In my Impromptus today, I lead off with Kevin McCarthy, the GOP, and all that. I go on to discuss Cuba, Iran, Pelé, Benedict XVI, and yet more. To give it a go, go here.
My column on Wednesday was headed “The perils of football, &c.” I heard from a friend of mine who is a distinguished orthopedic surgeon: Seth S. Leopold. He is a professor at the University of Washington and the editor-in-chief of Clinical Orthopaedics and Related Research. He is an extraordinarily thoughtful and humane man.
The journal he edits published an editorial titled “Do Orthopaedic Surgeons Belong on the Sidelines at American Football Games?” The editors’ answer: no. I will quote from the last couple of paragraphs:
Is it right for us to support a game — through our presence on the sidelines or in the form of marketing and advertising dollars that splash orthopaedic logos on practice jerseys and football stadiums — that causes grave harm to at least 9% of those who play it professionally?
While concussions are not the area of first expertise of most orthopaedic surgeons, our presence on the sidelines helps this sport to continue. In light of the known risks, we suggest that surgeons evaluate whether continuing to support this sport is consonant with the best values of our profession. We believe it is not.
This editorial kicked up a helluva fuss in the orthopedic world. The journal published letters-to-the-editor, with responses. For one pairing, go here and here. For a second, go here and here. For a third, go here and here. Very serious stuff.
By the way, Dr. Leopold has quite a background in sports. Even after college, he participated in “collision sports” — he was a fullback on a rugby team — and “combat sports” — he boxed.
A reader writes — I mean a reader of Impromptus, not a reader of Clinical Orthopaedics and Related Research! —
Dear Mr. Nordlinger,
In grade school I broke my foot and ankle in five places playing football. I had a severe knee injury in high school that required major surgery. I have broken many fingers and had numerous cuts, bruises, etc., over my playing days. I was large and fast enough to play and be competitive, so my injuries were not because of size. I’ve seen teammates concussed and I’ve also seen numerous other injuries — some of which ended any chance of playing in the future.
This was in the ’60s and ’70s. I still miss football and all the physical elements. I would not change anything from the past. Life is risk. Eliminate risk and you eliminate so much joy and pleasure. Granted, we know more now about the concussion issue and changes for safety will continue. It’s a question of an understanding of the risk and personal balance.
Another reader writes,
My father was coach- and peer-pressured into becoming a 155-pound high-school–football lineman in an era before helmets had facemasks.
Another reader writes,
I know this sounds crazy — take away the helmets. So much of the danger comes from the unjustified feeling of invulnerability and the velocity it encourages. Make the players aware of the true risks.
Not quite flag football, but I think it would become safer and more skill-friendly.
I might sound fogeyish . . .
No apology necessary. Sounding fogeyish is my specialty.
Another letter, different topic — responding to that same Impromptus, from Wednesday:
Dear Jay,
You mentioned Groucho Marx and William F. Buckley Jr. in your column today. Here they are together in 1967. I am guessing you have seen it before, but just in case.
Groucho was no doubt something of a lefty, but great mutual respect is on display here. Plus it is really funny. Unimaginable that such an interview would happen today with their modern equivalents. (Who are their modern equivalents anyway?)
One more letter — but first, the “background.” In that Wednesday column, I had the following item:
Did you see this story? “Real Estate Agent With Same Name as Golfer Is Invited to the Masters.” An amusing, almost touching series of events. The story I have linked to begins, “It is the stuff golfers’ dreams are made of . . .” Because you know your Shakespeare, you know that he said “on,” not “of”: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on” — but I think that golf story’s opening sentence is just fine.
A reader writes,
Dear Mr. Nordlinger,
. . . you implied that the story misquoted Shakespeare. I have a different theory. I believe that the story quotes, accurately, the closing line of The Maltese Falcon.
True! Bogie says, “The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of.” And this stems from Prospero: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.” The adaptations of Shakespeare are infinite. In their variety, you might say.
Thank you to one and all readers and correspondents. Again, today’s Impromptus — full of fightin’ words — is here.