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Little to cheer in the NFL

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Posted: Friday November 12, 1999 02:08 PM

Have you ever stopped to think what a human life is worth? $50 million? $50 billion? There's no way to put a monetary figure on it, right? It's impossible to calculate.

Well, not if you're the NFL. It seems the National Football League knows exactly what a human life is worth.

WHYLO OF THE WEEK Let me just say this: If, by expressing strong but not necessarily popular opinions, I have turned this column into something that attracts the same kind of moronic, lowest-common-denominator, nasty audience that lives for sports radio, then I am truly sorry. And, as the responsible party, I will work to take this column back from that element. Don't get me wrong, I still get dozens of intense, well-written, thought-provoking e-mails each week (thank God) and the authors of such e-mails are the people for whom I write. Also, I will continue to make fun of you and you will continue to make fun of me, no problem. But from this day forward any letter I get that contains personal attacks or obscene language, or anything that I deem to be driven by a sports-radio kind of mentality, will be moved to the trash and discarded without so much as a second glance. Be passionate, get worked up over the debates that go on here, dissect my arguments with cold-blooded precision, but be fair, be funny, be courteous and, if you want to have your e-mails posted, don't send in anything you wouldn't feel comfortable saying to my face. I promise to do the same. That said, let me reiterate that I do not mind you writing in to call me a stupid idiot (I cannot censor the truth, only the trash), but, if in the same sentence, you misspell words of four letters or less then, well, you go straight to the top of the WHYLO list. And so, I give you Sal LaMarca, who has either 1) tried to call me a piece of monkey crap but can't spell, 2) tried to call me a piece of monkey crape' but can't spell in French; or 3) tried to call me a piece of monkey crepe, but can't spell, or cook. You decide. "Look you piece of monkey crape. It's scumbag reporters like you and the other piece of (doo-doo) Jim Gray that make most writers look bad. You don't care about reporting, all you care about is sensationalism. Why don't you go write for a rag that more suits you talent, like The Sun or maybe The Globe. I don't agree with what Pete Rose did, but scum like you hasn't any right writing about him -- go ahead and tell me about your first amendment rights, well (have sex with) you and your rights, he made a DEAL, so apparently there was some truth behind what happened, but he was still one of the best there ever was and that's something (rear-ends) like you can't stand so you attack him any way you can. Well attack this! Dude get a real job and a life." If you aren't laughing too hard or weeping about the future of mankind or attempting to have sex with your rights as Sal so eloquently requested, say it with me Flemfilers: Sal, WHO HELPED YOU LOG ON? The sad thing is, Sal just narrowly beat out four other gems, the KIND THAT AFTER TODAY WILL NO LONGER BE TOLERATED. (Again, does anyone else find it tragically ironic that the people who write in to lambaste Gray for being such a mean, nasty, classless SOB, do so with such sewage?) The first one was from Chad Hale, who suggested, after calling me a fatherless bastard, that the media is to blame for Pete Rose's problems -- and all the recent school shootings as well. The second beaut was from someone with an e-mail address of MopsLG17, who did not have the courage to include his name, but still wrote: "You are a (rear-end) and you need to retire from sports journalism. Gray is probably your (homophobic slur), why else would you defend his stupid (rear)? Go (have sex) yourself, j--- off." Then there's this wish-you-were-here postcard from John McLeroy in America's Paradise, Hawaii. "You know, you get a lot of money for spewing your garbage on CNNSI. Your (sic) still an idiot! Everyone knows it, that's why everyone wants Pete Rose re-instated into baseball. Your (sic) a paid (body part). A tool. Face it. Maybe your wife loves you but no one else does. Get a life IDIOT!!!! Damn, I feel good!! LOL!!" Pat White, from, I am so sorry to say, my alma mater, Miami University, suggests that a player with a bad outfit disgraces the game more than a guy who bet on baseball (note to self: double amount of check to Miami this year, earmarked for improving admission standards): "Listen A-- HOLE, just because you dumb f--k reporters feel that you need to make these damn names for yourselves by being controversial, doesn't mean we real Americans have to put up with it. Why couldn't Jim Gray have talked to Mark McGwire about is (sic) attire for the night. I mean come on the a--hole wore jeans and a leather coat. Come on he was being honored as one of the greats, and unlike all the other greats, he wasn't wearing a suit. At least Pete has some kind of respect for the fans of baseball, and didn't want t f--k up an otherwise magical night. P.S. Quit trying to be Jim Gray's (female dog), and write your own stories." Click here to see more letters

Eight games.

Eight measly, stinkin' games.

Four-hundred-and-80 minutes of a child's game.

Last October, Rams rookie linebacker Leonard Little was driving home after celebrating his 24th birthday. He ran a red light and crashed into 47-year-old Susan Gutweiler. Police say Little's blood alcohol level was nearly twice the legal limit. Gutweiler died the next day.

In June Little pled guilty to involuntary manslaughter and was sentenced to 90 days in a city workhouse and 1,000 hours of community service. That's when the NFL came swooping in, with a chance (because we live in such a screwed up world where people look to professional athletics for moral guidance) to set a precedent and send a message not only about drunk driving but the sanctity of life.

Instead the NFL waved its finger at Little, worried perhaps that a slap on the wrist might be too severe.

Now, PAY ATTENTION: This column has nothing to do with Little. In fact, from what I can ascertain, he has shown brave amounts of contrition, responsibility and remorse. From his words I gather that he understands what he did and the horror of having to deal with it, every day, for the rest of his life. I wish him luck.

My problem is with the NFL.

These days, this is a league in which players are fined $5,000 for altering their uniforms and $7,500 for dangerous helmet-to-helmet collisions, which can only mean the NFL considers a player's safety to be worth only $2,500 more than his appearance.

This is a league that makes billions and billions of dollars but won't get rid of the fake grass that is maiming its employees at an alarming rate because it might cost, oh, $10 million.

This is a league that won't let Marshall Faulk honor Walter Payton by changing jerseys.

This is a league that welcomes Leon Lett, the NFL's version of Steve Howe, back with open arms after his fifth violation of the substance abuse policy.

This is a league, dependent on beer advertising for its very survival, that just handed down an eight-game sentence for killing someone while drunk driving.

Does that seem disingenuous to anyone else but me? Oh, what a proud week this must be for everyone in the commissioner's office.

Little has paid his debt to society, or so says Rams coach Dick Vermeil. And who are we to disagree? Same goes for Lett. The question is, should pro athletes be held to a higher standard than you and I? Should their penalties be greater because we as a society allow them to become privileged, famous and wealthy for playing a kid's game?

Isn't that our fault, not theirs?

That being said, if you or I had been responsible for the tragic accident that killed Susan Gutweiler, would we get our jobs and our lives and our livelihood back so easily? Maybe that's all we want, for athletes to operate under the same kinds of rules the rest of us do. I hate to even think about what my life would be like after what Little has been through.

But I have a feeling I'd get suspended for more than eight days of work.

Sports Illustrated staff writer David Fleming explores the sometimes weird and wacky side of sports every Thursday. Click here to send an e-mail to Flem, or address it yourself: flemfile@aol.com.

The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.

 

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