Rice Krispie Bars
Like this schlock your mom whipped up for the game, you’re nothing but fluff. In five years everyone will realize this. For now you can get away with being the vapid asshole that everyone is scared into liking.
Celery and Carrots
You haven’t scored a single goal or even been in passing position all season. Hell, you haven’t taken your hands out of the back of your elastic waistband since you stepped out of your mom’s Previa. You really can’t afford such an egregious offense as presenting vegetables as snacks to hungry children, but for all intents and purposes it may as well be you. That way there will be no debate as to who the rest of the team will repeatedly hit in the face with the ball once it becomes clear that there is no chance of winning.
Donuts and Orange Juice
Well well, look who’s adolescent and obese. Of course you’re playing the only position that doesn’t require running for more than two seconds. The rest of your team is out there working for those glazed glories and you have a stash hidden next to the goal post. Listen to me, kid: doing the truffle shuffle won’t get you anywhere in life after high school.
Your mom gets way too excited when it’s time to hand these out. Like her, you have acceptance issues. Everything you say is followed by “Right, guys?” Yes, your mom brought assorted flavors of pudding and there’s enough for everyone to have two. But no, no one wants to go over to your house after the game.
Capri Sun and Dunkaroos
Your mom is such a babe. God damn she’s so hot, cheering from the sidelines in Ray-Bans and those sinfully short shorts. This will overshadow anything important you might impart on your peers until college, where you can hide the fact that your mom is a sultry temptress who knows exactly what men want, whether they’re famished twelve-year-olds who need consoling after losing 10 to nothing or dads who have given up on trying to get their sons to play a real sport instead of this grass fairy shit. Someone is definitely going to your house after the game.
This is supposed to be an 11- to 12-year-old boys’ league, but somehow your parents talked Parks and Rec into including you, your 14-year-old brother and your little sister who’s taller than the rest of the team. You all have the same haircut (bowl cut/mullet) and probably share underwear. Most of the team forgoes your mom’s treats because it weirds everyone out that she distributes unwrapped Twinkies from an old Tupperware container instead of from a box like a normal person.
– Matt Beachey