Is There Life After Football?

by James A. Holstein

  Commitment, Competition, and Excitement

  Players are expected to commit themselves fully to the game. One of the game’s most popular, yet banal, assertions is a variation on “We have to give 110 percent.” If a player isn’t giving more than 100 percent—which, of course, is literally impossible—he’s probably considered a loser. But the commitment to winning is even more celebrated. “Winning isn’t everything. It’s the only thing.” Being supremely competitive is a hallmark of the NFL. Longtime NFL media analyst Rich Eisen claims that the league’s players are the most prideful athletes he’s encountered: “They don’t like to lose. At anything. To a man, when an NFL player walks on that field, he believes his opponents are trying to take food off his table and money out of his pockets, which means they are going after his wives and kids and maybe his momma too. That’s how badly they want to win.”93

  The spirit of competition spills over into nearly all aspects of NFL life. Says former player and coach Herman Edwards, “These guys compete at everything. That is why they are successful.” Former NFL lineman Leon Searcy confirms this: “I competed just as hard off the field as I did on the field.”94 Every team has its player who is known to be a “sore loser,” who needs to come out on top, no matter what the game—going all out to win at card games, dominoes, or ping-pong in the locker room, betting $2,000 that he can do more pushups than a group of other players, betting $10,000 on golf games, spending huge sums of money on jewelry, houses, cars, and women. “It is always competitive when it comes to spending,” offers former receiver Andre Rison. “You see your teammate and he has a big chain on, and it’s bigger than yours. And so you sit there and say, OK, I’m going to go buy the new 911 Porsche and pull that up to practice and see how he likes that.”95 T.J. Ward of the Cleveland Browns refers to this sort of off-field competition as “stunting.” “It means to show off. ‘I have more than you so I’m going to stunt. I got this car. I got this jewelry. I got this girl.’ Anything that kinda makes somebody jealous.” Ward suggests that this sort of competition is pervasive, extending so far as players competing with one another over who has the most and biggest firearms.96

  This all adds up to an exhilaration that’s hard to match. One former player says he got “goose bumps and the rush of adrenaline” just anticipating a game. Another described a game as “three hours of complete euphoria.”97 Michael Oriard claims that for some, the excitement’s as addictive as any drug.98 Football, he says, is “life with the volume turned up . . . 500 watts per channel and a massive subwoofer.”99 Regardless of description, a powerful visceral rush accompanies competing in the NFL. “I hit [opponent] really hard. I mean, I destroyed him. That got the adrenaline flowing. . . . I felt like the superhero Colossus from the X-Men.”100 Pursuing sheer exhilaration, both on and off the field, is central to the player ethos.

  Toughness, Injury, Masculinity, and Respect

  Football is controlled violence, played with a “take no prisoners attitude.”101 Perhaps the most common and sincere way players laud one another is to acknowledge their toughness, their willingness to confront violence and not back down. All-time greats Walter Payton and Emmitt Smith, for example, were relatively small men whose greatness is generally attributed to their courage, toughness, and sheer will power.102 Brett Favre is forgiven his myriad interceptions and indiscretions because he is considered perhaps the toughest, most fearless competitor the game has ever seen. On the other hand, when players want to disparage an opponent, they’re likely to challenge his toughness—say he’s weak or soft. Even if a player is less than a sterling performer, he can hold his head high if he’s considered tough.

  Toughness and masculinity go hand in hand in most men’s sports, but they’re magnified in the NFL.103 One former NFL cornerback says it plainly:

  Every day your manhood is being challenged. [Football is] a very masculine-based world. . . . And you have to live up to that. . . . If you’re ever seen as a coward, then you’re pretty much not going to fit in. . . . So you got to prove every day or every weekend on Sunday at one o’clock or whenever that you’re a man. . . . I think that is unique to our profession.104

  The NFL ethos constantly holds players accountable to “be a man.” Masculinity is virtually compulsory.105 Of course this is often couched in terms of toughness and competitiveness, but it is also a matter of attitude and demeanor, on and off the field. For example, coarse, brutish behavior is commonplace during most team activities and profanity is widely considered the official language of the NFL.106 Sexuality is frequently implicated. According to Mike Freeman, “Calling a player gay is worse than calling him weak or even gutless.”107 To be sure, there are plenty of positive attributes in the NFL’s masculine ethos, including courage, tenacity, loyalty, and brotherhood, but the ethos also narrows the range of acceptable behaviors to a manly profile that’s exaggerated into a sort of “macho” hypermasculinity.

