The NFL's drug problem

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the exigency for the institutionalization of a support system in the NFL. Although we are in the midst of a swift denouement -- public opinion can be maddeningly fickle sometimes -- to the Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson scandals, these types of issues persist.

There are current debacles I could adduce to continue to make that case, but I would prefer instead to veer off into the realm of NFL-player relationships, sans third parties, using Josh Gordon’s as the archetype. His is especially galling, as it illumines the league’s disconnect with reality and its utter disregard for the welfare of its players.

In only his second season, Gordon hauled in 87 catches for a whopping 1,646 yards and nine touchdowns -- despite having not played in two games, after he was suspended by the NFL for violating its substance abuse policy. Those astronomical numbers had him poised for a run, beginning the following season and perhaps lasting several years, as an elite receiver on the Cleveland Browns, a team in dire need of any offensive weapon it could get its hands on.

Until he failed yet another drug test.

Gordon, who was placed into the NFL’s drug program upon employment, has been tested far more frequently than virtually any other player in the league. Unsurprisingly, in March of this past year, Gordon failed a random drug test. He was suspended indefinitely.

Then, in September, the NFL announced that it would overhaul its drug policy and subsequently dropped his suspension to 10 games -- still a potentially devastating reprimand. His career now hangs in the balance. The NFL’s dithering has only exacerbated Gordon’s ordeal, as if it were not taxing enough for a superstar athlete to live in a Twitterized world, rife with double standards and replete with enough armchair hooting and hollering to drive anyone mad.

Once upon a time, the idea of a 350-pound offensive lineman clocking a five-second 40-yard dash was risible. Now, it’s prosaic, almost unimpressive. Yet this, an affront to the integrity of the sport, the NFL has overlooked. The NFL comes down like a ton of bricks on minor infractions.

To be sure, the NFL is not misguided in its policing of marijuana. It should be concerned with both the on-field and off-field conduct of its players, for its lifeblood is their impeccable fitness. When contrasted with its attitude toward blatant steroid abuse, however, the incongruity is striking.

For starters, the profitability of a Goliath bowling over a slightly smaller Goliath, or of two Goliaths locking horns, is evidenced in the NFL's ever-increasing revenue stream. Accompanying the proliferation of steroid abuse has been a meteoric rise in the tempo and ferocity of the game, which makes it more watchable (or less, depending how squeamish you are). Violence appeals to our innermost animal, much as we're unable to admit it. The NFL has capitalized on this fact, and reaps the reward to the tune of just under $10 billion per year.

Suddenly, Josh Gordon seems like a mensch. Weed? Who cares. So long as he does not try to compensate for his athletic shortcomings -- of which there are very, very few -- through artificial means, and he does not hurt or otherwise cause injury to others, it seems there is much ado being made about an innocuous brush-up with an antiquated law, in place solely to buttress the prison-industrial complex.

This is not about right vs. wrong. When Josh Gordon smokes weed on "company time," he should, if it is the prerogative of management, be censured. Whether that censure should be handed down in the form of a draconian suspension of 10 games is another matter altogether. Rather, this is about proportionality.

Just ask Josh Gordon.