I have a guess what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Wow, rugby sounds less than parent-friendly." A sport in which a moderate concussion is a 'mild' injury compared to a broken collarbone...that's second on your list? You might even be doubting my list-making skills, wondering what sporting events could be less ideal for parental attendance. First, I'll point out that cheerleading has more injuries than rugby and football tends to have long-term issues with brain damage among professional players (we won't get into boxing). Second, I'll continue my list with two sports that have competitions which 1) take all day and 2) may largely take place miles (literally) from wonderfully supportive spectators.
After careful consideration, I have reversed the order of these sports from my original plan. I'll look forward to your feedback.
A Spectator-Friendliness Guide, continued
3. Distance Triathlons / Marathons
I group these two together because they're essentially the same sport on some level. An athlete decides that it'd be a good idea to do something crazy and chooses an event that involves months of physical training for hours of grueling individual endurance. Friends, hearing the athlete has registered for said event, announce to the athlete, "Wow, you must be crazy!" Close friends cheerfully add, "But we already knew that." The athlete takes this as a point of pride rather than a moment for reconsideration. The athlete is, after all, probably just a little bit crazy to think said event is a good idea.
The athlete trains for months, often alone (sometimes in the dark, though I'm one for daylight running myself), and is super-excited to have parentals attending the event. They dutifully drive to some remote location for the race. For triathlons, this is a place which has that ideal balance of 1.2 or so miles of lake in which to swim, a 56-mile bike loop on which traffic can be controlled during the race, and 13.1 miles of quiet streets for running. Rolling hills are optional.
The day before the race, the athlete excitedly drags the parentals along to race packet pickup and may encourage them that it'd be "so fun" to drive 20 or so miles of course (hint: it probably wouldn't, but it can be an incredibly valuable preparation tool nonetheless). After an enjoyable afternoon, the athlete spends the evening alternately nursing a series of sports drinks and a waterbottle and refuses to talk to anyone due to pre-race nerves and mental preparations. (I like to use this time to go to a movie, which my parents hopefully appreciate given the alternatives.)
On race day, the athlete insists on getting to the course sometime around sunrise to settle in and stretch out before the event. Bib number securely pinned on, the athlete spends an hour or so at the course getting ready to go. Finally, the race starts and they're off! Wait, where did they go? Oh right, you won't see your racer for the next 45 minutes. At that point, she or he will jog past and wave merrily before disappearing for another 30 minutes to 3 1/2 hours. Sometime between 5 and 8 hours from the beginning of the race, the athlete will cross the finish line in an exhausted state, capable only of such intellectually stimulating conversation as how much salt has accumulated on the athlete's arm from 5 to 8 hours of sweat. (No really, it is pretty cool.)
Though you may only actually see your athlete racing for one to two percent of distance triathlons and marathons, they have three distinct advantages over sport #4 on this list:
a. You get to see other racers while you wait for your athlete. Though it may take me 5 to 8 hours to finish, it takes other people only 2 1/2 or 3 1/2 hours. People are passing through visible transition points pretty much constantly, unlike in some sports (see below).
b. You can leave and return throughout the event. Your athlete is hungry? Tough luck - 7 miles to go, should have made better nutrition plans. You're hungry? There's a cafe down the road and it'll be 2 hours until your athlete returns again. Mmm, doesn't that muffin taste sweeter when you know the self-inflicted pain and sweat your athlete is enduring right now? Sure does.
c. Your presence and support make a difference. When you cheer in swimming, athletes are unlikely to hear more than one in every fifteen words after leaving the block. When you cheer in rugby, athletes are buffered from your cheering by the twenty other players between you and them. You may not be entirely sure when to cheer anyway, since there's a lot happening and you can't even see the ball under the pile of people. When you cheer during a distance event, athletes notice. Two of my favorite distance racing memories are my mom waving the poster she'd made (the race had a poster-making table for spectators) for my triathlon as I cruised by on my bike and my parents laughing at the face I made after drinking a lemon-lime sports drink (the only option available, it's also my least favorite) around mile 18 of my first marathon. Athletes have several hours on the course to appreciate your presence and take in every word you say.
4. Crew
It is time for the most spectator-unfriendly sport in which I've competed. I love crew. I think it's one of the greatest sports ever. I find the water and the rhythm of the sport calming and wonderful. That said, I get that it can be an awful sport to watch. I provide an example to illustrate:
During one race in my first year of competition, it was raining. No, pouring. We got out on the water to warm up - our coach insisted we spend far longer than any other team warming up so it was an hour before the race - and paddled around wishing we had brought warm clothing. Instead, we had left our sweatshirts because we didn't want them to get wet and weigh down the boat. Eventually, it started to hail. When we finally raced, we lined up towards one end of the stretch of river visible to spectators from the shoreline. We proceeded to race further toward that end and out of view; a parent with binoculars might catch the first thirty or forty seconds through the precipitation. We raced over a mile away then rowed calmly back to announce to our parents, amidst shivers, that we had won. Five of us spent the next two hours in my mom's car, cranking the heat up to 85 degrees and probably getting her seats slightly damp. Our lovely spectators spent the entire day in horribly cold weather and got to see almost seven percent of our race from hundreds of yards away. At least we won, right?
The problem with crew is not that my coach always insisted on my team arriving far earlier than necessary, sometimes before the host team. The problem is more endemic to the sport. It is that you simply don't know what to expect for ninety percent of races. At a major race like the Head of the Charles, you know that you can camp out on a bridge to see a solid two minutes of action. At most races, that certainty does not exist. You might see the first half of a race or two minutes in the middle or even the end(!). You might actually see none of it at all.
I end with an anecdote:
The summer after my first year, I competed in a coxed four at Canadian Henley. My parents (I told you they were amazing!) dutifully drove to Ontario to watch the weekend of races. In the heat, my boat had gotten off to a slow start but finished strong and made it to finals. In the finals, we again got off to a rather abysmal start. Our coach, only able to see the first 500 of the 2,000 meters of the course, figured we had finished last or very near it. We returned to the dock jubilant over a second-place finish! Our coach told us multiple times that he didn't believe we had finished that high, assuming it was a joke right up until the results were posted. At least in the other sports, you generally have a good idea during the event how it'll end.
This concludes my ranking of the spectator-friendliness factor of the sports in which I've competed. I'm open to suggestions for future sports in which to compete.
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