Retired NFL players have joined together in a multi-billion dollar lawsuit against the NFL over the state of their health. Their primary argument is the NFL kept the dangers and implications of football related concussions quiet.
What the hell? Didn’t they sign up for the gig willingly, knowingly, lovingly? The gig: You’re going to start out in high school being the most famous kid on campus. The cheerleaders are yours if you want them; the teachers are yours if you need them. We’ll let you tour America using college campuses as an excuse. When you get there we’ll make sure you get laid and your food’s paid for. We’ll let you play in front of 100,000 people and millions more on television just to insure they remember your name. We might even get your daddy a new car, so long as you can keep your mouth shut about it.
Then you can forget about working nine-to-five because we think you’re good enough to play a game for a few months out of the year. Forget the cheerleaders. We’ll give you gobs of money so you can afford Eva Longoria. House on the ocean … check. Rolls Royce to drive … check. Commercial endorsements … check. And if you want cash under the table … no checks. We’ll even let you get away with murder ’cause we just love the way you can fake to the left then go to the right.
There’s one thing, though. You’re going to slam your head around a lot. You’re probably going to limp for the rest of your life. You might even forget to put your deodorant on when they ask you to do a book signing about your life. But we’re giving you pads and a helmet. That should have clued you in that this gig ain’t about treading water in a Speedo or scorekeepers yelling “Love-15” to determine if you won or not.
So be a man, tough guys. You made the deal way back when quid-pro-quo meant, “I accept knowing what I’m getting into.” I mean, to this day they’re still dragging your ass from one Super Bowl party to the next. And you can still get laid way above your pay grade even now. So what that you don’t remember what happened last night when you woke up this morning. You can still make a living just by remembering how to sign your name on a piece of paper. No factory work here. If you ask me, you beat the devil on this one.