Gladiator Games

I am the problem. 

It's not Roger Goodell.

It's not Phil Knight or the Duck (well, it might be the Duck.)

It's not the NIL, the portal, or Heisman winner Caleb Williams. 

It's me. I have a football problem. 

You see, I am crazy about football, and my family is too!

We love it so damn much that we quietly ignore the life-and-death nature of every single snap. It never fully registers. The Friels prefer our football on Saturdays. We wake up at 7am to watch College Game Day and multiple games for ten+ hours. Sure we shower. We mow the lawn, walk the dog, and do the dishes. We go the gym and run errands. But at home, the tv is on, and we watch football.

I often wonder what "normal" families do on Saturdays. Do they read books? Go for a hike? Work on puzzles? Maybe they discuss English literature? Sounds dreadful. I have no idea what other folks do, and that's fine. I'll happily stay in my lane watching the exhilarating public theater that is football; incredible athleticism, remarkable bravery, dramatic plays, and crazy suspense that includes mind-blowing collapses and epic comebacks. Mix in the pageantry of marching bands, song girls, maniacal student sections, and real-life mascots on the field, and I am sold! BTW, Ralphie and Traveler are the best mascots ever. 

Some Saturdays, we witness the games live, and the Friels love us some tailgating. We love Autzen Stadium with our kids, Reser, and the Coliseum, but Folsom Field remains the best. Game day atmospheres are electric. Grills are grilling, beers are flowing, and footballs are in the air. Excitement and anticipation abound. Even the moms are decked out in their team colors and fully engaged with the craziness and camaraderie of a college crowd before kick-off. Show me a college tailgate, and I'll show you some damn happy people living their best lives on a Saturday afternoon. If I had to choose between going to the tailgate or the actual game, I'd pick the tailgate.

Somehow, my wife and I still find time for the NFL and allocate far too many hours on Sundays, Mondays, & Thursdays for our national pastime. And that's where we found ourselves this past Monday night. Empty nesters breaking down the Christmas tree, eating leftovers with the Bills and Bengals in the background. And then it happened. Damar Hamlin was down for the count. I barely saw the play or the immediate aftermath, just the genuine concern and mortified looks on Josh Allen, Sean Mc Dermott, and the other players and coaches. They were stunned, shocked, and openly crying. It wasn't a helmet-to-helmet hit or an outstretched receiver getting drilled. Just a routine, well-made NFL tackle, and in a second, a twenty-four-year-old life lay in the balance. It was awful to watch. Horrible. We were glued to the coverage and wondered aloud why it took so long to cancel the game. The awkward commentary from the booth and ESPN studio was to be expected; well, the game means nothing. It's all about Damar. Who cares about football in a moment like this? 

While incredibly sad and heartbreaking, this is not about Damar Hamlin or any other individual NFL or collegiate player. It never has been. It's about the game itself. The NFL is a $17 billion behemoth. The NCAA generated $1.6 billion in revenue last year. This is about watching modern-day

Gladiators perform for our enjoyment. Nothing more, nothing less. We fill modern Colosseums, drink beer, eat hot dogs, bet parlays and watch violence. Pure and straightforward violence. Yes, the violence is regulated, and new safety measures and protections are added yearly. But the Friels and football-crazy people across the country remain just one play away from watching a live death. And remarkably, only one NFL or college player has ever died from an injury. CTE is another matter entirely. I remember watching my favorite team, the New England Patriots, in 1978. It was just a preseason game vs. the hated Oakland Raiders. Jack Tatum was a badass safety, and he leveled the receiver as he was trained and coached to do. Daryl Stingley lay on the field and never walked again. 

I was eleven years old. I was frightened and unsure of what had happened, but I soon got over it. 

Football fans always get over it.

Fans like me have become numb to jar-rattling tackles and bone-chilling hits. We barely miss a beat when a knee is blown, or an ankle is twisted. LT breaking Theismann's leg was super gnarly, and Montana getting crushed by Leonard Marshall was brutal. Even the players are now accustomed to a twisted ankle, a blown knee, and a concussion. The warrior mentality reigns supreme. But usually, for me, it's hurry up and get that guy off the field. It's killing my team's momentum. Remember, it's football, and only really tough guys play. Next man up. "That wasn't targeting. What a bullshit call”. Flag or not, we should all recognize what we are watching. The last play was a head-on car collision between two humans. Occasionally, I'm more pissed that my team got a 15-yard penalty and had to punt and our star linebacker was ejected. The sad truth is that I am a consumer of violence and overly focused on my team getting a first down and winning the game than a severe injury. It's horrible to write that sentence. It's even more horrible to acknowledge that I am okay with that reality. 

Five days later, Damar Hamlin is stabilizing, breathing independently, and, God willing, may make a full recovery. That is fantastic news, and we send continued prayers and well wishes to Damar, his family, and the Bills Mafia. But this leaves us where we started Monday night; just one snap from the unthinkable of a player dying on the field. I hope it never happens, but somewhere deep inside, I know it might. We all do. And yet I will continue to watch the games.

The NFL is back this weekend. The Chiefs and Raiders are on in the living room. I am not watching, but the tv is on. The playoffs begin next weekend as planned long ago. The experts are breaking down the Xs & O's once again and discussing playoff seedings. Home-field advantage is still up for grabs. It's not as if anything was going to change overnight.  

Meanwhile, TCU and Georgia play in the college football championship at SoFi Stadium on Monday night. Nosebleed tickets are $475, domestic beers are $17, and hot dogs are a bargain at $9. The place we will be packed. The ratings will be off the charts. The United States football gladiator machine of semi-pro college athletes and the NFL will keep churning along. The scary car accident has passed, and the police are just waving us through the intersection. Nothing to see here.

Roger Goodell doesn't care much. He is not paid to care. He is paid to be the head puppeteer for thirty-two billionaires and their football toys. His one and only job is to protect the shield. Why else would there be preseason football or Thursday night games? I believe Roger was happy to learn that Damar's injury was cardiac arrest.

Phil Knight doesn't care either. He just wants a National Championship for his beloved Oregon Ducks. My son does too!

I also don't care. All I want is another USC title and for Colorado to be relevant.

I'm thrilled about the NIL, the portal, and the players getting paid. Caleb Williams and other student-athletes (haha) are now earning millions a year to play college football. It's about time. A multi-billion dollar business that has enjoyed zero labor costs for over a hundred years is now compensating its employees. I will sleep a little easier knowing that those at the greatest risk, who bring me incredible joy while risking everything, are finally getting paid.

But in the end, none of this really matters. Because nothing will change until I find something more enjoyable to do on a Fall weekend. 

I am the problem. Go Frogs!!