The APWFL, the American Pee-Wee Football League, has announced a new initiative to permit one father (or mother) per household of affiliated teams to be allowed to suit up and play one-half (1/2, or 30 minutes) of all league games, starting in the 2017-18 league season.
Walt Patulski, president of the APWFL, announced the initiative in a nationwide press conference on Oct. 6, 2016. “We think this will dramatically boost enjoyment and participation in of our most important stakeholders, the parents of these six to seven year old football players.” Asked what was the determining factor in generating this bold new Dad Player Rule, PAtuski explained that he nation was suffering a crisis in parenting “exemplified by all never-athletic dads and moms lining the football fields of America’s heartlands, doing nothing but screaming at refs, remonstrating with their little boys over bad plays, and wishing only that they could get some glory themselves. Wanting to hit someone, wanting to burst through the line, wanting nothing so much in their stunted grown-up lives as hitting paydirt, just once, as star running back of the football game.”
In a pilot program, Dad Michael King, of Deactur Illinois, a shipping clerk, ran for over 300 yards in one half against his son’s team of helmeted rivals, not all of them potty-trained. “Best damn feeling of my life,” said King, who added that he watched thousands of football games after being a pothead loser in high school with attendance issues. “I stiff-armed some little punk into another little sniveler, took a jump step like John Gruden says Adrian Peterson does, and though groin-injured and out of breath ran over three little linebackers who ran away crying after I spiked the ball in the end zone. That made up for all those years I’ve been a seething, morose Dad seeing Mike Jr. get whaled on as a doofus backup guard.
The APWFL anticipates a highly successful rollout of the program, as the phalanxes of purposeless, hovering inconsequential parents are turned into MVP candidates with one winning lotto ticket, able to run rings around and inflict concussions upon their once-sacrosanct little footballers. “I can throw the ball 30 yards, though it might hurt me for weeks afterwards- there’s not a stupid kid in our league who can even throw it even 10,” said one expectant Dad t another pilot site. “Think my wife won’t start thinking about me differently after I burn the little tykes’ secondary for a long bomb?” the never-lettering, separated dad said.
Patulski admits this won’t work for the Pop Warner league, where the Tyson-steroid -chicken fed nine-year-olds would creamate most of the fantasizing, out-of-shape Dad fans. For the fathers of helmeted, shoulderpads-wearing tiny footballers, however, parental satisfaction should be at an all-time high next year, as these sideline warriors, winning ticket in hand, making up for all those miles spend driving in stony silence contemplating lost athletic glory and fading hopes of college scholarships after junior whined about not getting enough playing time.