I swear if I see one more kid wear his or her cleats inside a restaurant I will take them off and slap both the kid and parent in the face with them.
You aren’t an athlete if, after a game, you don’t take your spikes off and put on normal shoes, or what real bosses do, flip-flops.
That doesn’t mean Crocs either because I would rather have you wear cleats in a restaurant then those gay sandals. Fix your life parents. Your kid is a joke if he wears Crocs.
The only people I will allow to wear Crocs are nurses and white women over 55 who like to work on their garden.
I mean a baller like me not only would take the football or baseball cleats off, but I would even take my hoop shoes off after the game. When you had the black Scottie Pippen’s shoes with “AIR” in big writing on side you better take them off. Yes the same shoes Brendan Fraser rocked in George of the Jungle (Why I’m known as Knowledge).
Maybe it’s just soft kids in the suburbs who do this because if I ever did that in the Bay Area growing up, I would get jumped not only for looking like a little girl, but because my cleats would go for a cool $65 on East 14th in Oakland.
Not only are you destroying the restaurant floors I eat at, but you look like a bigger square then the kid in Little Giants who drew up the "The Annexation of Puerto Rico.”
I know I shouldn’t be so hard on the kids because, let’s face it, kids are who their parents are. So, the same kids wearing their cleats inside have parents who played right field in little league, got cut from freshman hoops, and are 40-year-old whack jobs and still bring a baseball glove to a baseball game.
These kids have moms who are Croc wearing, mini-van driving, suburban losers who look like Jason Kidd on his SAT when asked about sports. They automatically think their kid is the next David Beckham or Mia Hamm and constantly complain about why their kid is riding the pine harder than Adonal Foyle at a Warriors game.
These are the same moms who make excuses for their kids, saying it’s the coaches fault, and then proceed to buy them $120 cleats (yes, the same damn cleats that they will wear in the restaurants) which will supposedly make them a star. What these over-protective and simultaneously over-weight moms fail to do is take a good honest look at their kids, tell them to go out, practice, and get better because their level of play just is not cutting it and their dad is tired of them bringing home participation trophies instead of winning a title.
Instead we are raising a nation of a bunch of spoiled, cleat-wearing softies who will never amount to anything: A) because they wear cleats inside restaurants; B) because their parents keep making excuses for them; and C) wonder why their boys will never be able to talk to a girl at a bar someday and their girls will never get invited to the prom.
So moms start hitting the step machine harder at the gym, lay-off the caramel frappacinos while your husband is working all day, and tell your kids take your cleats off. They will last longer and your kid will eat after the game in style.
If any of you have little brothers, sisters or cousins make sure they do this because if I witness this act one more time I’m about to go OJ Simpson on a white mom and Bobby Knight on their kid.
(Chris Russi, Bay Area sports enthusiast, contributed to this article on this growing epidemic)