  Being a man is crucial to winning respect in the harsh and competitive NFL world. It’s among the very first things that come to mind when players talk about the essence of the game. There’s a culture of toughness and respect around the NFL that’s reminiscent of the code of the street and culture of respect that permeates the hard lives of violent inner-city neighborhoods. It’s hard won and deeply cherished.108

  The violence of the NFL game makes serious injury routine. It’s simply a way of life, something to be feared, but also accepted. Certainly, players don’t want to injure other players. There’s an unwritten rule: “Don’t mess with a man’s livelihood.” Inflicting pain with a big hit, however, is another matter. And accepting pain and injury stoically is a necessity. George Koonce reflects on his experience:

  Guys used to say, “You can’t make the club in the tub.” Early on, I was afraid to miss a day of practice, so I never missed a single practice or took a day off, even if I was hurt. We were all eager to perform, so guys would often deny the severity of their injuries. It’s one thing to be injured and another thing to be hurt. An injury is something like a broken leg, when a guy can’t play. But if he’s only hurt, he can play through the pain. You just suck it up, get an injection, take pain medication, do whatever you have to do to play the game. Being hurt is just part of the game.109

  The unspoken message is clear: if you’re off the field due to injury, someone else will replace you. Players often conceal their injuries from coaches and trainers, “suck it up,” and find a way to play.

  “Livin’ Large”

  Players and the NFL game seem larger than life. For decades, image and reality have fed off of one another, creating a colorful mythology about players’ excessive penchants and proclivities. For some players, “livin’ large” is a lifestyle, a full-time commitment. It’s pursuing a life that’s as fast, reckless, and oversized as the bodies that play the game. It’s reveling in gargantuan appetites and enormous excesses: fun, food, drinking, clothes, jewelry, women, among myriad other pursuits. It’s pushing life to the fullest.110 Extravagance is the byword. For Michael Irvin, it’s a dozen women. For Andre Rison, it’s “making it rain. We’re talking about throwing money up, and watching it come down like rain drops . . . going to a strip club and just throw your money all up in the air. . . . We have moved far beyond raining to snowing. Instead of $5 bills, now you are flicking $100 bills.” Leon Searcy fills in some details: “I’m in the car with another football player, and I bought me some jewelry, about $50,000 worth, and this guy wrote a check in the car, with the jewelry guy behind us, for like $250,000. . . . If you looked good, played good, they paid good. That was our philosophy.”111 As a corollary to excitement, livin’ large can take off-field thrill seeking to decadent heights, perhaps involving gambling, firearms, or drugs.112

  Livin’ large is more than simply the pursuit of extravagance. It’s also an attitude toward one’s self in relation to norms and conventions that takes “stunting” or “stylin’” to outrageous heights. It’s trying to assume mythic status, to stand outside the rules a
nd customs that typically tame social behavior. Livin’ large, players may adopt outsized, even outrageous personas, if not personalities. Casual talk and behavior may push the boundaries of civility, typically exaggerating the hypermasculine ethos that permeates NFL environs. Livin’ large isn’t necessarily malicious, but it is intentionally conspicuous. It often inscribes its signature by way of flamboyant nicknames: “Hollywood,” “Neon Deion,” “Broadway Joe,” “Prime Time,” “Cadillac.” There’s plenty of space for livin’ large inside the bubble.

  Locker Room Culture

  Nowhere is fellowship or camaraderie deeper than in the locker room. Indeed, the locker room becomes a home away from home. As former defensive tackle Mike Golic puts it, “You are with your teammates more than you are with your family.”113 “In that locker room,” recalls Tommy Jones, “we did everything. Hung out. Played dominoes. And then you think about the misery, the times of the wins, the losses with those guys. That is something that can never be replaced.”114 Locker room culture magnifies aspects of the family atmosphere, with a decidedly masculine twist. The locker room is the home of bravado, obscene language and crude behavior, horseplay, hijinks, pranks, and practical jokes, accounts of which can make legends of otherwise nondescript players.115

  For most players, the locker room is sacred ground. To appropriate a now-popular adage, “What happens here stays here.” Signs to that effect have hung in NFL locker rooms for decades.116 Locker room privacy is sacrosanct. It’s the inner sanctum where family matters stay in the family. Upholding traditional family values, however, is another matter. Remember that profanity is the language of choice in the locker room and that “macho” may not be a strong enough term to describe the locker room’s ambiance. Says the wife of one NFL player, “I never let [our kids] go there. It’s an adult male place. . . . They were just out there cussing and grunting and tying to kill each other. I don’t want my boys around that.”117

  According to the player ethos, nothing in the locker room is divulged, but everything is shared. And honesty among players is the coin of the realm. According to Hall of Famer Jesse Dampeer, “You don’t lie [to teammates] . . . so there is an aura of truth about the locker room.”118 Players will disclose legal transgressions, marital infidelity, even betrayals of the team, with the full expectation that the discussion goes no farther. It’s a sacred trust that transcends other obligations. And that trust extends to the expectation for teammates to “have your back,” to stand up—even cover up—for you if the need arises. Ultimately, the locker room is a state of mind more than a physical locale.

  Locker room culture is also shaped by the fact that, in recent decades, the NFL has been populated mainly by African American players. The 2013 Racial and Gender Report Card indicates that in 2012 about 66 percent of NFL players were African American and about 30 percent were white. The percentages have hovered in this range since 1990. About 15 percent of head coaches have been African American over this time, and the percentage of African American assistant coaches has been in the vicinity of 30 percent.119 This means that African Americans numerically dominate the locker room, and have for decades. In many respects, the NFL locker room turns American racial distributions upside down. Outside of football and basketball, there’s hardly an American social institution where whites find themselves in the minority. This has notable cultural implications.120 African Americans are integral to team leadership. They comprise most of the star players. African American preferences (to the extent that such things might be linked to race) in music, attire, and cuisine shape the contours of the locker room. “Black style”121 sets many trends.

