A chink in the NFL's armor

Not only was I unsurprised when Ray Rice won his appeal, but I was relieved. The NFL should not have been able to make amends, which it could have done only by flouting hard-fought players' rights, even after bungling virtually every stage of a labyrinthine process. Reprimanding Rice retroactively would have established a dangerous precedent, ripe for future abuse at the hands of top brass that operate with utter disregard for human decency.

Nor does it bother me that teams have taken an interest in Rice, who remains eligible despite the clarion calls for his head. Business is profit-driven and therefore unsympathetic -- for the most part -- to arguments rooted in morality or pathos. (Those types of arguments tend not to be all that persuasive, anyway.) Regardless, by merely dangling a line, no team has transgressed. Moreover, it is unlikely, given Rice's downward trajectory in recent seasons, that teams will seriously be vying for his services at the 11th hour.

His indefinite suspension was struck down this past weekend by former U.S. District Court Judge Barbara Jones, the thrust of whose decision was that Rice had not misrepresented his case, so he should not have been subjected to double jeopardy. Ultimately, however, what this case illumined was not that Rice had been dealt a raw deal, which was evident, but rather that the NFL "mishandled" the situation quite deliberately.

No, the NFL did not want to incur a firestorm. It did not bask in the wrathful gaze of a pitchfork-wielding, if hypocritical, public, which couldn't sustain its attention span long enough to bring pressure to bear on the organization. Each mess-up was symptomatic of the toxic combination of sheer incompetence and complacency. There was no game plan.

But don't let the gauche press conferences fool you. While it appeared that the NFL was in disarray, stumbling through a cavalcade of public relations disasters, it remained a well-oiled tyrant throughout, not the whipping boy it had seemingly become; in fact, female fandom hit an all-time high in the wake of the Ray Rice scandal. It barely made a dent.

It would have been most effective to have made an example of Rice initially, when details of his crime surfaced, although the option to sweep it under the rug was likely equally, if not more, appealing to Goodell and his cronies. They didn't, so they paid the price, except it was paltry, and they made off virtually unscathed. The NFL acquiesced to sweeping reforms, which, of course, were specious, an effort to save face with people -- the majority -- who feigned anger simply not to side with an abuser and his protector-enabler. If all the NFL suffered was a bit of pageantry for good measure, it won big.

In a prior column I castigated the NFL for its apathy. I was wrong. The NFL is not apathetic, though it certainly is lackadaisical in its pursuit of justice, and it probably does, in truth, care about sexual assault and is concerned about it. The problem is that the NFL readily sacrifices the issue of sexual assault to the god of profit.

In mitigating these crises, the NFL has demonstrated its unwavering commitment to money. The NFL will never effect systemic change of its own accord precisely because there is no financial incentive to do so. Judge Jones' decision did not provide one, but it was a blow to the powers that be.

Suddenly, the NFL looks vulnerable. And that could make all the difference.