Life, Death, and Litigation

The murmuring has become a cacophony. The trickle a tidal wave. The silent suffering a public crisis.

What was once a hidden secret, shrouded by machismo and shame, is now public. Former NFL players are dying, or sickened, because they played the game they loved.

Most weren't injured all at once. Not in a Darryl Stingley-Jack Tatum moment. But a little at a time. Tackle-by-tackle. Collision-by-collision.

The NFL is trying to address the problem. Banning hits on defenseless players. Prohibiting helmet-to-helmet contact. Commissioner Roger Goodell's recent public relations nightmare, the Saints' "bountygate" fiasco, did not occur because the NFL is somehow suddenly opposed to the violent collisions that were its hallmark. The NFL is worried about its players. And worried about getting sued.

Alex Karras, a Lion of my youth, a Lion of life, died last week. He suffered from kidney failure. But more tragically, he suffered from dementia caused, he contended, by repeated concussions incurred during the Golden Age of football in the 1950's and 1960's.

"The Mad Duck" was not the archetypal dumb jock. Far from it. He clashed with coaches he thought tyrannical, acted, was a sportscaster, and a businessman. He was also one of the greatest defensive linemen in the history of the NFL.

Alex Karras, near the end of his playing days.

But as Karras' health failed, he became part of a group of former NFL players who sued the league early this year, claiming a variety of health problems as a result of head injuries caused by the NFL's alleged failure to provide safe playing conditions.

I don't know enough about the medicine to know if Karras and his fellow plaintiffs have a legitimate case. I tend to think that the science and medicine regarding concussions and their long-term effect is recent and still evolving. And as a result, it may be difficult for the former players to prove that the NFL intentionally submitted them to unsafe conditions and repeated injury.

One thing I'm relatively certain of, however, is that the NFL's recent emphasis on avoiding injury, sitting players with concussions until medical clearance, and the suspension and fining of players who engage in what used to be acceptable conduct on the field (leading with the helmet, spearing, dumping quarterbacks and running backs on their heads after forward progress is stopped) is the result of concerns for player safety, and also for potential liability.

Roger Goodell is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar industry and understands that his job is to maximize and protect the owners' product and their wealth. While Karras and his co-plaintiffs may or may not pose a threat to that wealth, the current generation of players, 20 or 30 years down the road, almost certainly does given what we now know about concussions and their long term effect on the brain.

Every time some announcer or pundit or former player or even current player decries the "softening" of the game, they are longing for a day when life was simpler, when we knew not what we asked of the players. And they ignore both the science and the economic might of what professional football is today.

All of this is, of course, too late for The Mad Duck and his generation. But if the changes, however motivated, allow us to bask a little longer in the reflected light of today's stars in the future, or to delight in the multi-facetedness of a player who we just saw as a brute, then that makes us all a little richer. And a little less guilty for watching on Sunday afternoons.

What if We Decided Not to Blame Anyone?

"scape·goat/ˈskāpˌgōt/

Noun:	1. (in the Bible) A goat sent into the wilderness after the Jewish chief priest had symbolically laid the sins of the people upon it (Lev. 16). 2. One that is made to bear the blame of others.
Verb:	Make a scapegoat of.
Synonyms:	whipping boy - fall guy - goat"

After attending all three days of competitive play at the Ryder Cup, I too got caught up in the discussions in the aftermath of the Meltdown at Medinah. 

"Who should we blame?" all the commentators asked. Various candidates were offered (Jim Furyk, Steve Stricker, Tiger Woods, and Captain Davis Love chief among them). "Did we lose it or they win it?" was a conversation I engaged in as well. After discussing some of the above candidates, we decided it was a little of both -- some of our guys lost matches they could or should have won, some of their guys (chief among them Justin Rose) won matches they had every reason to believe they had already lost.

Jim Furyk reacts to a missed putt on the final day.

