Dave Hyde: What does it say about America that football is America’s Game?
If you’re conflicted about the morally challenging game of football, you’re a wimp, a hater and roundly un-American.
I know this, because each year before the start of football season I hold the mirror to all of us who love to watch on Saturdays and Sundays and that’s the response. But what does is say about us that a game known for crushing bodies and maiming minds is America’s sport?
“Move to Europe,’’ was one representative reader’s email last year.
The current state of football is this: A player is hurt on the field, carted off as players kneel in prayer, and the visceral pain felt by everyone demands ending the game, a move not just applauded by all but barely discussed afterward.
The good news is Miami Dolphins receiver Daewood Davis didn’t suffer a catastrophic injury in Jacksonville near the end of Saturday night’s preseason game. The added prayer is last season doesn’t become this season around the Dolphins or the NFL in general with such scenes.
“You could see in the collective faces of both teams their mind wasn’t on playing football at all,’’ Dolphins coach Mike McDaniel said of ending Saturday’s game. “So (I) thought it was inappropriate to play football.”
Does this become the norm for each player carted off the field? Should it be? Or is there an accepted line between serious-appearing injury in a meaningless game and a meaningful one?
We’d better solve that question, because something more ethically and emotionally challenging than Saturday’s preseason game is coming.
That conjures the philosophical truth that sports is the most meaningful thing in life that doesn’t mean anything at all. It also makes you realize it’s easiest to watch football like a 13-year-old.
It’s dope.
Or you can go the cerebral route and say football is real-life, real-time chess. Or it’s a social conversation. There’s some truth to all of that, because going to a college or pro game is like wandering into the intersection of a revival tent and gladiators in the Colosseum.
The NFL likes to pretend its health issues are under control, that concussions were a bigger problem in the past, that the legislating against hits to the head and downgrading of special teams make the game safe.
But the foundation of the game is a violence that regularly crushes men’s bodies and often uproots men’s minds. No one will be watched more closely this season or sent more positive vibes than Buffalo safety Damar Hamlin and Dolphins quarterback Tua Tagovailoa.
Hamlin nearly died on the field last year and is back playing this season. Tagovailoa became the poster player for concussions after he staggered and collapsed following a tackle and claimed it was his back before needing a stretcher after a hit in the following game.
Tagovailoa said he considered retiring before adding 20 pounds and learning some jiu-jitsu falls. All you can do is hope it helps.
Ultimately, all players realize they’re not invincible. They often don’t realize it when they’re 25 or 26 and playing before us. It usually hits home at 40 or 45 when we’re on to the next generation.
The pain of a knee or back is compounded by a fear of something deeper lurking. One former Dolphins great in that middle-aged bracket feels panic when he does something as common as not remembering where he put his keys or wallet.
“Is this the start of mental problems?” he asks.
The information of football’s harms is deep and detailed by now. It’s anecdotal, like a cluster of six stars from the 1972 Dolphins found to suffer from chronic traumatic encephalopathy, or CTE, a degenerative brain disease associated with repeated hits to the head.
It’s collective, too. A Washington Post survey of 500 players in 2013 found that 9 in 10 former NFL players suffered concussions during their careers and 6 in 10 players reported three or more.
Knowledge, consequence and even political embroilment hasn’t dulled America’s appetite for football. The game has never been more popular by any measure: TV ratings, team revenues or general attendance.
Another season looms. I’m like most. I can’t wait. It would speak better about us if America’s game was basketball, where the danger is a knee injury, or baseball, where catastrophe is Tommy John surgery.
Injury is expected in football. The risk is paralysis or down-the-line mental problems. And yet we watch. It brings to mind George C. Scott’s line in playing Gen. George Patton as he surveyed a future battlefield: “I love it. God help me, I do love it so.”