Have You Been Concussed Lately?

One late night a few years ago, I was channel surfing, finding nothing inspiring as usual, 150 channels with nothing to watch.  After about four revolutions through, I was ready to be put to sleep, thumb aching, eyeballs glazed, brain flat lining, except when I got to C-SPAN, I stopped.  This is a great channel to catch exciting Capitol Hill, White House and other political drivel.  But something compelled me to keep watching.  Standing, talking is a youngish man with a gray sport coat, light-blue shirt and a white undershirt.  Hmmm, looks like a geek.  Huge forehead.  Smooth features.  Medium skin tone.  And a slightly feminine voice.  But what really caught my glazed eye was his Harpo Marx-like hair.  Many Brillo pads.  Brown curly-cues with no particular order.  Afro, man.  I had to turn it up when I noticed the feed was from C-SPAN2's  BookTV.  My interest piqued a little more because I rarely seek out talks from authors.  How boring.  And C-SPAN?  Come on.  I must have really been out of it.  But there was something very different and appealing about this person.  He spoke about his soon-to-be-published-book, "Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking".

I learned a lot about Malcolm Gladwell after that intro six years ago.  An amazing, concise, intelligent and witty writer.  A social scientist with journalistic chops.  He had written for a couple of conservative magazines and The Washington Post as a business writer.  He is currently writing for The New Yorker, which is one of my favorite mags.  He has just published his fourth book.

Let me back up though, if I may.  Around a month ago, I had a chance to golf for the first time in four years.  With my patented right-left-tree-dub-fairway technique, I was actually doing OK.  Approaching the 16th green, as passenger in the cart (too lazy and old to walk), I got whacked with an errant tee shot.  The offending golfer was only about twenty yards away.  I was lucky.  It could have shattered my big nose, biffed my eye, busted my bad ear.  Instead it got a hard head.  My golf buddy thought it had hit a tree from the sound.  Thanks Mr. N.

I thought about this incident when the prospect of a concussion was introduced.  Is your vision bleary?  Did you lose consciousness?  Can you stand?  Can you walk?  Can you finish the rest of the 18 holes?  Are you going to finish that hot dog?  Let's see.  No. No. Yes. Yes. Yes. Nah, you can have it.  I was fine except for a slight cut and another knot on my melon.  I was going to correlate this incident with the ever-expanding coverage and recent concerns of concussions in sports.  I didn't really think that the bonk on my head was a concussion.  I have seen X-rays of a boxer's head before and after a match.  And it was frightening.  The brain was clearly pressed up against the back of the skull and somewhat misshapen after the fight.  I recently read where doctors think Lou Gehrig's Disease (ALS) was caused by his numerous concussions.  Playing football as a kid and baseball as a pro.  And we've all heard the stories of past NFL'ers who have health problems.  Not just physical health but mental also.  As for me, I was fine.  Or was I?

Here's where we get back to Mr. Gladwell.  He has written an article for The New Yorker titled "Offensive Play: How different are dogfighting and football?"  Huh?  I had to scratch my head.  And then I started bleeding again from picking the scab off.  Damn you, Gladwell.  After a damp towelette, change from white shirt (now a bit red) to a red shirt (ha, what do you think of that head wound?), a couple of Advil, a drink of water, a short nap, a bite to eat, another nap.... Now where did I put that magazine?  Who would put it there?  Ahem.  Where was I?  Ya, the article.  Basically, Mr. G. writes about CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy), 'a progressive neurological disorder found in people who have suffered some kind of brain trauma.'  It can mimic Alzheimer's with 'behavioral and personality changes, followed by disinhibition and irritability, before moving on to dementia.'  Also in the mix is Lou Gehrig's disease.  Sounds plausible.  I mean, getting hit repeatedly on the dome would cause most of us to say "Stop it. That hurts".  And that's where the dogfighting part comes in.  The dog will fight to the death for its master.  That's his only lot in life.  Please the master.  And when the football player, be it Pop Warner league, high school or pro, is told to "Do it for the team", is he not trying to please somebody?  His dad?  His coach?  His team?

So, a lot of little hits accumulate.  A lineman averages 1,000 head hits in a season.  If he plays 10 years in the pros, add high school and college, the total is around 18,000 hits to the head.  Talk about a subconcussive trauma headache.  Mr. Gladwell feels that football, at all levels, should take a good, hard look at itself and try not to be that dog owner that just looks at the bottom line: win at all costs.  And try to minimize the amount of times one person gets hit.  And let that person get his head back.  Doctors have recommended that after a concussion, the person should have his head examined.  I know, bad joke.  But most pro footballers will not come out due to their training and their love of the game.  Are they being used?  Former Bronco wide receiver Brandon Stokley, he of at least six concussions, said he knows the potential of future health problems.  But he would not change a thing.

I think Mr. G. took a huge leap from dogfighting to football.  I also think he has made a wicked point.  We know football is violent and is a choice.  We know dogfights are morally wrong and the dogs don't have a choice.  Are we, the fans, the coaches, the owners, the TV stations, are we morally wrong for letting men (and women) hurt themselves for our pleasure?  New technology for safety goes only so far.  Rules to protect keep expanding.  But still. 

Taken from Gladwell's article:  "There is nothing else to be done, not so long as fans stand and cheer.  We are in  love with football players, with their courage and grit, and nothing else - neither considerations of science nor those of morality - can compete with the destructive power of that love."

And if you go to the golf course and see somebody with a football helmet on ..................