As the sting has faded though, I've been thinking more about our need (and by "our" I mean Mankind, Humankind, all us people, etc., not just Americans and not just the Ryder Cup) to attach blame and find a scapegoat. Particularly interesting, or troubling, is the definition above: "one that is made to bear the blame of others."

I understand that with multiple 24-hour sports, news, and golf television and radio it is inevitable that in the endless effort to fill air time every result and action will be overanalyzed. But I can't help but think that at least part of why we do so, or even listen while others do, is to find someone to "bear our blame." Not the blame of losing an exhibition golf match (anymore than our average counterpart in Europe can take credit for the victory), but for our collective discontent and feeling that we're no longer the masters of our domain.

So at least as far as this Ryder Cup goes, I'm not looking for a scapegoat, not placing blame. The Euros won, and did so with passion and flair. Let's just leave it at that.

Random observations from three days at Medinah:

"USA! USA! USA!" is insipid. C'mon people we can do better. I suggest that for the next Ryder Cup on U.S. soil (or even Gleneagles in 2014 for that matter) we enlist Sam's Army or the American Outlaws (which are U.S. Soccer supporter groups, not biker gangs) to instruct all American fans in some proper songs.

One of the five coolest moments in my sports spectating life was watching and listening as Ian Poulter and Bubba Watson got the fans amped up on the first tee on Saturday afternoon, then hit while they were still in a frenzy. If you didn't see it, you have to watch.

Not sure why, but golfers on the whole strike me as the most universally likable athletes.

Except for Sergio Garcia, who I've never really liked.

A Fitting Farewell

Pia Sundhage's final match as the U.S. Women's soccer coach had all the right elements to encapsulate her nearly five years in charge. An early deficit, some dodgy defending, lots of goals, and in the end, a victory as the Americans beat Australia 6-2.

It's easy to forget that when Sundhage took over the team it was in complete disarray. The women had finished third in the World Cup in 2007, a result with which most countries (Canada comes to mind) would be ecstatic, but which was disappointing for the Americans in part because it constituted the second straight World Cup that they had failed to win, but mostly because of the way it had happened.

Then-coach Greg Ryan benched keeper Hope Solo in favor of long-time starter Brianna Scurry for the semi-final match against Brazil, which the U.S. promptly and embarrassingly lost 4-0. After the game, Solo publicly blasted Ryan for the decision (where have we heard that since?), splitting the team into two camps.

Alex Morgan, one of the fast, skilled young players
that Sundhage included in the U.S. Women's National team.

While the team regrouped to defeat Norway in the consolation game, the damage had been done. Ryan was dismissed and U.S. Soccer President Sunil Gulati eventually named Sundhage, the first non-American to hold the job, in his place.

Nine months later, the U.S. Women won the Gold Medal at the Beijing Olympics. Sundhage found a winning formula, based primarily on Abby Wambach and Solo, and stuck with it.

While the play wasn't always pretty, and there were some rough stretches (particularly during World Cup qualifying, when the U.S. lost to Mexico and had to defeat Italy in home-and-home matches to squeak into the Finals) the team began to play exciting, attractive soccer. Sure, there were more bumps along the way - especially the World Cup Final against Japan when the Americans twice surrendered leads and their slow defenders (yes, Hope, slow defenders) were exposed.

But two matches in particular, the World Cup quarterfinal against Brazil in 2011 and the Olympic semifinal against Canada this summer, were two of the most compelling soccer matches, men's or women's, I've ever watched. And Sundhage should also be credited for bringing youth into the team, Megan Rapinoe, Alex Morgan, and Sydney Leroux being the best examples of quality players who blossomed under Sundhage's leadership.

Perhaps most importantly, Sundhage clearly enjoys coaching and imparts that joy to her players. Undoubtedly she worked them hard. But she has a whimsical side that occasionally causes her to dance or break into song.

Whoever replaces Sundhage will have big shoes to fill, and will inherit a team with high expectations for the next World Cup, to be held in Canada in 2015. He or she may well bring the Cup back across the border. But I doubt that whoever it is will do so with as much panache as Sundhage brought to our team.

