Last updated: November 22, 2011 6:35 pm
Brandon Braich — The Peak (Simon Fraser University)
BURNABY, B.C. (CUP) — You stand, watching them break the huddle, and then line up. The play begins; it’s just a simple hand-off and a hole emerges. You step up into the hole and for that moment, everything is right in the world — and then it all changes.
You receive a blow to the head. You get up, and for a second everything is blurred as your brain recovers from this unexpected jolt. The scientist says there has been a neurological shift, and the rational person takes a moment to clear their head — but the football player ignores it and plays on.
Last year, Kansas high school player Nathan Stiles was cleared to return to football after suffering a concussion. The problem was that Stiles still openly complained about post-concussion symptoms to his teammates and friends. He went back to playing and eventually died of his injury. There are similar stories of athletes dying in the moment or years after a concussion.
In the case of Stiles, who is to blame for this avoidable tragedy? Is it the player for failing to recognize the severity of his symptoms? Is it the teammates for not reporting this to his coach? Or is it the coach for not properly educating his players? Or do we blame Walter Camp for creating such a brutal and senseless game?
I have had more than one teammate tell me they believed they had a concussion, and they continued to play. I didn’t act.
What if their fate was the same as Stiles? What if they died? How could I possibly live with myself, knowing that I withheld information that could have saved someone’s life?
When you are out there on the field, it’s all a game — but it’s not some video game with virtual consequences. The stakes are high, in more ways than just one.
During Super Bowl XXXII, Super Bowl MVP Terrell Davis turned in a performance for the ages. He rushed for well over 100 yards, propelling the Denver Broncos to victory. However, there’s a darker side to the game that is not often talked about.
At one point late in the game, his head hurt so badly he couldn’t even see straight — but his coach told him they just needed him for one more play. All he had to do was run to the left and they’d pretend to give him the ball.
Without Davis on the field, the fake would be useless. He did it, and the Broncos won the Super Bowl. Davis was not suffering from a concussion, something 60 per cent of former NFL players suffer from, but from severe migraines, a condition that had plagued him his entire life.
This serves as an example of glorifying an injury, as Davis was hailed as a hero for continuing to play through a serious illness — a prevailing theme in football culture. Davis would have lost no money for pulling out of the biggest game of his life, but he couldn’t; something deep inside pushed him and told him that, unless he physically couldn’t, he must play.
Friday Night Lights, a popular football movie, depicts a Texas high school team being physically dominated in the final, with helmets being knocked off, bodies flying and blood pouring. Yet despite being physically decimated, they kept fighting, eventually losing in a valiant effort. We reflect on the characters’ great performances not as those who stepped out to live another day, but those who battled and continued on like warriors and became legends.
How can you possibly condemn something so glorified? The paradox remains that while any concussion demands an immediate removal from the game, a player is not only expected to, but is encouraged to play through pain and injury.
Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis perhaps best sums up the still-existing view on concussions among many football players in an interview with The Baltimore Sun.
“You’ve got to ask yourself what point in the game you’re at, what stage of the season you’re at, how big is the game? Are you really needed at that point? If you’re blowing somebody out, no [don’t go back in]. If you’re fighting to go to [the Super] Bowl, then you’ve got to suck it up.”
Many players truly believe that concussions are no different than any other injury, and that when push comes to shove you have to get back out there. In the battle to make football a safer sport, one has to ask: How can you save men who do not wish to be saved?
My first concussion occurred during my community football days, when I was in the eighth grade. I took a knee to the head when I made a tackle. Instantly, my head seared and everything was blurry; I could barely make out what was going on. I had experienced similar symptoms before, so I expected it to wear off as I jogged off the field. Everyone was congratulating me, and I received a few slaps on the helmet — which I remember made things worse.
Eventually I got back out on the field, but everything was still a blur. I remember I couldn’t even make out what the QB was saying in the huddle. I had heard about concussions but had no real knowledge of their symptoms or severity, and so I kept playing.
After about five or six plays, I realized this wasn’t going away and took myself out of the game. The coaches explained to me I had suffered a concussion and should sit out the rest of the game. As I sat on the bench, my head cleared, and I suddenly felt as good as new. I couldn’t help thinking I had just taken myself out of the game for no good reason at all, and I instantly regretted telling the coaches. Throughout my early high school football career, I suffered three more concussions, and I called it quits.
That didn’t last for long, though.
In Grade 12, our team had gotten off to a terrible start, and I decided to make a comeback. Technically, no doctor had specifically ordered me to discontinue play so I was somehow able to coax myself back into football. It was my first game back after a week of practice, and I was rusty. When I made my first hit, I was a bit hesitant, and absorbed the hit.
I also dropped my head. Immediately after the hit, I knew something was wrong, but it was the first tackle I had made since returning. I made seven more tackles, and ended up playing pretty well. I was so afraid of taking another big shot to the head I played with a lot more control than I normally would, and the game seemed to slow down. It wasn’t until the next day when my head hurt so much I couldn’t even concentrate that I went to see a doctor.
If you had asked me if football was worth dying for, I would have told you “hell no” — but there I was, playing through a concussion. Nobody would ever explicitly tell you they thought you should play, but when you hear others talking about playing through pain, not sitting out, you can’t help but look around and wonder what others are thinking, whether they are looking at you a bit differently or thinking you aren’t tough.
As much of an issue concussions have become in the media today, within the sport there still exists a culture that precedes this. We aren’t scientists; when we discuss concussions, we only care about when you’ll get back to playing in the here and now, not how you’ll feel in 20 years.
Even now, in a supposedly progressive era of football, this culture still exists. The now proven myth of having your head “bell rung” (the old term for a concussion, which treats it as a minor issue that will be fine in a few seconds) still survives. I hear coaches tell their players this even today, and then they send them back out on to the field. I still see nothing different than when I started playing.
After 11 years, I’m left with some nice memories, lifelong friends and perhaps future brain problems. Was it worth it?
-30-