The man was a typical area man, mid-40s, prominent mid-section, baseball cap yanked down over thinning hair, his personality suggesting he was used to - and comfortable - interacting with kids and may have held some kind of position around town, probably as a teacher. The kids behind the counter were typical local stock; their clean-cut handsomeness obscured by the pock-marked gangliness so unavoidable at their age.
They were discussing the local high school football team's performance the night before, a 'Monday morning analysis' (though it was Saturday night) of the team's strengths and weaknesses, what ways they needed to improve and how best to go about it before playing a conference powerhouse (and rival) from the next town over, next Friday night. The offense was strong, quick and unpredictable, it was agreed; defense needed the work.
It was an oddly reassuring tableau: nice normal guys in a nice, normal town, having a nice normal conversation about something that was important to them, something that reaffirmed their place in the world, rather than their location on the periphery of everything. This was their town, their team, in their world, and they were speaking - in that moment - the way pro teams are spoken of on SportsCenter - same enthusiastic attention given to hashing out the details. I like to think at that moment the same conversation was going on in convenience stores in little towns all across the country.
I'm a Pittsburgh Steelers fan and a Green Bay Packers fan, in that order. The Super Bowl a few years back really had me in a quandary. I grew up in Wisconsin, so could hardly have avoided an appreciation (at least) for the Green and Gold. But in the late 1970s, something about the Steel Curtain era must have caught my attention one Sunday afternoon, because ever since, my primary allegiance has been with the Steelers. Driving through that region, and I have a few times, is not only a drive through some of the most beautiful country in the country, but a dreamland for any member of Steelers Nation. In no other place that I've been to (even in Wisconsin, where the Packers enjoy a fan appreciation beyond legend), have I ever seen the local or regional team more visible. Put simply, you can't swing a dead cat, and a dead cat is not swung, in western Pennsylvania without some mention of the Steelers, and I love it. Kind of makes me wish I lived there. Too cold (I will eventually be heading south), but seeing a game at Heinz Field one day is definitely a bucket list item. I wouldn't mind seeing a game at Lambeau either, for that matter. But if I had to choose...
That being said, I never align myself with, or expect anything from, the players themselves. I appreciate the extent to which they each contribute to a winning (or losing) season, but make no mistake, it is a rare instance that any one player feels a particular devotion to any one team, or the city that team calls home, or the fans living there. Pardon my French, and sorry if this bursts someone's bubble, but for the most part players go - or would if they could (and often do, when free agency come into play) - where the money and the blow jobs are, plain and simple. That's the machine that the NFL has become, and anybody who holds onto the belief that there's much direct connection between the pros and what I witnessed the other night in the convenience store is naïve at best, delusional in the worst of scenarios.
I'm sure even in the old days it was about 'money and blow jobs'; that is, more about the payoff...'what's in it for me'...and less about the game. But it does seem like the attitudes (and subsequent behavior) of NFL players gets a little crappier with each new season, and more than a few notable players have in the last decade hand-delivered gift wrapped 'worst scenarios' right to the doorstep of fans: notably Michael Vick, Ben Roethlisberger, Richie Incognito, Greg Hardy, Aaron Hernandez, Ray Rice, Adrian Peterson...even Brett Favre reportedly got a little creepy a few years back.
Granted (and in fairness to Favre), some of these situations were worse than others, but they all revealed the same singular truth that until very recently, nobody who follows football seemed to want to acknowledge: that pro players are not always the high-stepping, take charge, rock solid role models we believe - or expect - them to be. And whenever a new indictment or new TMZ alert reminds us of this, the reaction is always the same: shock from the fans, as though how could any of this be true (and this often coupled with a disgusting, though thankfully microcosmic, show of support from certain fans, like those fucking idiotic women who showed up at the Pittsburgh/Baltimore game a few weeks back wearing Ray Rice jerseys), and an unnerving code of silence from the NFL, a kid glove policy which has been put on the hot seat - and rightfully so - in light of recent events.
The explanation should not be a mystery to anyone. First of all, there's no denying American football is a culture of male aggression and violence that can have long-term physical and psychological effects on its participants. We all like to see a good hit, we all expect these guys to torque up and play their hearts out, and it should come as no surprise that some players are going to have trouble shutting off that gridiron grit when the game is over. Some of that aggression is bound to leak onto the playing field of their personal lives. That aggression is, after all, at least in part, what makes them good players in the first place.