The Best Team Doesn't Always Win

Watching the United States' men's national team hit a cross bar and two posts during the first half of its match against Jamaica, I started to hear a voice.  My own, to be precise.

"Maybe this is going to be one of 'those games'," the voice said.

I can't remember if I've written this before, but I've said it many times, and believe it's true: soccer is the one sport among all in which a clearly dominant team can play well and still lose, or at least not win.

Maybe it's the size of the playing field, or the number of players, that allows a true underdog, in ability and physical skill, to have "a shot" more than other sport. I tend to think it's because of the nature of the game and its running clock. 

In basketball, a vastly outgunned team used to be able to stall the game and at least stay close, if not have the opportunity to pull a huge upset. With the advent of shot clocks at the college and pro levels,  that ability no longer exists. Given the relative lack of merit in watching a 12-10 basketball game, not many would argue with the rule, although it does limit an underdog's ability to slow the game.

In American football, the constant stoppage of play means that a certain number of plays, and therefore scoring opportunities, are guaranteed. 

This isn't to say that "upsets" don't happen in basketball or football. They clearly do, and the disinterested observer almost always roots for them.

But I'm not talking about upsets here. What can happen only in soccer, I believe, on more than a very rare occasion, is when one team is clearly outplayed on the field during a contest, and still wins, or at least doesn't lose. That is one of the reasons that I believe that soccer is the most compelling of all sports.

In my time as a coach, I was on both ends of results in which the obviously better team did not win. I can still remember my son's travel team dominating a match in the West Virginia Open Cup, only to lose on a fluke goal that bounced over our keeper's head. But I can also remember several victories in which we were outmanned and outplayed, but found a way to win.

Our high school team lost at least two games in my tenure as assistant and head coach in which we dominated possession, but couldn't push that ball across the line or under the bar. The worst was in sectional play, against our biggest rival, in which we controlled the game, lost our best midfielder, kept fighting, endured a lightning delay, and lost because the other team converted its only real chance to score (at least, that's the way I remember it).

But I also remember the Regional Final in 2009, when we outplayed our AA-A rival, but headed into overtime, then the second overtime, then the third, then the fourth, tied at 0-0. And I can remember, as clear as if it happened last night, our graceful forward scoring in the last minute of the fourth sudden death overtime to send us all into a frenzy.

It's that build-up, that anticipation, that frustration, that makes soccer great.

And the U.S.? It scored in the 55th minute on a free kick and made its path to the final round of World Cup qualifying much safer. And those crossbars and posts and great saves by the keeper made it all the sweeter.

The U.S. celebrates Herculez Gomez's goal against Jamaica.

Sometimes, the best team does win.

But that voice in my head didn't stop whispering until the final whistle blew.

The Little Clause that Changed Everything

I have intended for a while to post about Title IX, which recently turned 40 years old. I wasn't sure what I would post, though, until the effect of this very American law was made clear by the most international of sporting events, the Olympics.

I am certain that the legislators that passed Title IX, and the athletic directors and universities that it impacted, did not appreciate the import of that law when it was enacted. The law simply provides: "No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance."

As we now know, that simple law, through its application (or imposition as the case may be) upon universities that receive federal assistance led to an explosion of women's sports in the U.S.

The recent Olympics and an excellent article in the Globe and Mail helped me realize that Title IX's impact has affected sports, and equality, well beyond our borders. Yes, the U.S. women's soccer team won its third straight gold medal at the London Games. And our women's basketball players, gymnasts, track athletes, and even markswomen again shone. But the fact that they did so against increasingly global, and talented, opposition speaks to the impact that the law has had over most of the world.

Abby Wambach and Carli Lloyd celebrate their win over Japan.

