A porous defense

Thanks to Michael Sokolove of The New York Times Magazine, we can now trace the evolution of the class action suit, initiated by the intrepid lawyer Jason Luckasevic, against the NFL on behalf of countless former players. It's a riveting read, a glimpse into power dynamics of the most lopsided kind. Importantly, Sokolove is careful not to romanticize the current situation; he understands how quixotic an undertaking it is. Nonetheless, as it nears its conclusion, his article dangles a glimmer of hope: Pop Warner statistics ("Between 2010 and 2012, Pop Warner, the nation’s largest youth-football program, experienced a 10 percent drop in participation after years of steady growth"); testimony from a clinical neuropsychologist  ("we now know that players are suffering repeated insults to the parts of the brain that cause changes in behavior"); and by drawing a comparison, however far-fetched, to the decline of the cigarette industry.

Parents have steered clear of football en masse, funneling their children instead into soccer or baseball. Yet this exodus has been overshadowed by a rise, conversely, in popularity at the professional level, which enjoys unprecedented support among women. (Let us not forget that a spate of domestic violence cases has befallen the NFL this calendar year alone.) It seems that the NFL and its employees can do no wrong enough to diminish its fan base.

Not even the untimely death of former Minnesota Vikings safety, Orlando Thomas, a little more than a week ago will move the needle. Tragedies like these nowadays are as common as they are woefully underreported, and, although the reluctance to politicize death is understandable, talking heads never broach the culpability of the NFL to any depth. If death himself, that irrevocable force of nature, can't bring his scythe to bear on public opinion, then the anti-NFL brigade will need to mount a Herculean effort just to make a dent.

Luckasevic, to his credit, is giving it a shot. Despite the overwhelming odds, he has embarked on a one-man crusade -- commandeered along the way by bigger, more established firms -- to right an egregious wrong. His client list is seemingly endless, and growing, and it consists entirely of former players.

That his clients are all retired is telling, but unsurprising. Active players do not want to lock horns with their bosses for obvious reasons. To be blacklisted from their livelihoods would spell financial ruin for most of these players; many have to provide not only for themselves and their families, but for posses -- mooching holdovers from childhood -- and jilted ex-wives and girlfriends. His clients also have a distinct advantage in a case predicated on assumption of risk: they didn't know.

“But my guys didn’t know,” Luckasevic said, differentiating between President Obama's position on the contemporary game, on which he elaborated in an interview with The New Yorker from earlier this year, and the lack of knowledge on the part of his clients. Moreover, while "they understood that they were giving their bodies over to football ... they did not realize they were also putting their intellectual and emotional well-being at risk," writes Sokolove. Substantive research on any lingering effects, such as permanent brain damage, from football was only conducted long after these players had entered the league. Therefore, given the wealth of information that has circulated since then, this does not bode well for younger guys aspiring to the same fame and fortune.

It remains to be seen whether active players will likewise be compensated for similar injuries, but it will almost certainly be more difficult for them to profess ignorance.