As published in The County Times (http://countytimes.somd.com)
By Ronald N. Guy Jr.
After taking a brief hiatus, I’m back - or at least some
damaged version is – from a self-imposed exile from society at-large, D.C.
sports in general and the eternally-hexed Washington Capitals, specifically. The Darkness, the evil force undeniably
enveloping D.C.’s professional teams, overwhelmed me.
How acute was my sports-affective disorder? After the inexplicable, inexcusable and
completely illogical Game 4 loss to the Penguins, I was Caps-fan-on-fire: screaming
like a 1980’s hair metal concert goer and using language that wouldn’t make my
momma proud.
The aftermath was unprecedented: I abandoned the Caps. With the misery needle buried in the red, I
did not watch games 5-7. First time in
my life I’ve ever done such a thing. I’d
seen this Caps script too many times and was in no place to willfully subject
myself to the anguish. This annual
torment is the Caps’ Rite of Spring, if you will, a play on the
haunting/doomsday’s approaching masterpiece by…wait for it…Russian composer Igor
Stravinsky. Game 4 broke me. I couldn’t even write; a condition critical
that forced Duke Radbourn to pen the last column while I recovered.
But enough of that.
Here we are, together again, in this fabulous moment to discuss
something of substance or at least bizarre, like the death of major sports
league.
The buried lede: The NFL won’t live to see Super Bowl
C (100) in 2066, not in its current form.
The now undeniable consequences on the human body and, more importantly,
the human brain are too great.
Countless former NFL players are suffering from early
on-set dementia, a diagnosis that is often posthumously changed to Chronic
Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE). Confusion. Mood swings.
Child-like behavior.
Forgetfulness. Depression. Suicide.
These are the symptoms. Two more names
were added to the NFL’s victim list last week: Nick Buoniconti and Jim Kiick, teammates
on the undefeated 1972 Miami Dolphins. Many,
many more will follow.
But this generation has something the priors didn’t:
knowledge of football’s risks. That
knowledge will curb the NFL’s talent supply, either through increased early
retirements or young athletes opting for other sports. It will also pull the league’s purse strings
as sponsors disassociate their brand from a debilitating sport.
What does the future hold for America’s sport?
Tom Brady, pending Madden cover boy, might have teased
the answer recently. When playing the
game with his son, Brady disclosed that he chooses either Green Bay or
Seattle. New England? Not an option. His son makes that claim.
Virtual football.
Is that where we’re headed? Is virtual
reality the solution for the NFL?
Crazy talk?
Sure. I’ve been a little
bleary-eyed recently. I’ve flirted with
the dark corners of my brain. But if you
think the NFL will just keep marching along, as is, with the same corporate
sponsors and the same supply line snaking back through colleges, high schools
and pee wee football, you aren’t paying attention to what professional football
is doing to its participants.
Think of these scenarios: a fully virtual league or
one where players are robots, controlled remotely by humans. In the former the “players” are programmed
with attributes – size, speed, etc. – with complex coding/simulation
determining the outcome. In the latter,
all robots are physically identical with the game decided by the skill of
gamers. Or something like that. You get the idea.
No more concussions.
No more injuries. Player
personalities could be cultivated like WWE stars. Gridiron superheroes. And ponder the potential revenue growth with
the sport now globally viable and freed of human body-imposed game limits.
But would we watch?
Of course we would.
This is 2066, mind you. When
considering the technological advances of the last 50 years, is 2066 even sufficiently
imaginable to mount a counter-argument? And
do you doubt future generations will lack the bloodthirst that makes football
so appealing?
Besides, look at us now. Concocted Facebook lives. On-line dating. Reality television (which is often anything
but). Virtual reality is everywhere –
and it’s getting scary-good. Facts are
routinely skewed. Fiction thrives, even
in the most important facets of American life.
If the story’s compelling, we’ll buy a ticket and take the ride without
hardly a question asked.
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