League of Denial: The NFL, Concussions, and the Battle for Truth by Mark Fainaru-Wada
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Everybody sucks. Everybody in this book just sucks. The NFL sucks. The NFL got stuck in their little damn castle, deny-deny-deny, and even when all their own doctors told them that some of their players had severe brain damage, and they finally loosen up their tight-ass wallets to give some money to the families, even then just deny deny nope no concussion problem in our league deny deny yep we are funding a helmet designed to reduce concussions (which every not-employed-by-the-NFL scientist says is a flawed pipe dream, BTW) but there's no concussion problem so if your son got knocked silly in a high school game that's not our problem deny deny deny. And then the people who study the brains...these assholes. Step all over themselves to prove the NFL wrong, and who cares who's toes you step on. Show Autopsy Photos of the players who's brains showed the damage? Heck yeah. (And I'm not talking the slides of the damaged brain. I'm talking photos of the deceased players, mid-autopsy, and the doctor doesn't even get why people were creeped out) Act like the worst ambulance-chasing nightmares to the families who just had a loved one die in order to make sure they secure the brain before some other research group can? Check and check. Eventually sell out to work for the company you've spent most of your career trying to convince people is harming their employees without admission or remorse? You know they did.

I know, I sound a little bitter and crazed. I get it. Look, I love football. Love it. And I've stepped over many an inconvenient fact in order to protect that love. But there has been a firestorm over the last two decades, building over the horizon, and at some point, I either have to admit that the city is burning down around me, or go down in the ashes. Every week, another report comes out that makes one question his/her fanhood. Another player knocks out his girlfriend or wife. Another player sexually assaults somebody, or beats his kids, and doesn't understand why he can't suit up on Sunday, because he's spent most of his adult life being told that because he can play a game better than 99.9% of us, he's more important. I grew up on this sport. When I was young, Sundays were about going to Grandma's for a big lunch, followed by all of us sitting around a screen to watch whatever game was on. And now...I don't hate football. I don't know that I ever could. But I do not like how it makes me feel. I do not like some of the athletes who play this sport, and how they are sheltered until they finally cross the line where people say, "Well, we can't ignore that, can we?". I hate that the small percentage of those a-holes completely overshadow the mostly decent majority of the league. And I hate that this game has become so fast, and so hard, that it is ruining player's lives, and demolishing livelihoods, and the League will not admit that it is happening despite all evidence, and will not take some of the ungodly amount of money we so easily hand over, in order to provide basic benefits to the retired players who built the empire that they sit on so high to look down on everybody. (And I'm not just talking about concussions....think about how many players need knee replacements, or have sever back or joint issues, especially from the older players who played before their salaries went to a ridiculous stratosphere) Football, right now, is not fun to watch. It's not fun to think about. It's one bad story after another, and over the last few years, I can not watch without wondering why I do pay so much attention.

And I will pay attention. Probably for the rest of my life. That's the part that makes me feel so conflicted. I think about taking the high road, let football go, but then the game's on, and.....yeah. I really do love this game. That's why I was so angry reading this book, because LoD is meticulously written, and takes a long look at everybody involved with the Concussion scandals, and it was thorough and effective. And ultimately, there is nobody that comes out well. None of the problems get solved, and nobody is really clean. And players are still getting obscene amounts of money to possibly (probably) destroy their post-football lives. And come September, I will be sitting in front of the screen, watching again. I will be trying to capture an old feeling. Don't think less of me for it.


View all my reviews