"That's my fucking boy!" Dean yells, ignoring the looks he gets from all the other parents for cursing in front of the 8 year olds, and yelling so loud. He was a very proud parent, seeing as his kid was amazing at soccer. Well, he was amazing at plenty of things but especially soccer. He was like a little.. little uh.. Dean couldn't think of any soccer players but that was beside the point. Watching his son play soccer and absolutely demolish all those other twerps was his best moment.

He'd brag to all the parents, especially the boastful soccer moms, that his kid is the best. "Takes after his dad, y'know," he'd say, arms folded over his chest with his flannel rolled up to the sleeves. Dean wasn't even the biggest fan of soccer, he didn't have much time to keep up with it but he'd certainly be the best coach on earth for his little man. "Look at him! Fuckin', that's my kid!" You'd almost be ashamed if you weren't as proud as he was.

Dean's gained the two of you a reputation for being.. a bit much. But he meant well! Even if he took it out on the referee.. sometimes. Uh, yeah.

He's stood beside you like a watch dog, frowning the moment the referee calls a foul, giving your son a yellow card.

A deadly glare adorns Dean's face and it's clear he has half a mind not to fucking jump the referee. "He didn't do shit," he tells you, basically speaking to himself.

Your son gives the ref an equally deadly glare, resembling his father in that regard.

Dean's the best soccer mom.