It was bound to happen, I suppose: an increase in attention to, and spending on, women's collegiate athletics in the United States increased participation and proficiency as more and better female athletes were identified and received top-flight training and coaching. What was less obvious was that this would eventually have a global effect as other nations, intent on keeping pace in the competitive, nationalistic arena of international sports (seems like an oxymoron, doesn't it?), trained and identified female athletes or risked falling hopelessly behind.

Title IX's positive influence on women's athletics, though, has been local as well as global. At the start of every soccer season, when talking to parents about the upcoming season I would remind them that high school sports are about success. We were well past the stage where every player received a participation trophy; we were going to play and coach every match to win. That would mean that some players were not going to play much, if at all, in close contests.

I would acknowledge that the players and parents made a tremendous sacrifice to be a part of our team, in time at practice and time away from studies or home, and that each player and parent had to decide whether that cost was worth the benefit. If the benefit was viewed solely as playing time, then surely it would not be worth it for some.

But I also would always mention that the players on our team were offered an opportunity that simply wasn't present when I or most of the players' parents were in high school. And that was the value of simply being a team member. Team sports teach common effort, subservience of individual desires for the good of the whole, and build camaraderie far beyond the playing field in ways that simply cannot be learned in the class room, or even in individual sports.

I firmly believe that while we now see the results of Title IX in the Olympics and on fields of play, we are also increasingly seeing the benefit to society as a whole as women assume, and prove their ability to perform, jobs at the highest level in business, in government, and in coaching. Perhaps most importantly, sports teach women that it's okay to be who they are, that they are valued and equal members of a team and of society in every setting. And they help us to cast aside old stereotypes of what woman can and cannot, or should and should not, do.

As Mary Jo Kane, a professor of sport sociology at the University of Minnesota, who was quoted extensively in the Globe article, simply and succinctly noted regarding our current crop of female athletes: "They talk," Kane said, "about watching the Olympics as little girls and remember saying, 'I want to do that too.' And they have. They are no longer tokens or outliers or tomboys."

An impressive legacy for a 37 word statute, and a reminder that although change seems to occur maddeningly slowly at times, we continue to move toward equality on many fronts.

Dismantle the Program, Not the Statue

By now I assume you know that this Jerry Sandusky-Joe Paterno-Penn State thing has gotten stuck in my craw.

As a former coach, I just can't get past the selfish arrogance of Joe Paterno and Penn State's administration in covering up Sandusky's crimes. If there was any doubt that Paterno knew of Sandusky's perversions and did little or nothing to stop them, those doubts ended with last week's publication of Louis Freeh's report commissioned by the school's Board of Trustees. 

Not only did Paterno know, but Freeh concluded, he actively participated in efforts to hide Sandusky's crimes and predilictions from authorities and the public. A series of emails exchanged between school President Graham Spainer, Vice President Gary Schultz, and Athletic Director Tim Curley makes it clear that the three intended to call child protective services regarding Sandusky until Curley had a conversation with Paterno after which Curley wrote to the others that he wasn't "comfortable" proceeding with the report to authorities.  Not only did Paterno know, but he was the ringleader in the cover-up.

Now the talk is whether Penn State should take down a statue of Paterno that is outside of Beaver Stadium. But the statue is just a symbol of the program under Paterno's reign. The more important object that requires dismantling is the football program itself.

The other discussion taking place is whether the NCAA should punish Penn State for irregularities resulting from the Sandusky mess. Some think the issue is outside of the scope of what the NCAA investigates and punishes schools for - usually academic or recruiting violations. But the NCAA also punishes schools for "lack of institutional control". In fact, it is for that reason that it shut down the Southern Methodist football program in the 1980's.

How can institutional control be any more lacking than when the chief administrators and football coach/icon make the conscious decision to protect a pedophile and expose dozens of young boys to his predatory ways, all for the sake of preserving the reputation of their supposedly pristine program? How can institutional control be any more absent than when school employees, from part-time janitors to the Athletic Director, will not report a heinous crime like rape for fear of incurring the wrath of the head football coach?

