The most surprising thing about your kids' weekend sport: 'Equal parts joy and pain'

Tens of thousands of Australian households will wake to a familiar sound on Saturday morning.

"Mum!!! Dad!!!... I can’t find my boots!!"

The first Saturday in April signifies the start of six months of sleep sacrifice and sanity-challenging weekends as the winter sport season begins across the country.

There will be lost boots and shin pads, missing netball bibs and mouthguards, long drives to suburbs your GPS has never heard of and a crater in your credit card as the cost of registration hits.

For kids, it can be the best of times.

For their parents, well, let's just say it's a maelstrom of madness and magnificence when you're in the middle of it all.

It's equal parts joy and pain.

Sport parents come in three types

In my experience, sport parents fall into three distinct categories.

There's the over-eager parent who believes young Sienna only has to work on her free kicks to be in contention for a Matildas call up.

In the other corner sits (for not long) the disinterested parent who will drop their kid and take off for brunch, treating sport as a form of after school care on the weekend.

And somewhere in between is the parent who happily contributes to the team cause without their blood pressure ever rising above 120/80.

I came across all three species when I enthusiastically put my hand up to coach my first born's soccer team many years ago.

Or, to be more precise, had my hand enthusiastically put up by my wife.

I entered a world for which I was unprepared.

Turns out it's not just about having fun

I just thought I'd rock up 15 minutes before kick-off, tell them to scatter to all parts of the field, sip on my takeaway cappuccino and hand out the snakes and red frogs at full-time.

Who cares about the result? It's all about having fun, right?

How wrong was I?

Within the first week – after we'd be flogged 8-0 by the Flamingos – I was sent an email by one parent asking if I'd consider upping training sessions from once to twice a week in a bid "to fix our defensive deficiencies".

Fix what?

They were five years old!

Two players had spent the entire game running in the wrong direction, the goalkeeper had his feet trapped in the net for the first 20 minutes and my daughter told me she hated me and refused to play in the second half because she missed out on a half-time orange.

After a couple more losses, I was presented with a piece of paper by another parent.

On it was drawn a complex playing system beyond even Pep Guardiola's capabilities.

It had X's and 0's drawn up with the kids' names next to each symbol and a brief outline on how they should approach the game tactically.

It made no mention of Morris needing to go to the toilet three minutes into the game "because I've got something in my pants" or Sam leaving the pitch 10 minutes early to pick up a Spiderman cake up for his birthday.

If not for the parents with the 120/80 blood pressure, I'm not sure I would have seen the season out.

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But here's the thing.

When your kids finish with junior sport and Saturday mornings are yours again, it leaves a big hole.

You don't look back at the wins and losses.

It's all about the fun times, the myriad characters you took the journey with and all the laughs had along the way.

Enjoy every minute of your children's junior sport

Kids' sport takes you back to your own childhood and playing for the love of the game – and the post-match can of Coke and sausage roll at the club canteen.

So, parents, grit your teeth through the tears, tantrums, 6am alarms and missing left boots.

Soak up every minute because you'll miss it when it’s gone.

I know I do.

It's probably why I still cook meatballs and pasta on a Friday night.

I used to tell my kids it was fuel for the big game the next day.

It seems I can’t fully let go. I've still got some coach in me.

What I wouldn’t give for one more crack at those bloody Flamingos.

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