Any and all parents. It's great that they come out to support their kids at cross-country meets when no one else cares to watch such goings-on, but f***, you'd think after four years and dozens of races at least a few of them would have achieved the ability to speak with their mouths and not their asses. Actually, the ones who'd been around a while were the worst because they'd picked up enough jargon to think they sounded on-the-ball.
"Don't start too fast! Establish position early!"
"Get out quick, then settle in and pick people off throughout the race!"
"Run smart! Run from the front!"
"Be patient out there! The race is decided in the first mile!"
And so on. Once a fat parent of a freshman who was also fat and running 5K's in 29:00 told me after I failed in typical fashion to chase the early leaders (who would all wind up at around 18:00) through an opening 400 of 65 seconds yelled at me "You've gotta get up there!" and I calmly said "Those f***ing guys SUCK, Mrs. Wheeler." Nothing hilarious about that except that I was (wrongly) believed by the parents to be an angelic choir boy type who never said anything stronger than drat or gosh or jeez or bite me, you cunt! Anyway, I won the race in 16:30 or so and never exchanged a word about this with the beleaguered Mrs. Wheeler.
This has nothing to do with stupid before-and-after words, but one time, at a regional championship, I was running right alongside this huge oafish guy who had just taken a spectacular tumble into some mud about a mile into the race when we rounded a turn and were presented with the sight of an old lady just standing there, oblivious to the fact that a race was in progress (I couldn't have been higher than 40th place at the time). This guy, already in oxygen debt and angered by his fall, yelled "HEY, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY, LADY!" She must have been 80 years old and just kind of leered at him. Then he looked at me with a placid expression and asked "How much f***ing further do we have to run?" Then he farted, and later fell down again. I must have lost 25 places dealing with this multifaceted intrusion and this 180-pound bastard must have beaten me by 10 seconds.