Voices: We all know about sexual abuse in the NFL – but football disables our moral compass
“We’re aware, and we don’t care.”
If the NFL had a Pledge of Allegiance, that would be it. Six words. No complications.
But what are we “aware” of? We’re aware that over 150 players have been arrested or charged with physical or sexual violence against women since 2000. Some of them were caught on camera. We still cheer for them if they’re on our favorite teams and because we’re hooked on the drama and athleticism they bring. That’s caught on camera as well.
Football is so magnetic that it disables our moral compasses.
I was a sports producer for many years and worked with a player who surfaced as a domestic abuser and sexual harasser. Every few years, old stories were unearthed, and new ones arose. He was lucky he played before investigative reporters combed police wires and bystanders armed themselves with cellphones. He was also lucky he plays a sport where no player criticizes another for violent or sexually abusive behavior.
And the fans? We overlook. What we don’t know – and I saw this first-hand - makes one wonder how bad this is. Because give me a list of 1,000 people I knew, and ask me to pick out the domestic abuser? My player might have ranked 1,000th.
But here’s the rub. I still like football. I don’t like the player. I don’t like the hundreds just like him. Yet his malevolence is not football’s fault. The game is inert: Ball, field, rulebook. Can one person ruin it for me? Can 100? Are we, the fans, enablers? We compartmentalize violence against women by certain players, then cheer for them on Sunday if their shirt is the proper color.
Why don’t we boycott football? It’s unrealistic. The NFL is a monopoly, sure, but it’s also tightly wound into our fabric. Football offers an opportunity to see friends you don’t see enough, relax solo on a couch, tailgate, host parties, have “cheat days” on your diet, or crush it in fantasy. It’s small talk, tailgate parties, and a community unifier. The price is disabling your moral compass. Yet everyone else is doing it. There’s security in crowds. We can convince ourselves of anything.
The numbers preach. Forty-eight of the top 50 TV broadcasts during the 2021 NFL season were football games. Television networks just signed deals to pay the NFL $110 billion over 11 years to air their games. America’s largest companies use these games to reach millions of people with their messages. No one’s boycotting football.
Please explain this statistic to me amid the violence and abuse: as per Sports Industry Economics, in 2017, 33% of those who watched or attended pro football games were women. In 2020, it was 42%.
Last month, Cleveland’s DeShaun Watson was suspended and fined for sexual abuse and misconduct by two dozen massage therapists he recruited on Instagram. All but one agreed to a settlement. Before the justice system even accepted the case, the Browns acquired him and signed him to a contract approaching a quarter-of-a-billion dollars. They saw his conduct as a PR problem with short-term effects on their brand, not a human problem with a long-term impact on victims. He and the NFL agreed to an 11-week suspension. After a few days of performative remorse, he’s back to “standing on his innocence.”
Why would owners Dee and Jimmy Haslam sign him so casually? To win. The Browns have won as many Super Bowls as Orchard Elementary School in New Jersey. Jimmy Haslem could not have been blunter about this. “You can say, ‘that’s because he’s a star quarterback,” said the owner. “Well, of course.”
Watson currently ranks 21st in merchandise sales among all NFL players. Strong hunch on forgiveness by Haslam.
No player on Watson’s team or league has spoken out against him. Nor any of the other documented 150 users this century. No one criticizes, demonizes, or ostracizes. No one stands up for the women. Their teammates don’t say anything because they want to win, and there is a code. The players are aware, and they don’t care.
Why do owners – all 32 of whom are billionaires – sign abusive players? They want to win. In the land of the billionaires, they need to be the nobility. In exchange for their self-professed noble generosity largesse in shepherding their billion-dollar assets to their communities, they want the love of the masses. Ethics be damned. Research by Daniel Sailovsky of Middlesex College in London looked at over 100 players arrested for violence against women. He concluded that the top-performing 75% of this group who returned to the league did not make less money or have shorter careers than players who were not arrested for violence against women — zero effect. The owners are aware, and they don’t care.
In the #MeToo reckoning, men who harassed, abused, and raped their victims, were called out. Yet there was a subtle side note to #MeToo that struck me hard, accustomed as I was to the wall of silence in football. Colleagues of Matt Lauer, Charlie Rose, Kevin Spacey, and hundreds of others held back nothing. They refused to work with named people, demanded their removal, and told their stories. No other networks or filmmakers salivated for their services. Viewers wanted nothing to do with them. The stigma lasted. Charlie Rose talks to people and puts it on a website. Matt Lauer haunts the Hamptons. Kevin Spacey plays whack-a-mole with lawsuits and accusations.
Adult NFL players can’t find their tongues. Wallet-bound owners continue to employ craven men. Are we going to point fingers? Owners first. They sign off on the player to punch up their roster. The players remain closed-mouthed, but the team may improve. The fans think everyone else is OK with it! And just like that, the ethical wall tumbles.
Is there a way to create change around the edges? There could be. Whether through criminal or private investigations, owners should stay away from players once evidence turns up. It’s not a “ban.” It’s what happened to Colin Kaepernick. Just no one signed him. Do that. And the effort and money the NFL puts into what was formerly “Breast Cancer Awareness Month” but is now “Choose Your Own Charity” month for players? Launch “Domestic and Sexual Abuse Month.” Put money into domestic violence and sexual abuse trauma centers. These are easy. The NFL has dumped a mess in our lap and made us take measures of ourselves. The answers aren’t pretty. Still, we watch with passion. In my case, I worked with one with passion, and I kept wondering if I missed clues. By now, I know I didn’t. But, sadly, it’s so ingrained in the game, and sadder still, he never paid the price. He did he opposite: he got rich.
I don’t root for teams with players who wouldn’t be hired in most other industries. It doesn’t change my life, and I still watch plenty of games. If my team picks up a miscreant, we’re done. There are 31 other teams in the league; I can always find another one to root for. Honestly, most of the players on your favorite team don’t live in your town and didn’t grow up nearby. You’re just rooting for a certain color shirt. “We are rooting for laundry,” says Jerry Seinfeld, “and nothing else.” So, if what’s inside that laundry is enough to make your skin crawl, find a new shirt.
That’s America, however. Just win, baby. Ethics vs. Winning? We have seen that winning wins every time. (Saying you won when you lost is a close second.)
