Why My Son Will Never Play Football
Jan. 28, 2016
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My son won’t play football.
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I typed that lede while watching the NFC championship – Cam Newton and the Panthers do the football well –
and I’m well aware of how contradictory those two statements are.
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While thinking about the hypothetical life of future Grammy winner and hall-of-fame left-handed pitcher, my
son – given name: Falcon Danger Jones (my hypothetical wife is so lucky) – I know that to be a good father I’ll
have to keep him from doing a lot of things, like heroin, or listening to the newest Imagine Dragons album.
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The list of “Can’t”s that parents assign their children is generally a long one. The length of that list varies from
family to family (as a person with a 10 o’clock bedtime until I graduated high school, you could describe my list
as “Santa Clausian”), and I know one day I’ll probably have to create one for kids of my own. I always imagined
myself as a cool dad with a short list, but I never thought I would have to put football on the list.
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There’s too much evidence.
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Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, a disease that deteriorates the brain due to repeated blows to the head, is
a very real and terrifyingly prominent part of football culture. The disease leads to amnesia, dementia and, the
most publicly visible symptom due to the growing number of player suicides, depression.
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On top of the lasting brain damage caused by running full force into physical monsters hundreds of times during
a season, kids just flat-out die on the field.
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Thirteen high school football players died on the field last year, including one player in Georgia at Burke County
High School, just a couple of counties east of Baldwin County.
A few die from heart problems and dehydration,
but the rest, like the young man at Burke County, from tackles or hits that ended fatally.
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The fact that I just had to type “the rest” in regards to kids dying from football makes me angry.
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And frustrated.
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And profoundly sad.
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Even still here I am, watching Cam Newton dance his way to the Super Bowl.
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This column isn’t to try to convince you to withhold your future kid from playing. It’s just to say that knowing
what I know about the lasting effects of the game, I couldn’t let mine play. I’ll keep watching and hoping for a
solution to the issue even though I know there isn’t one without changing the rules completely, but I won’t let
that indifference spread to my son.
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Consider this a love letter to my future son. I’m writing this so that when he gets pissed at me 25 years from now
for not letting him play football, I can pull this column out and try to maybe explain the decision as best as I can.
Then he can go ride his actual hoverboard that actually floats off the ground or whatever thing kids are doing in
2041 and blow off steam, and I can continue to feel good about my decision.
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I know that every kid who plays football won’t become cripplingly debilitated because they play, but how could I
knowingly risk that?
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Recently former All-Pro wide receiver Antwaan Randle El said that he wished he had never played football. The
nine-year NFL veteran said he struggles to walk down the stairs, has memory issues, and that if he had a do-over,
he would have played baseball.
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I don’t want the one and only Falcon Danger Jones to have those regrets. I want him to be able to walk down the
stairs and to remember his kid’s names.
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So when my hypothetical son is hypothetically born, I’ll keep watching, and being a hypocrite, and my son will
hypothetically stay in the stands with me. Even if I’m a bad person, I’ll still be a good father.
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Besides, hypothetically, I think he was born to be a pitcher.
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Link to original column - http://gcsunade.com/2016/01/28/why-my-son-will-never-play-football/