  Culturally, this may be foreign territory for many whites, although players of all races become accustomed to this brand of “diversity” as they move up the ranks of elite competition. By and large, players and former players say that race is “not an issue” in the NFL. They frequently proclaim that the league is far ahead of the rest of American society when it comes to race relations. As African American Hall of Famer Chris Carter notes, “The NFL is the least racist environment I’ve ever been in.”122 Players routinely say that everyone’s treated the same in a game where only talent and commitment matter, although concerns about racial “stacking” at certain positions still linger.

  That’s not to say that the NFL is color blind. Racialized talk in locker room is commonplace. While racial slurs are usually bandied about in a light-hearted manner by members of the same race, players admit to hearing and using them in earnest from time to time. And old stereotypes die hard. Some still consider African Americans to be intellectual liabilities at certain positions and whites to be insufficiently athletic for others. Former wide receiver David Jordan, for example, recalls that African American defensive backs and receivers never gave him due respect because he was a “white guy playing a black position.” No one believed he was fast enough, even though he was an Olympic-caliber athlete. By his account, Jordan made the best of the situation and eventually won the respect and friendship of many of his African American teammates.123

  Nevertheless, players claim that racial animus is rare. They cite plenty of cross-race friendships, although locker rooms tend to be racially segregated. In large part, this is due to players being assigned lockers according to position groupings, which tend to divide along racial lines. The “white” sections of the locker room, for example, may be composed of offensive linemen, quarterbacks, and kickers.124 And, as with other groups, like tends to attract like, so that white players tend to hang with whites, and African Americans tend to stick together. The groupings aren’t exclusionary, and multiracial groups and activities are common. The upshot of the NFL’s racial composition is a work environment that is nearly unique among highly paid professionals.

  Contradiction and Paradox

  The NFL player ethos is rife with paradox. Often romanticized, it’s a powerful set of orientations that sometimes confronts players with deep contradictions. Frequently, for example, commitment to winning—to giving one’s all for the team—collides with the propensity for livin’ large. Sometimes this makes for amusing anecdotes. Green Bay Packer Max McGee stays out on the town all night before Super Bowl I, shows up on game day severely hung over, then turns in a sparkling performance: seven receptions for 138 yards and two touchdowns. He becomes a legend. The Oakland Raiders of the 1970s and the Dallas Cowboys of the 1990s party their way to multiple Super Bowl victories. No harm, no foul.

  But there are just as many instances where one tenet of the ethos prevails to the detriment of another. Recently, for example, separate media stories emerged about Green Bay Packers linemen T.J. Lang and Evan Dietrich-Smith. Both narratives featured the theme of unheralded players coming to Green Bay, persevering, and working their way into starting jobs on the offensive line. But in both cases, the march to success was waylaid by bouts of livin’ large. Both players, so the stories go, took to extravagant eating, drinking, and staying out late. They grew complacent and out of shape. But each got a “wake-up call” in time to turn their off-field behavior—and their on-field games—around.125 These tales are uplifting because commitment trumps livin’ large, giving credence to the more “upstanding” aspects of the player ethos. Again, in the end, no harm, no foul.

  But consider the unfortunate case of Eugene Robinson at Super Bowl XXXIII. On the day before the game, Robinson—the Atlanta Falcons’ Pro Bowl safety and spiritual leader—was awarded the Bart Starr Award from the Christian group Athletes in Action for his “high moral character.” That night he was arrested for soliciting oral sex from an undercover police officer posing as a prostitute. Robinson spent the night in jail but arrived at the stadium in time for the game. He played, but gave up an 80-yard touchdown reception early in the game and later missed a tackle that led to a long run to the Atlanta 10-yard line. The Falcons lost the game 34–19. Later, a teammate defended Robinson: “Guys had been going there all week. It’s just that Eugene was the only one who got caught.” Said another forme
r teammate, “All the guys like to get their cocks sucked the night before a game.”126 The comments were made partly in jest, and with considerable bravado, typical of locker room culture. But more emblematic of the player ethos is Robinson’s teammates’ willingness to stand by him when he let them down on the biggest day of their football lives. In the end, it’s a clash between competing values of commitment and winning versus those of livin’ large and locker room culture. Loyalty at times supersedes commitment to excellence. The NFL players’ world, like the world of sports more generally, is fraught with contradictions.127

  The Greedy Institution

  Some players say football’s appeal results from its on-field authenticity.128 There are unambiguous ways of determining success and failure, winners and losers. The game provides clear opportunities to prove one’s self physically, to show one’s strength of mind and character, and to contribute to the common enterprise. Each play demands teamwork and individuality, finesse and toughness, brains and brawn. Other players emphasize the game’s excitement, camaraderie, or extrinsic rewards. Regardless of their reasons, it’s hard to find an ex-player who didn’t love the game or who regrets giving himself so wholeheartedly.