The apparent suicide of
Junior Seau, the former NFL superstar linebacker, has again raised the age-old
question:
"Is playing
football dangerous, as in potentially lethal?"
Let me think about
that. You've got a sport where 240-pound people are paid to run into other
240-pound people while 320-pound people try to stop them.
Occasionally,as we've recently learned, they get paid to knock opposing players from the game by injuring them.
Occasionally,as we've recently learned, they get paid to knock opposing players from the game by injuring them.
Gee, I don't
know. What could be dangerous about that?
Come on, let's get
real.
Of course football is
dangerous, and its cumulative effects are often ruinous.
Seau's death is
merely another stone on the growing pile of evidence that football is not only
bad for the knees and back; it also destroys the brain.
His suicide follows
close on the heels of two similar suicides by former pro football players, Ray Easterling and Dave Duerson. Both of them, like Seau, had
played with abandon, recklessly sacrificing their bodies (and heads) for the
glory of victory.
And, like Seau, they
had suffered multiple concussions during their long careers. Easterling,
the oldest of them, had been diagnosed with dementia not long before his death.
Amazingly enough,
researchers only recently began connecting the mental deterioration of aging
former football players to the concussions they suffered while playing the
game.
This is partly due to
the cavalier attitude taken toward concussions by the football culture. Players
who were knocked semi-conscious during a game were said to have had "their
bell rung" and were sent back into games at the earliest possible moment.
That's no longer the
case. A series of lawsuits filed by players seeking damages for the head
injuries they suffered in the service of an uncaring management has made the
NFL take the problem of concussions seriously.
Not so the fans.
Football fans, particularly fans of professional football, are a bloodthirsty
breed. They take great delight in seeing bone-shattering collisions and hold in
high regard players who can best deliver them. They have a high tolerance for
pain — in others — and show little sympathy for the plight of the players who
now are seeking redress for their injuries.
"Never.
Never," the former defensive back told The
Detroit Free Press in March.
Nor would he allow his sons to play. "It would be golf or tennis," he
said.
The e-mails that came
flooding into the newspaper in response were stunning. They accused Barney of
being a wuss, a hypocrite, a lowlife.
"He chose to play
the game. He knew what the risks were," seemed to be the general theme.
Actually, he didn't,
not really. The risks of football have been masked by a conspiracy of silence
involving management, players, and fans.
Malcolm Gladwell, the author of bestselling
books like Blink, Outliers, and The Tipping Point, has
studied the research for several years. He's convinced that college football
should be banned. Failing that, the players should be paid.
"It's a bit much
both to maim AND exploit college football players."
"Remember, the
issue isn't concussions. It is 'repetitive subconcussive impact,'" he
told Slate. "It is
the cumulative effect of thousands of little hits that linemen and defensive
backs…endure play after play."
But die-hard fans will
argue that there's no real proof that Seau's concussions caused his suicide, or
Duerson's or Easterling's either. And they rail at the "overreaction"
of the NFL commissioner in penalizing the New Orleans Saints for offering
"bounties" on opposing players, awarding thousands to the player who
could injure a given opponent.
"It's part of the
game," they chant in unison.
As indeed it is.
OtherWords columnist Donald Kaul lives in Ann Arbor , Michigan