I’m usually really excited when football season
starts, this year, not so much. I love football and always have. There is a
special energy of football that I've sensed every fall, even when I didn’t
understand it very well. I remember arguing with my 7th grade math
teacher about a football math problem he assigned. He marked my answer wrong
for concluding that the football would end up on the 60 yard line. The answer,
of course, was the opponent’s 40 yard line; but my answer was still
mathematically correct. I tried to learn and understand the game after that. And
still I didn’t get it until I was 16 years old.
I remember spending an entire week-end in front of
the TV that fall. I was bound and determined to learn how this game worked. I
could never understand the way men and boys explained it to me. It seemed that
they were deliberately trying to confuse me. Maybe they were. At any rate, I
just had to figure this football thing out because I just couldn’t stand
knowing that there were a bunch of guys at school, who were nowhere near the
head of the class, who lived and breathed it, and to this day have an
understanding of the game that I will never know; and that I just couldn’t get
it. Because being at the head of the
class was the only thing in my life, besides Rhonda (my BFF still), that made
me feel worth anything. So – I had to know. I could not permit myself to remain
in such a state of ignorance over this thing, this football thing.
Fortunately for me, and as I look back on it now,
somewhat serendipitously, that was the fall that Mark Harmon, a really cute guy
that I have had a crush on since I first saw him appear on Ozzie and Harriett,
was the QB for the UCLA Bruins. That was the day that first put UCLA into my
heart and I just never got over it. It was always there calling to me, even
when I just wanted to be a sloth; when I preferred ease to wholeness in my
life, it was still calling to me.
But, I digress. That week-end I learned about
football and came to love it and was able to talk to the guys at school about
it. Those were the days of Lance Rentzel, Charley Taylor, Dick Butkus and even
Darryl-the-mad-bomber-LaMonica! Remember the Fearsome Foursome? The Sack Pack?
Remember those great Steelers/Cowboys Superbowls? Football is fall in America
for a lot of people, let’s face it. I still cry when I see ‘Brian’s Song.’ The
old one is the best!
So, why the mixed feelings about football this year, given my
long and personal relationship with this gridiron pleasure? Mostly it’s because
it is more difficult to watch now, after reading about all the consequences of
head trauma, including young men committing suicide. We really can’t just
pretend that this isn’t happening, can we?
I know that it is unrealistic to think that we are
going to alter our football habits anytime soon. There’s too much money to be
made, after all. And I don’t know how I will feel when the season is in full
swing, especially if my UCLA Bruins have a really good team this year. But for
right now, I’ve been avoiding the games. I’m not advocating a boycott, or any
other action or inaction. I’m not asking anyone to follow me because I’m not
sure where I’m going with this issue. I just know that I’m wrestling with it,
and had to write about it – to get my thoughts out on paper where I can see
them more clearly.
I just know that with every hit, especially those to
the head, it just increases the likelihood of brain trauma and its long-term
effects. Knowing that these men are taking such a tremendous risk with vital
organs takes some of the pleasure out of it for me. I know they make a lot of
money, but there is not enough money in the world to motivate me to
consistently damage my brain.
I heard Malcolm Gladwell talk about this issue and
have read some of his writing about it, and now I can’t un-hear that information.
Gladwell talked about the possibility of slowly changing the culture, and the
place to start was at the grade school through college level. He too has no delusions
about how difficult it will be questioning one of America’s favorite fall
traditions, but believes that, once they see how very dangerous it is to the
brain, more and more mothers will make the choice not to risk jeopardizing
their son’s, or daughter’s, mental health and future. Moreover, he argued, it
is important to illuminate all possible consequences of our choices; and to
examine their juxtaposition to the child’s intended future.
For example, if you prepare your child for an Ivy
League education, and then enroll that child in an activity which is now known
to cause serious, and sometimes fatal, brain dysfunction and mental health issues in
the future, then perhaps these goals are at cross purposes. What sense does it
make paying through the nose for an expensive education, and then to discount
those potential benefits by creating future mental and emotional issues due to
serious and sustained blows to the head?
For this reason, Gladwell suggests that any major
campaign begin with the elite colleges and universities, not known or sought after
for their athletic prowess. Places like Stanford, Harvard and other Ivy League
schools, perhaps would appreciate the impediment to intellect it is to have
your head being banged on every day in practice. Perhaps parents will be less
willing to run the risk of having to bury their child prematurely -- every
parent’s worst nightmare -- for the privilege of having a football hero in the
house.
As we continue to discover more about our brains,
now that the Obama Administration has committed to mapping the human brain, we
will have more and better information about how our brain works. Maybe we can
invent a better helmet, or alter some of the rules, or discover a means by
which the damage caused can be repaired, as well as avoided. In the long run,
we may need to alter some of our attitudes in order to preserve the sport. Or
maybe we will discover that the risk is greater than we now believe, and
gradually abandon it altogether. I know that seems unlikely now, especially for
the real powerhouse NCAA conferences in the south, like the SEC.
Sometimes it seems that the old and familiar is no
longer the comfort it once was. Growing up, as a person or a society, means
giving up things. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up football entirely, but
something is different now; something important. To be continued . . .
