After being an avid—and sometimes rabid—fan of the NFL for half a century, I have decided to give it the old heave-ho. My reasons are threefold:
COLLUSION
It is obvious to me that there is collusion by the NFL against Colin Kaepernick. He is a better quarterback than the starting QB on many teams, and yet he remains unsigned. He plays the most important position in the game, and yet this Super Bowl champion’s football agent is the Maytag repairman.
There is no point arguing the fact that collusion has occurred, and is still occurring. They make it worse by not owning up to it. Explain why you are collectively refusing to bargain with Mr. Kaepernick, Commissioner Goodell and you owners. And don’t spin it. Be honest. I know that won’t happen, though, hence that is reason 1 for my boycotting of the NFL.
CONCUSSIONS
Improvements have been made, but not enough, and not quickly enough. The newfangled helmets and the protocols may help a little, but the NFL’s overall approach and response to this scourge is akin to tobacco companies hawking filtered cigarettes. The cancer sticks they fawn off on people still kill them, albeit perhaps slightly more slowly.
There is a general sweeping-under-the-rug and selective amnesia regarding the players who have suffered and are suffering from this plague. Deliberate indifference toward them is what I perceive. Out of sight and out of mind. Off the field, they are yesterday’s news jettisoned onto the trash pile of broken dreams and bodies and minds. Today’s players don’t want to think much about them, either, for the most part, because then they would have to confront their own possible future debilities, and they are having too much fun and making too much money at present to pay much attention to it.
SELF-PRESERVATION
I’ve said for years that I realize watching football is a waste of time, and didn’t understand why I cared. After all, I don’t know these people. What does it really matter, who wins and who loses? I was very curious about the psychology behind it, but still basically shrugged my shoulders, effectively saying, ‘It’s not hurting anything, so I’ll just accept it, no matter how nonsensical it is.’
I’m through with the navel-gazing. I simply refuse to care any longer. I will wean myself from it, cold-turkey, John Coltrane-fashion.
Look at it logically: there are 32 teams. On average, “your” team will only make it to the Super Bowl once every 16 years, and only win once. And if you are a die-hard fan of a certain team, anything short of a Super Bowl victory is disappointing and frustrating. You invest months of watching and reading and talking about it all to see your team’s season—almost every year—end in dashed hopes and vexation over how it happened, why it happened, and mainly just that it happened.
I’m through with it. I feel as if I am finally breaking free from an abusive relationship. A woman who finally comes to her senses after an especially vicious attack on her by an abusive husband or boyfriend finally realizes: This is not worth it! He doesn’t really love me! For the sake of my sanity and self-respect, I have to make a complete break from him. I’m tired of his hollow excuses and broken promises!
I’m there.
Whether completely intentional or not, it seems plain that televised football is part of the “bread and circuses”—liquid bread (aka beer) and the circus-like extravaganza of daring exploits, flashy costumes, and flamboyant characters—that distracts us from more sensible and important uses of our time.
Just as we aren’t personally acquainted with the players on “our” team—we just know their names and recognize their likenesses—they don’t know us from Adam. If we imagine that we are included in the circle of jumping jubilation with them on those rare occasions when they finally win it all—only for the team to drastically change over the offseason and fears anew about the team’s chances for the next season arise—we are fooling ourselves. We are delusional.
I was, and for way too long. But now, this is my declaration of independence from all of that. Fool me 50 times, shame on you; there won’t be a 51st time.
Good riddance, NFL, you unjust (collusion), uncaring (concussions), and manipulative (serially disappointing) monster.