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Enough Football Violence
By FRANK BRUNI
I suspect I speak for many ardent football fans when I say that I’m sickened by reports of the “bounties” that New Orleans Saints players were paying one another for injuring opponents and–even better!–knocking them out of games. Revolting. Unconscionable.
And I suspect I speak for many ardent football fans when I say that this isn’t something we’re prepared to turn a blind eye to or condone. No way.
In the past, when the issue of injuries and concussions and the violence of the game has come up, it has been said that what’s happening on the field is in large measure a response to, and reflection of, what those of us watching hunger to see. It has been said that we bless the brutality and thrill to the thuggery. That players are merely giving the people what they want. And that the people want a spectacle of modern-day gladiators, attired differently than their forebears were but intent on the same thing: not just physical domination but physical destruction.
This claim will be made again this time around. It’s probably being made right now on blogs or in news stories I haven’t yet seen.
But the violence of football has never been what draws me to the game, which has so much going for it beyond the force with which players collide.
Remember the precision with which Eli Manning, in the fourth quarter of the Giants’ rousing Super Bowl victory over the Patriots, threaded a pass over Mario Manningham’s shoulder and into his arms? And the concentration and dexterity with which Manningham got two feet down inbounds? That’s why I watch.
I watch because there’s intricate strategy in every play called, and there’s extraordinary athleticism in every play that goes better than expected.
I watch for the 54-yard field goal with five seconds to go.
I watch for Tim Tebow, who doesn’t administer any crushing hits at all, but makes you wonder about the power of positive thinking and the corkscrew turns of fortune.
I stop watching–I even turn away–when an outstretched, utterly vulnerable wide receiver is about to take a helmet in his side and hit the ground with the kind of impact that could cause a concussion if he’s lucky, worse if he’s not. And I find myself conflicted about my enthusiasm for the sport, given its grim toll.
The National Football League needs to come down like a ton of bricks on the Saints, and on any other team that did anything similar. Having shown more concern in recent years about player injuries, and having taken some steps to prevent them, the league needs to double that effort, maybe even triple it.
As well paid as players are, they are not paid enough to be sacrificing their joints and limbs and even their brains. And they needn’t make that sacrifice, because a great many of us aren’t tuning in to see them fall. We’re tuning in to see them soar.
And I suspect I speak for many ardent football fans when I say that this isn’t something we’re prepared to turn a blind eye to or condone. No way.
In the past, when the issue of injuries and concussions and the violence of the game has come up, it has been said that what’s happening on the field is in large measure a response to, and reflection of, what those of us watching hunger to see. It has been said that we bless the brutality and thrill to the thuggery. That players are merely giving the people what they want. And that the people want a spectacle of modern-day gladiators, attired differently than their forebears were but intent on the same thing: not just physical domination but physical destruction.
This claim will be made again this time around. It’s probably being made right now on blogs or in news stories I haven’t yet seen.
But the violence of football has never been what draws me to the game, which has so much going for it beyond the force with which players collide.
Remember the precision with which Eli Manning, in the fourth quarter of the Giants’ rousing Super Bowl victory over the Patriots, threaded a pass over Mario Manningham’s shoulder and into his arms? And the concentration and dexterity with which Manningham got two feet down inbounds? That’s why I watch.
I watch because there’s intricate strategy in every play called, and there’s extraordinary athleticism in every play that goes better than expected.
I watch for the 54-yard field goal with five seconds to go.
I watch for Tim Tebow, who doesn’t administer any crushing hits at all, but makes you wonder about the power of positive thinking and the corkscrew turns of fortune.
I stop watching–I even turn away–when an outstretched, utterly vulnerable wide receiver is about to take a helmet in his side and hit the ground with the kind of impact that could cause a concussion if he’s lucky, worse if he’s not. And I find myself conflicted about my enthusiasm for the sport, given its grim toll.
The National Football League needs to come down like a ton of bricks on the Saints, and on any other team that did anything similar. Having shown more concern in recent years about player injuries, and having taken some steps to prevent them, the league needs to double that effort, maybe even triple it.
As well paid as players are, they are not paid enough to be sacrificing their joints and limbs and even their brains. And they needn’t make that sacrifice, because a great many of us aren’t tuning in to see them fall. We’re tuning in to see them soar.
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