When I released part one of this article last month, which railed against the sad state of professional soccer in America, I got angry hate mail from the entire fan base. From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely apologize…to both of you. I did close part one by noting that youth soccer, at least, has proven to be extremely successful. I wanted to assure the reader that I did have something positive to say, and more importantly, force them to read part two. I promise it will be shorter than a soccer game.

All kidding aside (actually, that might be a lie – I don’t think I’ve ever been 100-percent-not-kidding), soccer has greatly increased in popularity in the last few decades. One clue is the equipment.

When I played as a child, park-and-rec sports featured a standard uniform for all activities: primary color t-shirt with appliqué number on the back and cheesy sponsor name (e.g., “Newman’s Industrial Scaffolding”) on the front, and whatever pants you had on.

If you were lucky, your mom would spring for a pair of Nike sneakers. My parents, God bless them, kept us well fed, well sheltered and well toyed, but since they were diligently saving to put four kids through college, fashion was not at the top of the list. I was lucky to get shoes from Buster Brown, and I don’t mean the store. I mean Mrs. Brown’s kid from next door, who was three years older. My parents spoiled the crap out of us with love and other worldly possessions, so in retrospect, having to wear the occasional pair of Zips was a small price to pay. But at 10 years old, this much-heralded “love” concept seemed over-rated in comparison to the coveted red-white-and-blue Nike’s. And don’t get me started on pants. To this day, I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, recalling the derisive laughter of my classmates and the nightmarish vwip vwip vwip of Toughskins corduroys. With therapy, however, I think I’ll be able to battle through.

About five years ago I went to my nieces’ soccer games and noticed that the corduroys and tees had been replaced by glittering, multi-colored Umbro uniforms, complete with matching shorts, space-age shin guards, cleats and cool accessories like balls with self-contained pumps. In fact, the equipment is so important today that these same nieces, barely teenagers, are now making a killing selling foam underwrap for athletic taping that also serves as a functional, fashionable hair band. But it wouldn’t be professional for me to mention http://www.pre-wrap.com -- that’s right, http://www.pre-wrap.com – in a column, so let me move on.

The uniforms are just one sign of how soccer has become a serious investment for parents and communities. The coaches are more knowledgeable, the kids are more committed and the fans are showing genuine enthusiasm when berating the teenage referees from the sideline.

The talent level has also improved over the years, but since my son is in the under-9 league, there’s still a long way to go. Our team’s playbook includes such complex formations as “Remember to Stand in Front of the Goal When Playing Goalie” and “Fitting 10 Kids and a Ball in a 3-Square-Foot Area.”

Regardless of the level of play, youth soccer is extremely beneficial. It keeps the kids in phenomenal shape and it allows the parents to be more involved in their children’s lives. And let’s not forget who benefits the most from rec soccer – the folding-chair industry.

I hearken back once again (because I so enjoy hearkening) to when I was a child. In the seventies, everybody had the same criss-cross, vinyl strap folding chairs. Unfortunately, these chairs were not convenient for sitting. Their primary purpose was to serve as the catcher/strike-zone for Wiffle ball games. [Side note: when Major League umpires decided to enforce the high strike a few years back, it failed miserably because despite the official rulebook, nobody’s folding chair was actually armpit-high.]

With the growing popularity of soccer, the chairs have become incredibly advanced. Some of them start out the size of a Wet-Nap and expand into small loveseats. Cup holders, reclining backs, built-in coolers…I think I even saw one that was motorized – sort of a Nissan X-Terra Sport Lark. The best thing about these chairs is that one can quickly collapse them into cylindrical form in case of a rumble with the opposing parents, which happens more often than you might think. A fully-opened chair just doesn’t have the bludgeoning power a modern soccer mom requires.

I’m joking, of course, but when it comes to your own child, it’s hard not to get fanatical. The trick is to get your chair set up at mid-line approximately 14 hours before the game, as if sleeping out for concert tickets. This way, you’re close enough to both belittle the referees and shriek strategies at your kid that directly conflict with what the coach just told them on the other side of the field.

What does the coach know, anyway? Sure, he played varsity soccer for eight years, but I’ve been to well over five practices by now, so I’m obviously an expert. Typically I yell out strategic gems such as “Get the ball! Get the ball!” This little bit of tactical genius, which I picked up from a Mia Hamm instructional tape, makes me an invaluable sideline resource.

To be fair, these kids aren’t exactly ready for the “Diamond Midfield in 4-4-2.” Here’s an actual tip the coach of my son’s team screamed to a kid in the last 30 seconds of a nail-biting, 2-2 tie: “Timmy, watch OUR game!!!” Most of the younger kids don’t really know the rules and are more likely to stop for a passing airplane than an actual penalty.

Part of this is due to the fact that the majority of town-league refs are disinterested and rarely control the game. On the odd occasion when the whistle does blow, it sounds like somebody stepped on a quail in the parking lot. As a parent whose child is at risk for bodily injury, this indifference is infuriating.

But when we as parents start getting rabid, we also have to remember to treat this for what it is: 8-year-olds playing town soccer, some for the last time ever. Parents are too often under the misapprehension that the sidelines are packed with international scouts who are there to see if their little superstar can block his face with his hands better than his peers.

The coaches are volunteering, and if the teenage referees are getting anything, it isn’t much more than an extra-curricular star on their college applications.

I’d like to convey one more anecdote before I wrap up this column – a “pre-wrap,” (http://www.pre-wrap.com), if you will.

My son’s team had a particularly close victory the other night, scoring in the last minute to edge out the opponent, 4-3. The opposing team tried to act casual, playing with token enthusiasm, almost as if they were trying to let my son’s team win. However, you could tell they were a little more interested than they let on.

That opposing team was me and four other dads, who challenged the kids to a friendly weeknight scrimmage. For a guy who just wrote two articles about the struggling state of soccer, my work pants got pretty muddy. Guess I should’ve changed into my Toughskins first.

This column sponsored by Newman’s Industrial Scaffolding

PART ONE