Is There Life After Football? (11 page)

I'd get people to drive me when I'd go out drinking. I had a cousin who would drive me to wherever. I had trainers or friends drive me. I even had police officers drive me home. They'd say, “George, have you had anything to drink?” And I say, “Yeah, I had a few tonight.” And they would say, “Jump in [the police car] and I'll take you home.” I was protected a lot. A lot of players were
.

While there's no systematic evidence to support the claim that NFL players are more crime- or violence-prone than others sharing their demographic profile, serious repercussions are rare for those who might run afoul of the law, especially when drugs or domestic violence are involved.
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Drug violations are “taken care of” without arrest. Even seemingly egregious incidents—especially those involving violence against women—are often overlooked. According to Mike Freeman, many NFL players are nearly oblivious to the possible repercussions of their actions, from both the NFL and the criminal justice system. They know that doing jail time is unlikely because most victims of domestic violence don't prosecute their abusers, and even if they do, “most players are wealthy enough to hire a top-notch attorney who can work the system to keep them free.” Describing a number of high profile cases involving NFL players with multiple arrests for violence against women, Freeman argues that “players, especially the highly talented ones, also understand that no matter what they do, short of a murder conviction, there will always be a job waiting for them in football. They've learned. They have watched this scenario play itself out a hundred times. . . . Teams and the court system make embarrassing compromises so a player can take the field despite accusations of abuse.”
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Shannon O'Toole concurs: “An abuser in the NFL does not have to think as hard about the consequences of his actions if he's caught.” Putting it bluntly, she contends that some players are “too famous for their own good.”
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But not all offenses can be swept under the nearest carpet, so teams sometimes let the legal system run its course, for example, in homicide cases involving Ray Lewis, Rae Carruth, and Aaron Hernandez. But teams are at the ready with legal assistance and public relations
advice, and are typically willing to welcome players back into the fold once legal matters are resolved. The Green Bay Packers, for instance, reinstated defensive lineman Johnny Jolly to their roster after over five years of involvement with drug-related offenses and the criminal justice system. Since 2008, Jolly has been arrested three times and convicted for possession of codeine with intent to distribute, placed in a pretrial diversion program (which he violated), placed on probation (which he violated), and sentenced to six years in prison, six months of which he served before being placed on “shock probation” in May 2012. Along the way, the NFL indefinitely suspended Jolly in 2010, then reinstated him in February 2013.
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Coach Mike McCarthy welcomed Jolly, generally known as a good guy and productive player, with open arms: “It's great to have him back.”
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The point here is not to belabor Jolly's drug addiction and unlawful behavior, but rather to underscore the extent to which the NFL is willing to forgive what goes on outside the lines
if a player has something to contribute on the field
. It's quite a different story for marginal players, or for those who are perceived as salary cap liabilities. For them, any annoyance to the team may result in being cut on the spot.
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Isolation and Dependency

All the special attention works to isolate many players from the normal social transactions of everyday life. George Koonce remembers his early days in the NFL:

I didn't go out much. I didn't go out until my fourth or fifth year because I was trying to get my game up to where the other guys were. I wasn't in any social circle. I just saw the players and the coaches. . . . I didn't have any transportation, and they [the team] provided all the meals for us. So, I wasn't really integrated into the city yet
.
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To be sure, Green Bay itself is as isolated as it gets in the NFL. When Koonce first arrived, he wasn't certain if he was in Michigan or
Wisconsin. He didn't know where Milwaukee was. He was surprised to find that there were virtually no African Americans in Green Bay, and later to learn that there
was
a substantial black population in Milwaukee. In the 1990s, as part of rebuilding the Packers into a popular free agent “destination” franchise, the team brought in soul food from Milwaukee caterers and barbers from Milwaukee to cut African American players' hair. Again, however, these thoughtful gestures represent two sides of the special treatment coin. Players received valued perks, but, at the same time, their dependency on the team deepened.

Isolation, however, isn't necessarily a problem from the team's point of view. To help players “focus” and minimize “distractions,” teams separate them from the rest of the world for training camps, mini-camps, road trips, and even nights before home games. Nearly every minute is accounted for. Wives and family members are barred from team hotels and other living quarters.
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Almost every player remembers being separated from loved ones for holidays, even Christmas Eve.
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And any time players are together, outsiders are generally banned, except for controlled access by the media. As former Chief Michael Oriard puts it, “Insiders and outsiders were clearly defined: the insiders included us players and perhaps the coaches and a few proven others; the outsiders comprised the rest of mankind. . . . The center of our world, the locker room, was closed to most outsiders.”
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Wives of NFL players agree. Shannon O'Toole calls NFL players and coaches “drive-by husbands,” underscoring players' transient presence around the house during the season.
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Many NFL couples see very little of each other, and many face serious personal and emotional barriers. Wives are not only physically barred from team quarters, but they are distinctly excluded from the locker room culture that dominates players' existence. Players are typically tight-lipped about matters at work, maintaining emotional distance regarding interpersonal difficulties on the team, insecurities about playing time and roster status, and the severity of their injuries. By remaining stoic and trying not to complain to their wives, they compound their isolation. They might share nearly any and
all details of their lives with teammates inside the locker room, but they find it difficult to strike up or sustain friendships outside.
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Some of this is purely circumstantial; players' outside contacts are limited. For example, one NFL wife reveals, “I have got really, really good friends that my husband has never met. There are people in our neighborhood that will walk by and wave and he doesn't know who they are. He'll look at me and say, ‘Who is that?'”
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But players are also wary of making friends; they're suspicious of exploitative newcomers on the scene. Distance grows, even between longtime friends, the longer players inhabit the bubble. As one veteran admits, “People's perceptions got—were altered, and it was just very difficult to be around people that I loved because they just saw me—they treated me differently instead of treating me like [his name].”
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A significant upshot of this social isolation is players' loss of identity and self-determination. As William Rhoden suggests, NFL players surrender personal autonomy and responsibility in exchange for extravagance and entitlement. As Andrew Brandt put it, players are “cocooned” inside the team sphere, with limited contact with “reality.”
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Isolated and habituated to hearing yes, they lose touch with restraints that guide everyday life. They become accustomed to being shepherded through the system without having to look out for themselves.
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With their own complicity, players end up in a world of their own, sometimes treated like children who are unable to fend for themselves or who can't be trusted. Says one NFL owner, “It is like being the father of 32 children, some of whom are not potty-trained.”
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Full-Time Wives and Managed Lives

