A skeptic in football paradise

PHOENIX – It hasn’t been easy being a skeptic this past week in this desert city, ahead of the biggest sporting event on the American calendar.

Think Damar Hamlin. The National Football League wasn’t going to let anyone forget him, especially in the glittering season leading up to the Super Bowl.

A young Buffalo Bills linebacker nearly died before our collective eyes on a cold Cincinnati night just six weeks ago. Who among us did not pull and pray for him? Who hasn’t seen glimpses of their recovery and felt deep relief and joy?

The NFL never misses an opportunity to burnish its image, even if it means promoting a happy ending to a near-tragedy. The league made sure Hamlin showed up in Phoenix. Sure enough, he was there on Wednesday, accepting the players’ association’s community service award, dressed in a red suit, looking confident and assured.

And there he was again Thursday on the red carpet at the NFL Gala, standing in front of the trainers and doctors who saved his life. He thanked them and spoke of continuing his efforts to be a beacon of hope.

“I have a long journey ahead of me,” he said, “a journey full of unknowns and a journey full of milestones, but it’s much easier to face your fears when you know your purpose.”

I am humbled by the NFL. But watching Hamlin in person on Wednesday gave me goosebumps. I saw a woman nearby shed tears.

What a story arc.

The NFL is more than a sports league. It’s a story-spinning factory, squeezing stories out of gift packages that boost its popularity and obscure its faults. Hamlin’s appearance in Phoenix was a perfect NFL plot point made for streaming: a miracle-turned-tragedy wrapped up in a bow and beamed to the world during Super Bowl media week.

Ugly violence that leaves many League players with debilitating injuries? Hey, look here on this stage – a fallen hero in the flesh, sending his appreciation and love.

All the league’s other nagging problems? Well, why talk about all this when another corporate sponsored holiday is coming up.

So yes, I’m skeptical of football – and not just because I’m a journalist whose job requires skepticism.

I am the father of a 12 year old. I will never let him play a game unless there is known brain trauma. I am an African American who is disgusted by the league’s failure to hire black head coaches and annoyed that it took until 2023 for two black quarterbacks to lead their teams to the Super Bowl. The league’s willingness to brush misogyny under the rug is a stain I cannot stand.

Regardless, I’m no different than many other skeptics. I love the game, I hate the game, and I’m conflicted about the game. The NFL has a way of getting me. It is a spectacle – choreographed beauty and drama, the wonder of teams trying to gain control in the midst of utter chaos.

I know I’m hardly alone, although walking through the throngs of fan events in sun-scorched Phoenix, I felt more than alone as a doubter.

The league increases its reach and initiative by organizing a camp for each year’s Super Bowl. It makes each host city its own: a traveling soccer roadshow that squeezes the metropolis like an occupying army.

Phoenix and its flat maze of suburbs saw it all this week. Fan festivals. Mixers. Photography. Award shows. Flag football. School visits sponsored by the NFL and farm-to-table meals sponsored by the Super Bowl Host Committee. Entire blocks seemed to be sponsored by Tostitos.

The light and airy party atmosphere hides the troubles of the NFL.

The cynical side of me says this season will be remembered forever because it made us think about the disadvantages players face on the field, sometimes with dire consequences that are immediately apparent, other times dire effects that may not be seen for years.

To me, this will always be the season of Hamlin and Tua Tagovailoa, the Miami Dolphins quarterback who suffered multiple concussions and became the latest example of the game’s risks to the brain. The image of Tagovailoa hitting so hard that his entire body seemed to be convulsing in a severe convulsion should be seared into our collective memory.

The horror of those injuries, especially Hamlin’s death, forced us to step back and look again at the game and its costs.

But not so fast. Super Bowl week, like every year, got in the way and pushed the story in a different direction.

It wasn’t just Hamlin performing with his guardians. The league rose above the fray by offering free CPR classes to the public. The NFL commissioner lamented the readiness of the league’s coaching staff to handle catastrophic injuries.

When I walked the streets and talked to fans at football-themed carnivals in downtown Phoenix, Hamlin and Tagovailoa were rarely mentioned. When I prodded, I was often told about the power of prayer and the importance of miracles, that brushing Hamlin to death was just freaky, that quarterbacks like Tagovailoa know the risks, so hey, what to do?

“I know it’s a dangerous game,” one fan told me. “It’s probably more dangerous than I know or want to see. And I’m never going to stop watching.”