kid to play sports. At their best, I think youth sports build confidence, help physical development (in this day and age, almost synonymous with "avoid obesity") and teach the value of teamwork, hard work and sportsmanship -- at least when they are taught by people who know what they are doing, which is often a rough assumption.

I played youth sports. Growing up in Montgomery County, Maryland, EVERYONE played soccer. We had a robust open youth league. I played from 1st grade until 4th grade, two seasons per year. My team was horrible. I should know: I was the goalie, and responsible for much of that horribleness.

When I was in 4th grade, a new kid came to our elementary school, and he was like this man-child all-world goalie. He joined our open, neighborhood team of friends and I was quickly displaced. It worked out OK: We actually won our division title, which after those years of winlessness felt pretty good.

Then the super-goalie left for a "select" team, as did our best offensive player. A few of us were recruited to play on another "select" team with kids from another school and neighborhood. It was supposed to be a merger, but we were basically filler for the team's finances; I rarely played. Even the cool jersey -- with collars and names on the back! -- had my last name misspelled. I lasted one year, then hopped to another select team (warm-up suits with my name on the back!), lasted one more year, then gave up soccer. I wasn't good enough, and I didn't enjoy the pressure of "select."

I didn't pick up youth sports again until high school, when I joined my high school's "no-cuts" rowing team, which was an amazing experience.

Still, in way way way distant hindsight, those early formative years playing in the "open" soccer leagues feel really fun; as we got older -- and this is just in the span of elementary school, mind you -- it got so much less fun, first with a dictatorial coach who led us to our one and only division title, then the whole "select" experience.

Do I harbor fantasies of my kid being some sort of athletic superstar? Of course, but only because I am a huge sports fan. But he won't be the next Tim Tebow or the next Jordan Farmar or the next Ryan Braun.

After reading Farrey's book, I'm not even sure he will make it through elementary school sports leagues. And I'm not even sure I want him to.

I will push him to enjoy sports on his terms, but even if he was insanely passionate about playing one particular sport -- something I will attempt to keep from happening, frankly -- I think that part of being a parent is managing your child's sports experience just as actively as you would manage their education or their health or their manners or their ability to deal with life as it comes in any form.

To the extent that I want my kid to be a really good sports fan, I similarly don't want to inflict my own interests on him; if he doesn't want to be a sports fan, that's fine with me. To the extent that "kids play, then they become fans," I want to make sure he has the chance to be exposed to all sorts of play. He doesn't have to play pee-wee football to love football; maybe it's just throwing the ball around with his old man or his friends in the neighborhood.

If they can find the time in their (over-)scheduled youth-sports lives to play backyard football. Because that's an open question. The real shame will be if there isn't anyone around to play with him. I'm hoping that Farrey's book sparks a conversation about what parents can do -- and should do -- to encourage their child to participate in sports.

As you can tell, reading the book prompted a lot of introspection, and I'm not even close to thinking through all of the various factors. What I know is that it doesn't make me want to inflict the hyper-competitive youth-sports culture on my kid, but it does make me want to run outside and play with him on a beautiful spring day.

"Game On: The All-American Race to Make Champions of Our Children" by Tom Farrey is published by ESPN Books and available at bookstores (or you can just click here for Amazon.) Tom's site for the book can be found at TomFarrey.com.

Let's keep the discussion going in the Comments section. I will try to post them as often as I can.

-- D.S.

When Is It OK to Write About Your Kid?

When is it OK to write about your own kid? It's a pretty germane topic on this blog. Slate's Emily Bazelon -- no stranger to (or shrinking violet about) writing about her kids -- chimes in.

Here's the thing: You can recognize it. You can rationalize it. But you're still whoring out your children - without consent - to advance your own career or ego (one or the other...often both).

Now, where was I? Oh, yes: Gabe shows a remarkable disinterest in sports lately.

-- D.S.

Bridget Moynihan: Varsity Mom

Who needs Tom Brady? We salute the single mom!