But I think the influx of incalculable levels of money and celebrity makes things much worse. The National Football League has become a multi-billion dollar industry, growing by leaps and bounds every season, with so much monopolized power and influence over its players, the media, and the times we live in (think: football, not baseball, is now our national pastime), it could easily be considered its own government. There truly is enough money at play on any given day to qualify as a gross national product, and scouting for new talent to keep the money moving and growing starts early, back to high school, to those little towns awash in their Friday night lights.
I'd venture that might be where behavioral problems witnessed later begin, back in those small towns, where nice clean cut kids (or sometimes perhaps not so clean cut) talk with their elders about how the team did that Friday. Football teams are revered, to say the least, and there is routinely a buzz created about exceptional players, even without the presence or possibility of scouts, even if only to fill a little space on the sports page of the local paper. An undeniable and potent star power is lent kids who have just learned how to drive a car, because football is a big fucking deal in towns that have little else to hang the end of their day on. The standouts become bona fide stars, and if they end up attracting the attention of scouts, that can lead to being given a free ride through institutions of higher learning they otherwise might never be allowed to attend, solely for their skills on the gridiron.
The NFL of course is always hungry for fresh meat - fresh meat equals dollar signs - and each high school and college would love to be the slaughter house from which the meat comes. That's the 'machine' in action, and to that end, I would be willing to bet, at least in some cases, great lengths are traveled to safeguard and fast track certain players' paths to the pros. Reputations are protected, records fudged, bad behavior glossed over or erased entirely, legal infractions that would get ordinary students in hot water 'handled'. Really, how could this not be the case? They may be great athletes, but they're still teenagers, and all teenagers make mistakes.
No teenager is 'clean cut' the way we believe - or expect - them to be.
This Petri dish of duplicity can foster a feeling of entitlement in the kids that obscures any appreciation for their good fortune (and talent), and obliterates (as in leaves not so much as a faint smudge) anything they felt in their first pee wee league game, where talk of the fundamentals, of teamwork, of sportsmanship, were probably still part of the narrative, and to which, more to the point, they were still listening.
In other words, by 20, 21, 22, when doors really start to open for the legitimately talented, these guys are already feeling entitled. And if they become standouts in the NFL, it's all over. That fortune and fame creates a sense of unbridled arrogance and invincibility that, when mixed with the aggression they make their living with, can - and often does, we have seen - create monsters.
The responsibility of the NFL shouldn't be merely to respond when a player does something horrible, it should also be to vet all potential players early on, enact a true zero tolerance policy that scrutinizes their behavior long before they sign that contract. At least back to their freshman year in college, and perhaps even further. If they do something wrong it should be over for them. No exceptions, no second chances whatsoever. A drunk driving arrest, a drug conviction, anything of a violent nature, even a barroom fight, it should be over. Over and done.
When I read that back aloud, I admit it seems harsh. But when you consider the money and fame that might be lavished on these individuals, the opportunity many of them will be given to become household names and perhaps national heroes, it's not really harsh at all, or too unreasonable an expectation. They should never stop considering it a privilege to play professional football - not a right, or a certainty, but a privilege. And they should walk the line. A very taut and thin line.
If they can't, or won't, they should be over and done.
Interestingly enough, partial responsibility for the explosion of obscene amounts of money in pro sports lies within my own family. Bob Woolf, a pioneering sports lawyer active throughout the 1980s, was a cousin of my dad's. He was known as a consummate wheeler and dealer, and helped 'invent' the six-figure contract for such clients as Larry Byrd, Doug Flutie, Dr. J, Carl Yastrzemski, and even (sigh) the New Kids on the Block.
Please don't hold it against me; we're from the country mouse side of the family. ;-)
In any case, many more lawyers and agents followed Bob Woolf, took his 'friendly persuasion' tactic to a whole new level, creating an environment of eight and nine-figure contracts and celebrity endorsement deals that would make Jerry Maguire blush. I have never begrudged anyone the right to make as much money as possible, but I think if there were less money involved, less promise of fame, and a tighter leash placed on individuals who want to get there one day, indeed, if there were less need (or opportunity) for me to quip snidely about 'money and blow jobs' when speaking of the NFL, players might come up through the ranks with anticipation that is fueled by gratitude, rather than entitlement.