While wives and girlfriend are excluded from vast regions of players' lives, they are simultaneously in charge of nearly all of the mundane details of players' everyday existence apart from the team. According to one NFL wife, this is especially true in the early years: “My husband told me before we got married that my life was going to be totally different. I'd need to just bear with him for the next five to six years, when life would
pretty much be about him. If I could just bear with him, afterwards we would be fine because he was going to do his part.”
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NFL wives assume all household and childcare responsibilities. While they have financial resources to pay for outside help, they are nevertheless
solely
responsible for running the household: paying bills, making financial investments, shopping, carpooling kids, attending school functions, doing routine home and car maintenance (NFL wives are warned to become familiar with a wrench and screwdriver), and otherwise sheltering players from the “trivial” demands of daily life. While this sounds like the traditional American household division of labor, it is exaggerated by “the-game-is-first-at-all-cost” mentality that leads both partners to shield the player from
any
distractions at
all
cost. Of course this is impossible, but it's the expectation for many NFL households. O'Toole tells a story of a pregnant NFL wife who phoned her husband at the team facility to tell him that she was sick to her stomach and vomiting uncontrollably. Her OB/GYN told her to go to the hospital immediately for an examination and intravenous fluids. Hearing the story, her husband asked, “So how are you going to get there?”
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Outside the household, many wives assume the role of unofficial manager and agent, dealing with the myriad demands on their celebrity husbands. Wives may keep up with players' fan mail, forge autographs on pictures and other football-related items, maintain players' personal appearance calendars, and order special nutritional and rehabilitation supplements that players might need to stay in shape and cope with injuries. They manage and entertain the parade of visitors who come to attend games, and arrange for their tickets. According to both players and wives, the demand for tickets is staggering, especially in light of the fact that players generally get two free tickets to each game. They may purchase others, but at face value, which can cost hundreds of dollars. Moreover, they may have to go outside the organization to acquire tickets for their “extras,” which can cost significantly more and take considerable time to track them down. Run-ins with family and friends are common because players (more precisely, their wives) don't have endless supplies
of tickets and hospitality. But all this falls outside the players' purview. It's the wives' territory and they deal with the hassles and grief.

Being married to an unofficial manager and agent certainly benefits NFL players—although the cost to marital relationships is sometimes high.
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Many players recognize the practical advantages. Still others believe that being married improves their chances of making the team. As George Koonce recalls, “
Coaches feel like if you're married, you got a family, you're more responsible
.”
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It's a sign of maturity and stability. “Uncoupled” players often look for the next best thing. Many let their agents take over life-management tasks: putting players on living allowances, managing spending and investments, arranging for insurance, leasing houses—most of the duties NFL wives assume.
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Others rely on friends and family. Pals from home, brothers, cousins, even mothers, may join players at their in-season residences. Sometimes the “extras” turn into entourages or “posses.” While some of them are just looking for a free ride, it's clear that there's also an instrumental dimension to such living arrangements. It's not all extravagance, ego, and sycophantic hangers-on. Friends and family take on the life management functions otherwise performed by wives.

Life in the bubble both constitutes and cultivates an NFL player ethos that provides meaning to players' experience.
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An ethos is the distinctive character, disposition, spirit, and attitude that typify a social group. It reflects the on-field values promoted around the league—for example, teamwork, mutual respect, commitment, integrity, and excellence—but it's far from comprehensive, and it is certainly not a coherent, consistent set of tenets or strictures. Often inarticulate, it's a sometimes impassioned way of expressing what it means to be an NFL player.
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The player ethos incorporates several related components noted in the sports literature, including general societal values such as success, achievement, and cooperation that both underpin and are highlighted by most organized sports.
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The “sporting ethos” typically refers to cultural
attitudes regarding sportsmanship and competition.
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The “sports ethic” is a related term used to denote a set of norms or standards that define what it means to be an athlete and to successfully claim an identity as an athlete. One prominent rendition of the sports ethic holds that (1) athletes make sacrifices and are totally dedicated to “the game”; (2) athletes strive for distinction; (3) athletes accept risk and play through pain; and (4) athletes accept no limits in pursuit of success.
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The player ethos encompasses these tenets, but it uniquely reflects the NFL experience. It's an encompassing set of expectations, orientations, and values concerning life and identity in relation to and
beyond
the NFL game.