When I began running marathons in 1999, my parents had very different reactions. My dad seemed interested in my competitive success; at the least, he understood my drive to achieve a certain time or ranking. My mom thought that such events were pointless and mainly wanted to know that I got home safely.
As I think about today’s Super Bowl, I find myself feeling a lot like my mother.
Here’s my three-point stance on tackle football:
1. Football puts participants’ brains and bodies at great risk (as discussed previously on this blog and in the excellent Frontline news documentary League of Denial).
2. My interest in people’s long-term health should trump my interest in their feats of athleticism.
3. Watching football is a tacit endorsement of the sport in its current, dangerous form. Therefore, I do not watch football.
I haven’t always been this way. As a child, I was a rabid supporter of the New York Jets. Some might speculate that THIS is the problem — how could a Jets fan experience football at its finest, or avoid disillusionment?
On the contrary, I was thrilled by the tackle-evading halfback Freeman McNeil and the quarterback-hunting linemen Mark Gastineau and Joe Klecko (the “New York Sack Exchange”). Watching athletes like these has always been exciting and fun. But how much should they have to sacrifice for the sake of entertaining me? Am I just another Roman spectator enjoying the spectacle of bludgeoned, bloodied gladiators?
Not anymore. When the Seattle Seahawks and the Denver Broncos take the field in a few hours, I won’t be watching.
As my mom might say, I just want everyone to make it home safe and sound.
My Track Record 
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