A few years ago, I was at a high school football game.  Our team, the home team, was huddled on offense. They broke the huddle and came up to the line of scrimmage.  The ball was hiked, and the quarterback rolled out to the right side of the field.  He had an open receiver and threw the ball.  It was not a great throw, but it was a catchable pass.  The defender arrived about the same time as the ball, delivering a bone-crushing hit.  The receiver briefly held the ball, then it went out of his hands and fell on the ground.  Incomplete pass.

Before the PA announcer could say, “Pass broken up by number 56,” a man behind me stood up and started yelling at the receiver: “How could you drop that ball?  It was right to you!  You got butter on your finger’s boy? My grandmother could have caught that ball!”  I turned around to look at the man.  He was about forty-five years old and about forty-five pounds overweight.  I had no idea what kind of shape his grandmother was in.

I did not know this man, but I was tempted to say to him, “Do you think you can do better?  Do you think you could hold that ball, knowing a hit is coming?  What gives you the right to criticize?” 

Since this happened early in the game, the man behind me had several other comments when players made mistakes or did not perform at an NFL level.  By the third quarter, I was thinking to myself, “If he yells at the players one more time, I will turn around and slap him in the name of Jesus.”  Then I remembered Jesus did not slap anybody.

Our team was up by a comfortable margin, so I allowed my mind to ponder everything on a sixteen-year-old’s mind.  The test he blew that morning.  The fight he had with his girlfriend last night.  The coach cutting his playing time in favor of an up-and-coming sophomore.  Overhearing his parents fight three or four days ago.  Wondering if he is good enough to play college ball.  The performance pressure of playing in front of three thousand people.  If all that were on my mind, I doubt I could focus on catching any ball.

The final horn sounded and the man behind me slapped my back and said, “We pulled out a win!”  I thought, “What do you mean ‘we?’  I did not see you down on the field.  I do not think you were calling any plays.  In fact, I heard you refer to the coaches as ‘Idiots’ several times.  All I heard was you hollering criticism.”

There are three kinds of criticism.  Constructive criticism aims for improvement.  Every boy on the field that night had signed up for constructive criticism.  The coaches of the team were watching film, correcting mistakes, doing their best to train the team to win as many games as possible.

Destructive criticism has a different purpose.  Destructive critics love to point out faults in others so they can feel better about themselves.  They love feeling powerful at the expense of others.  They do nothing to help people get better. 

If you grow up with a parent who is a destructive critic, God help you.  The voice of a destructive critic worms its way into your soul and can eat at you.  You constantly hear an internal message that you are not enough, you are only valued when you achieve, and you will never be as good as your critic.

The third kind of critic is the most toxic.  I call them “The crazy critic.”  Crazy critics pretend to be your friend one minute and tear you down the next.  The crazy critic does not just try to control your emotions, they try to manipulate your life.  I have talked to people who are married to a crazy critic.  They tell me it is a special kind of hell, living on the edge every moment.  Free dating advice for those of you who are not married: If you see signs that you are dating a crazy critic, run.

The good news is you can control your response to your critic. If a critic really has your best interest at heart, you choose how to accept and apply their counsel.  You can choose to set a boundary with a destructive critic.  You do not have to have a relationship with a crazy critic.  If you must relate to them, you can keep your guard up.

One of the many reasons to admire Jesus was his response to critics.  He refused to accept their agenda.  When they tried to trap him, he changed the agenda and put them on the spot.   Even though his critics had power and prestige, he did not let them define his mission. 

The older I get, the more empathy I have for coaches, presidents, and ballplayers.  As Teddy Roosevelt famously said, “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

I wonder if the man at the game ever heard of Teddy Roosevelt.