You think Roger Goddell knows the meaning of life?
Well, if said meaning involves the accumulation of F-you money for oneself and even fatter stacks of cash for those at whose behest you serve, then I’d say he’s got it down pat.
Given the gluttonous nature of the NFL, we might as well call the commish Mr. Creosote. As the mouthpiece of a group of owners who now preside over the most powerful sports league in the country, he’s getting both credit and blame (mostly blame) for everything that’s going right and wrong (mostly wrong) with it these days.
In 1993, SI estimated that the aggregate value of all 28 NFL teams was $3.64 billion. When Forbes released its updated valuations earlier this week, the Dallas Cowboys alone were worth $4 billion. The average NFL franchise is worth $2 billion. Yes, with a “b.”
Even without turning to my handy-dandy inflation calculator, I’m going to hazard a guess and say pro football’s growth has significantly outpaced cost-of-living increases. But if it grows too fast, is it a weed?
On the menu today for you, Monsieur Goddell, we have cover-ups of your knowledge of domestic violence incidents, exploitation of players and manipulation of injuries, half-assed PR moves aimed to draw attention away from the real issues, and the strange bedfellows of daily fantasy sports.
I’ll have the lot.
A wise choice, monsieur. And now, how would you like it served? All mixed up togezzer in a Gatorade jug?
Yeah, with Tom Brady’s balls on top.
But of course…avec le bullets frites.
Goodell and the NFL can keep doing this because they’re just printing money and laughing at us we sit through trainwrecks like the late Monday night game between the Vikings and Niners. Twitter timelines were filled with negative commentary on the sub-par play (not to mention the Niners’ incongruous ensembles), but…Twitter timelines were filled with commentary on the NFL.
Good, bad, just spell my name right and make sure the checks clear.
When it comes to bad publicity, the NFL has had its share as far as head injuries go. Whether it’s a new movie featuring Will Smith trying on an affected Nigerian accent, suicides of former star players, or the early retirement of young men still enjoying their athletic primes, safety is a flashpoint.
And safety is the reason the 49ers took the field on Monday wearing their standard gold headgear, a stark contrast to the all-black alt unis they donned. The odd juxtaposition was like a bunch of mopey emo kids with smiles on their faces. Questions abounded. Why the same old helmets?
The league would have you believe it’s a measure taken to increase player safety, but ESPN’s Paul Lukas debunked that soon after the helmet rule changed in 2013.
I think the NFL, with all those lawsuits they’re dealing with, they don’t want to have a guy switching to a different helmet for one game, then he gets hurt, and then he says, “Well, I had to switch to a different helmet because they made us wear these throwbacks.”.
They don’t want a situation where a player has to change to a different model, and then something goes wrong, and that’s on their plate.
Protect the Shield at all costs. The players? Meh.
And women? Well, teams all wear pink in October and the league partnered with a fake brand and got some celebs to cry on cue in order to pretend like it was taking a stand against domestic violence. And they wonder why women are getting tired of the act.
Perhaps you’re not…happy with the service?
It’s just that we have to go. I’m having a rather heavy period.
Ah.
Then you’ve got the whole Deflategate mess, a debacle that saw Goodell become a eunuch as the result of an attempt to castrate Tom Brady. Rather than actually fix any of these issues, though, the NFL just consumes and consumes them, devouring all in its path.
Yet, as it continues to vomit up the undigested superfluity of its profligate consumption, the American public (and that includes yours truly) continues to enlist in the bucket brigade. We revel in the effluvium and ask for more.
But when does it stop? Will another Jovan Belcher move the needle? Will it take a death on the field to affect real change? Will this juggernaut continue to roll on, impeded only by the weight of its own deepening pockets? Or will this enterprise finally become so bloated that there’s simply nowhere to go but nuclear?
It’s hard to believe we’d see anything other than an entropic diminution over time, but going the way of ol’ Mr. Creosote would certainly be exciting.
Finally, sir, a wafer-thin mint.
Look. I couldn’t eat another thing. I’m absolutely stuffed. Bugger off.
Oh, sir, just?—?just one.
Evan Altman is the editor and lead writer for Cubs Insider and his work has appeared on Yahoo and The Cauldron on SI.com. He is a husband, father, homebrewer, and award-winning blogger with entirely too much pop culture knowledge.
Evan’s greatest accomplishments include scoring 400 points in Magic Johnson’s Fast Break, naming all 10 members of the Wu-Tang Clan in under 3.5 seconds, and winning the Meese Literary Award at Hanover College.
You can follow him on Twitter @DEvanAltman.