Student-Athlete Criticism from a Parent’s Perspective

Mitch Arnold • August 21, 2023

There was an illegal procedure called on the field, and the inebriated commentator seated a couple rows behind me was quick with her analysis. “Whenever there’s an illegal procedure called, it’s almost always the center’s fault.” It wasn’t the first time she shared her commentary with the entire section, but this one got my attention because my son was the center, starting his first home game on national television as a redshirt freshman.


I’ve been thinking about that moment lately, as we near the start of the college football season, a time of year when fans across the nation lose their minds over a game played by young men just a few years removed from getting their driver’s licenses. Now, before the first snap, everyone loves the players on their team. Once the games start, however, some of those same players become idiots, worthless, losers and much worse, when profanities are included.


While I can appreciate the passion of fans, I’m really bothered when that passion devolves into derision, especially since I had an inside view into what goes on behind the scenes with college football players. Playing college football, especially at the highest level, is a full-time job for these guys, and when you factor in school, it’s much more. That’s when everything is going well. Injuries, relationship problems, being homesick – any number of things – can make things even more difficult.


The physical challenges are obvious, but most critics are completely unaware or oblivious of the mental challenges facing athletes. I saw that recently, when a star player for the big team in my state left the team, saying he just wasn’t into football any longer. Some fans on the message boards I frequent opined about the player’s toughness, stamina and ambition. To them, the player’s self-awareness was subjugated to their desire to see him on the field entertaining them. Such thinking relegates student-athletes to gladiators, and that’s just wrong.


 The quarterback my son played with in college, a redshirt freshman getting his first starts with my son, received vile message from “fans,” after losing that first home game to a nationally ranking Washington State team led by the late coach Mike Leach. This quarterback had taken over for Josh Allen, who became an All-Pro with the Buffalo Bills, and these “fans” were upset that he wasn’t playing at that level. To express their anger, they sent him messages not only criticizing his performance, but also suggesting that he kill himself. Imagine being a nineteen-year-old, already upset with the loss, receiving messages like that.


Fortunately, most fans are rational and keep their negative comments to themselves. Unfortunately, they are often overshadowed by the crude behavior of others. Most of us have heard it often enough that we’re numb to it or perhaps we’re forgiving because we’ve muttered some of that negativity ourselves. I did, before I was able to see things from a parent’s perspective.


Now, when I hear negative comments about any athlete, I try to counter the criticism with perspective and to humanize the subject of the criticism. If you haven’t played at that level and you don’t know the athlete personally, how could you ever appreciate what they’re going through? Even more, how would you feel if someone said that about your son?


Football is in the past for my son and our family. Like most college athletes, his career didn’t culminate at the professional level. Instead, he’s out in the real world, trying to make his mark as a family man and a professional. That’s where most of the athletes we so harshly criticize go, while their critics carry on their antics. Though I wanted to, I didn’t try to correct my son’s critic that afternoon in the stands. Instead, I try to do that with myself and the people I know, and I hope others do the same, until it’s no longer socially acceptable.

