I spent 11 years as a public relations person for college athletics teams. It was a great gig. I traveled around the country keeping statistics and writing about sports. The coaches and players were my friends and I got to be a part of a team far past the time I could actually play.

So I was naturally excited when my three-year-old son, Grant, had his first organized sporting event last month. He is playing YMCA basketball. The first practice was very satisfying for me as Grant made six out of 10 shots (far better than anyone on the team) and generally listened to his coaches. He needs to work on his dribbling and bounce passes, but he’s three. He’s got time.

A week later the first real game was scheduled and a couple of boys who weren’t at the practice session showed up. One of them was a tad taller than Grant and was making several shots during the warm-up. I was excited. If the team had two good shooters, we would outscore the other teams with ease, though in three-year-old ball, they don’t really keep score. Timmy (name changed to protect the innocent) was hitting shots from 10 feet out, had great form and hustled after rebounds. Even at three-years-old, you knew the kid had some potential.

But Timmy was very timid and kept looking toward the crowd after each shot. He would put his fingers to his mouth like he was nervous and ready to bite his nails. He had a look on his face like he was afraid of something.

I shrugged it off as just a three-year-old. When I met up with my wife after (I was helping coach down on the floor and snapping pictures with my iPhone), I figured out what Timmy’s problem was.

“You should have heard the people behind me,” my wife said. “They were yelling at their son the whole time, like he was in college. ‘Rebound,’ ‘Shoot the ball!’ They were awful. At one point, the grandmother said, ‘Well, it appears Timmy’s playing like a big sissy today.’ Can you believe that?”

Unfortunately, I could. One of the down sides of working with college athletics over the years is having to deal with a small portion of college athlete’s parents. Timmy’s parents. They force their children into a sport, then force them to practice, never accepting failure and always drilling perfection into them. Whether it’s transferal of what they wished they had done or unreasonable hopes the child will become the next Michael Jordan or Derek Jeter or Mia Hamm, they hammer their kids with relentless criticism and cruelty.

Perhaps the worst example I encountered in my time was a college softball player’s father who insisted on arguing my rulings as the official scorekeeper for the team’s home games. He was so incensed at one play I called an error which he thought should be a fielder’s choice and thus help his daughter’s Earned Run Average, he accosted me in the press box during the game. His poor daughter routinely apologized for his behavior to which I always replied, “You don’t owe me an apology for him. I know he’s nuts.”

Sadly, most of these parents don’t realize they’re being such animals. They love their kids more than anything and think that driving them to succeed will somehow make them better people. They’re blind to the reality that they are behaving poorly and setting horrible examples for their children. I don’t know what to say to Timmy’s parents or grandparents. He’ll probably play too aggressive one day and I’ll snap and say something to them, but it won’t do any good. They won’t be satisfied even if he winds up getting a full scholarship to play for their favorite college team then makes millions in the NBA. They’ll never be satisfied.

I know a lot of children of parents like that from my years working with athletes and one truth rings through when thinking about them and Timmy. My son may not play professional sports. He may not get a college scholarship. Heck, he may not even play high school sports. But I’ve got a lot better odds that when he grows up, my son won’t hate me.

What would you say to Timmy’s parents? Believe me, I’d love to find a way to save the kid from what lies ahead.