My wife’s obsession with our daughter’s football career is mortifying

With constant trips to the AstroTurf, even with coughs and colds, I think a line needs to be drawn as my child looks exhausted

I know it’s traditionally dads who are supposedly on the touchlines shouting at referees and urging their kids to be Premier League stars. But in our family, it’s my wife. She isn’t so much encouraging, as she is forcing our daughter to play football in the manner of an elite-level athlete.
I’m all for jumping on the Lionesses’ bandwagon and cheering on our daughter to enjoy the beautiful game but my wife is a force to be reckoned with. At the last count my daughter was playing with, training with and being shipped around with no less than four football teams – my wife is more cut-throat than a football agent on transfer deadline day.
Learning how to play the game and navigating Sunday or Saturday league football is one thing but my wife, it transpires, isn’t in it for learning about teamwork and jolly camaraderie. Rather than a childhood rite of passage, to my wife, every match is a vital step on the journey that ends with our daughter playing football at the highest level.
Instead of having a laugh and a joke with the other parents, as we huddle under umbrellas or wrap up in big coats, she is fixated on the game unfolding. Then we have to have a post-match analysis in the car on the way home.
The warning signs were there when our daughter tried out football and was able to keep up with the boys in her class, as well as the one above. Immediately, my wife started talking about teams and coaching – my daughter went along with it and has very much enjoyed making friends with her teammates – but pep talks in the kitchen about being focused can be a bit much, in my opinion.
Up until now, I wasn’t especially aware of my wife’s competitive nature but these days she’s watching our daughter like a hawk on the pitch and keeps her ear to the ground about team movements in the grassroots game. She knows the ins and outs of the girls’ leagues and isn’t shy about telling the coaches where they are going wrong.
I find this behaviour mortifying and would sooner watch the game unfold as I clutch a coffee and watch from a safe distance. If my wife is disappointed by my lack of killer football parent instinct, she hasn’t said so. To be honest, I think she’s far too involved in our daughter’s football “career”, as my wife calls it, to give my lack of passion a second’s thought.
I am willing to accept the football culture if it’s my daughter’s dream, not just that of my wife. But I think the line should be drawn somewhere. Football is played in the coldest months but coughs and colds are disregarded by my wife as she still expects our daughter to put on her shin pads. Even homework takes a back seat if whispers of county trials are mentioned.
There isn’t a weekday night that doesn’t involve a trip to the AstroTurf. Football nylons are constantly being washed and aired. Our daughter often looks pale and tired. It’s clear that she is exhausted, but my wife doesn’t see it that way. I’d love for her pre-tween years to involve picking up a musical instrument or trying out other sports but there is no sign of that. Even a few hours she could spend on computer games or watching cartoons would be welcome at this point.
I want my daughter to know that she doesn’t need to spend her life on a football pitch. But I know if I say this out loud, I risk my wife emulating Sir Alex Ferguson and subjecting me to the “hairdryer treatment”. 
Read last week’s marriage diaries