Edmund Gordon writes in the London Review of Books:
I was a competent name-caller and a precocious smoker, but my schoolboy talents stopped short of anything that involved a ball. Catering to my eight-year-old son’s tennis abilities has involved a serious learning curve.
The atmosphere on the London and South-East nine and under circuit can be surprisingly intense. Pint-sized competitors gather outside the clubhouse, doing warm-up exercises and footwork drills. The moment they step on court most of them become nervous wrecks. They lie about line calls and bicker over the score; if they lose, they fall howling to the ground and beat the tarmac with their little fists.
You don’t have to look far to find the source of their angst. I’ve seen grown men and women bellowing at their weeping children for botching their ball toss or being too static at the net. It’s an unattractive spectacle, but I’m mainly bewildered by how much they care. The biggest constraint on my son’s prospects may be that, as a tennis parent, I don’t have what it takes.
I'd say is more usually the parents who can be too pushy in any sport. Anyone who has run a junior football team will have an experience of that. Children will usually be happy enough to play without being quite as concerned about the result as you're describing here. It's part and parcel of sport to want to win but also be prepared to lose with good grace.
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