The NCAA needs to send a message with its investigation and punishment of Penn State. Not so much to that school, which seems (too late) to have gotten the message (with the exception of Paterno's family, which continues to rely on an alternative history yet to be constructed in insisting that it will somehow restore JoePa's good name). Rather, the message needs to be sent to all the other NCAA Bowl Championship Series (I think that's what it's called now) administrators and coaches to emphasize that no one is above the law, no matter how revered they are or how much money they bring into the institution.

I saw an interview of former Florida State head football coach Bobby Bowden in which Bowden stated that he thought the NCAA shouldn't punish the Penn State program now. His reasoning was that because the bad actors are now gone sanctions would only punish student-athletes and coaches who were not at the school when Sandusky's and Paterno's acts and omissions occurred.

That specious argument could apply equally well to any violations that occur under a former head coach who is given the boot or leaves before he is caught (Butch Davis at UNC, Rich Rodriguez at WVU come quickly to mind). The whole point about "institutional control" is to not allow football coaches to become autonomous rulers of their little fiefdoms, answering to no one else.

Others complain that Penn State football is an integral part of school life and to take it away will damage to the school when it needs "healing". Again, isn't that the point? Shouldn't someone enforce the notion that football shouldn't be the central focus of any true institution of higher learning? And isn't the someone in this case the NCAA?

Let the Paterno statue stand as a reminder of the good and the evil that he brought to Penn State. But as for the program that he managed and mismanaged, it's time to take it down. 

Let's Call it Courage

There are a lot of critics and pundits and journalists who object to the use of terms like courage and bravery and honor when it comes to sports. Sometimes even athletes join in, noting in interviews that the "real heroes" are those who serve in the armed forces or try to raise families on minimum wage incomes, or fight fires or walk a beat.

I too am sometimes off-put or even offended when sportscasters breathlessly whisper about an athlete's courage in playing in a game despite an injury or after the death of a loved one. This discomfort is heightened when athletes and coaches use military terms to refer to the games in which they participate.  No matter how difficult or grueling or against all odds a contest may be, when you go on to a field of play you are never going into battle.

But there are moments in sports, unlike almost any other endeavor other than war, in which courage is truly shown. One such instance occurred Sunday, when a soccer player made an appearance in the last five minutes of a match between the Seattle Sounders and the Colorado Rapids.

Steve Zakuani had been severely injured in in a match against the same opponent 15 months earlier. In April of 2011, Brian Mullan, a midfielder for the Rapids, tackled Zakuani hard near the touchline. Zakuani's foot caught beneath him and he fractured his right fibula and tibia. Zakuani was told by doctors he would never play soccer again. Mullan was suspended for 10 matches.

Through a long and painful rehab, Zakuani maintained a positive outlook, which he continued to demonstrate during the match (he was only on for about six minutes, but there was at least one slide tackle challenge -- not from Mullan -- that had me holding my breath) and afterward when he and Mullan embraced and exchanged shirts.

Zakuani and Mullan embrace, before trading shirts.

To make it through that grinding recovery, then step on to the pitch with the player who had maimed him (Zakuani had long before forgiven Mullan and Mullan, to his credit, showed genuine remorse from the start) can only be called courageous. Zakuani may or may not, ultimately, fully recover from his injury. But I can't imagine that anyone is not rooting for him to do so. And I can't think of any word that more aptly describes his comeback, and his actions, than courageous.

And as for the Sounders' fans, if you need any affirmation that the United States is becoming a soccer nation, just take a listen. Eddie Johnson, the Sounders' forward who has played in the English Premier League and Championship, Greece, and Mexico, in addition to MLS, said of the fans: "Man, that's the loudest I've ever heard it. that's the loudest I've ever heard a stadium." 

The whole video's almost nine minutes long, but stick around for the first minute and a half, when the Sounders' fans chant "Steve!" "Zak-u-ani!" back-and-forth. If that don't raise the hair on the back of your neck, nothing will.