Football? Hell No, Son!
My beautiful, talented daughter Mary Brigid is good at a number of things. Sports were never on that list. We tried a church basketball league where I could see that when she got under the basket to go for the ball, she ducked down and covered her head. No matter how many times we shot baskets on the driveway, it just wasn't going to happen. OK, B-Ball out of the question.
We tried a girls little league team, where at one changeover, she left the dugout to run to her spot in the outfield, and I had to call out from behind the fence to remind her to take her glove with her. OK, baseball off the list.
She had, sadly, her father's speed, so track was never an option. Luckily, she was a killer debater (One opponent called her "scary good") and marvelous actress, so we, and she, were very happy with her extracurricular choices. But what if I had a son?
I think about that sometimes and thank the good Lord for our wonderful daughter. That's because, as much as I would have loved playing catch, and working with him on his baseball skills, or reminding him his grandfather was a state champion pole vaulter, there would come that day. He would want to play football.
What I'm going to say now is heresy in this country, and particularly in this part of the country, but I would have to say no. That's because the game will always involve large men hitting each other at speed. So no matter how many rules changes are implemented to keep the game safe, no matter how many improvements there are in helmets and pads, people are going to be hurt, sometimes for life, and some will die.
If that sounds far too ominous, everyone should remember the case of Darryl Stingley.
A star receiver for the Patriots, he collided with the formidable Jack Tatum in a pre-season game in 1978. Darryl broke his neck and was paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. Despite that family history, his grandson Derek now plays for my Houston Texans.
And to my chagrin, my Texans showed again how dangerous the game is in today's contest against Jacksonville. And they showed it in the worst way possible.
Quarterback Trevor Lawrence left the game with a concussion, the severity of which we don't know as I write this.
The game takes a toll on those players in particular, who are good at it. There were very few running backs as formidable as Earl Campbell of the late, lamented (at least to me) Houston Oilers. One of his teammates described the job of defending him as trying to tackle a fire plug.
That was Earl in his prime. This is Earl today.
I know, we all get old. But he is five years younger than me and his legs are so bad, one sportscaster colleague told me he can't walk across a small room now.
One funny anecdote about Earl, though, before I get serious again.
When I did news for a Houston station, KRIV, in the 70's, we also produced a lot of local commercials. Earl was in the studio to do a spot for a local Ford dealer, promoting their first compact pickup, the Courier. Despite the fact that he was a speech major at the University of Texas (wink, wink) his deep east Texas drawl made the name come out "Currer." My director friend, Al Footnik, worked with him over and over to get one usable take.
Finally, he had an idea. There was a defensive safety for the Oilers named Bill Currier. Al asked Earl...
"OK, when you want to get the attention of your safety, Bill Currier, what do you say?"
Earl replied, "Hey! Number 20!"
Earl has crippling arthritis and other health issues. But at least he is alive. Damar Hamlin of the Buffalo Bills came very close to being another statistic. In a game against the Bengals in 2023, Hamlin made a routine tackle on a receiver. He staggered for a moment and then collapsed. One doctor on the field said he recognized what happened. A blow to the chest that occurs at a precise moment in the heartbeat can cause commotio cordis. It's a leading cause of sudden cardiac death in young athletes who play contact sports. It literally stops the heart.
Luckily, Hamlin got the treatment he needed. A Little League baseball player in Tyler suffered one just this Spring. When trying to steal third base, he was hit square in the chest with the ball. Again, had there not been a doctor at the game, the young man might have died.
Collisions are fairly rare in baseball though, but they are the essence of football. That leads to the saddest result of all, CTE. Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE) is a degenerative brain disease that's linked to repeated head trauma, such as concussions:
- Symptoms-CTE can cause behavioral and mood problems, as well as thinking difficulties. Symptoms can appear as early as a person's 20s.
- Progression-CTE is progressive and incurable, and it can lead to dementia. It can take years or decades to develop, and can only be diagnosed after death.
There is even a name for it among boxers, “dementia pugilistica.” And yes, one result is the presence of suicidal thoughts. Out of a cohort of nearly 2,000 former NFL players, 25% who believed they had CTE reported having frequent suicidal thoughts compared to 5% of players who did not have those beliefs.
Many former football players have reported the maddening symptoms that plague them in later years. But CTE doesn't always wait that long.
An 18-year-old Tennessee high school football player named Wyatt Bramwell took his own life in 2022.
The post mortem revealed a severe case of CTE. His parents had reported real mood changes in the young man leading up to that, but chalked it up to teenage hormones. It wasn't.
A promising young college quarterback, Grayson McCall of North Carolina State, decided to listen to some sound advice. After taking too concussive hits in two different games, he simply hung it up mid-season.
He summed it up thusly...
"Brain specialists, my family, and I have come to the conclusion that it is in my best interest to hang the cleats up.”
McCall had a terrific record, was Sun Belt Conference player of the year in 2020, ‘21 and ’22 and threw a touchdown pass in 23 straight games over two seasons. He would no doubt have been drafted by someone in the NFL. Despite the lure of money and fame, he was one of the few farsighted enough to see the end of that road, and the odds aren't good that is has a Hollywood ending.
So, as much as I love watching C.J. Stroud and the boys playing on Sunday, well, except for that schmuck who made the cheap shot, it is always tinged with some concern. How many hits will it take to change their later years completely? How many will face life in a wheelchair like Earl?
I know, I'm being a wuss about it, and I love a beautiful pass or break away run as much as anyone. But what I have read and seen makes me even happier I am the father of a daughter.
I'm not sure I could tell an eager boy no.