By Mitch Arnold May 28, 2025
I bought my first and only motorcycle in 1993. It probably wasn’t a good idea then, and it’s a much worse idea now, but that didn’t stop me from recently considering doing it again. I was only 23 years old and still in my invincible era, when I strapped on my helmet and rode off on my own two wheels for the first time. Understandably, a few naysayers shook their heads and voiced their opinions about me endangering a body that was already fraught with challenges; however, like I did often back then, I ignored their concerns, and was able to ride with no problems. To me, the motorcycle represented freedom. I loved being able to enjoy the open road. I even rode it on a thousand-plus mile round-trip journey to Sturgis for the annual motorcycle rally. Getting kind of smug, I began to envision myself as a life-long biker, but two years later, life intervened. I was moving half-way across the country and getting married, so the motorcycle had to go. In fact, I sold it to pay for an engagement ring, promising myself that I would buy another one when I was established and had the finances to do so. Things didn’t work out the way that I had planned. Fatherhood and home ownership ate up my finances and time, and a second motorcycle kept getting pushed down the line of priorities. Meanwhile, despite my best efforts, my body aged more quickly than I had hoped it would. For most of my life, my resistance to my physical limitations has enabled me to get the most out of imperfect body. Tell me that I couldn’t do something, and you could bet that I was going to try, if only to prove to myself that I could. That resistance allowed me to overcome significant challenges and to succeed when success didn’t seem likely. Lately though, as my limitations have grown and my sense of self-preservation has become stronger, I’ve been trending toward acceptance. Both acceptance and resistance are natural responses to change, and change happens to all of us, especially as we age. While resistance can challenge the status quo, sparking innovation and resilience, acceptance often opens the door to growth, fostering a sense of peace and adaptability. That’s where I’m at now, at least most of the time. Still, when my uncle told me that he was selling his motorcycle, those thoughts of acceptance were elbowed aside by thoughts of resistance. I began to rationalize motorcycle ownership and to imagine myself in the seat again, handlebars in my grip. I could now afford the bike of my dreams, and even had a spot in the garage to park it. I didn’t plan to ride it to Sturgis again, but I thought it would be fun to ride it to the gym and on quiet Sunday mornings, like I used to do. When I researched parking a motorcycle in a handicapped space, I should have realized that insanity of the idea, but resistance tamped down logic. My wife, to her credit, let me play those scenarios out in my head and gave me room to dream, knowing that logic would eventually prevail. And, it did. One slip-up on a bike, and I would suddenly and dramatically limit what I could do with the rest of my life. Accepting that reality was important, and I’m happy that I was able to do it.  Being able to accept who I am – all of it, even the limitations – has given me peace and perspective. It’s not always easy to accept limitations and new realities, but it’s crucial if we want to live a life without regret, and I’m finally there.
By Mitch Arnold April 6, 2025
I lost a close friend to cancer last month, and though sadness will always linger, it’s overshadowed by the gratitude I have for his friendship. Yes, his early death seemed unfair, unusually cruel and senseless, but his approach to life, especially during the dire situation of his last months, was nothing short of inspiring. Jamie was only 47, which is about eight years younger than me. He was a husband and father of three young girls who have yet to reach high school. He was also an integral part of a very close and loving family. Because he was one of those guys who made the world a better place everywhere he went, his network of friends was massive. Always a positive and cheerful person, he became even more so after his stage four cancer diagnosis. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when he called me with that crushing news, on a Sunday afternoon, a little more than six months ago. While I was shocked, he was remarkably upbeat. He said that he felt good, and that he had a plan to attack the cancer. “I’ll be OK,” he reassured me, before hanging up. Still, I called him the next day. I had to make sure that he was really OK and to reassure myself that I was doing everything I could do as a friend. “Just pray,” he said, when I asked him if there was any way that I could help. He went on to tell me how he had begun to embrace religion, even before his diagnosis, and that a priest was helping him sort out his emotions and stay positive. Also on his side were all of the people – friends and family alike – who loved him. He said that so many people were praying for him and doing nice things for his family that it was almost overwhelming, but that he appreciated each and every one. He told me that he could feel the effects of all of those prayers, and that it was helping. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to recover, and cancer won, which left many of us sad and searching for answers. My initial emotions were heavy on the frustration and sadness of losing a friend way too early, but the more that I thought about Jamie, the less that I thought about his final battle. Eventually, I focused less on his death and more on his life. Jamie’s time with us was full of life and love, and cancer shined a huge spotlight on that. Even during that challenging time, he was the same cheerful person who was more interested in the people around him than he was of his own struggles. As we gathered to celebrate his life, there were smiles and laughter among the tears. Because he lived so fully and loved so deeply, we all had happy stories to tell and memories to embrace. Jamie showed me many things through our years of friendship. First and foremost, he showed me that it’s important to live every day to its fullest. No matter what he was doing, he was doing it with a smile and genuine enthusiasm. He seized every possible opportunity to enjoy life, even during those hard months at the end. Second, he showed me the power of love. He cared deeply about his friends and family, and he not only said it, but he showed it too. That love was reciprocated, especially when the end was near.  Jamie set a standard that we should all aspire to. If we can treat every day as a gift to be treasured, and seize every opportunity to show love to those around us, we can make the world around us a better place, just like Jamie did.
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