Football is a Drug

When I was eleven years, five months, and two days old, 

I played my first tackle football game. 

When I was eleven years, five months, and two days old, 

my addiction started. 

Football is a drug,

adrenaline is an empty promise. 

“Football was his life,” Max Unger recalls. 

Run, boy, run, 

until you sink into the earth under the weight of your shoulder pads, 

finally understanding the horrors of Atlas’ eternal torment; 

until you’re dragging yourself across the field with a shattered helmet,

concussions blooming like flowers in May; 

until your tendons snap and your muscles atrophy, 

leaving you stranded on the stadium as a warning. 

“They knew he would go until his muscles didn’t work,” Randy Hart confirms. 

I’m slow.

Count the sheep, 

even though 

I know 

     you can’t sleep 

anymore. 

Count the sheep before you join them, lost in the crowd and

utterly unremarkable. 

I thought you wanted to be a legend, 

so pay the price like the rest of us. 

You’re not special, 

now drop and give me twenty. 

“He’d be up all night in the dark staring at the walls dealing with the stuff in his head,” Kaluka Maiava comments. 

Run, boy, run, 

before the thoughts have time to settle in, 

before fear can burrow underneath your brain’s folds, 

merging with the pulsating gray matter threatening to splinter your fragile skull. 

You’re still so fragile;

even after years of reinforcing your bones with steel, 

your head remains glass. 

“I was just lying down and looking at the ceiling,” Daniel Te’o-Nesheim offers.

I’m weak.

Count your blessings, 

 even though  

   I know 

        you can’t remember 

 anything

anymore. 

Count your blessings before you’re nothing more than a name 

typed in an obituary and tacked onto a funeral service. 

“His name’s still on the wall,” Mason Foster argues.

I gave you a career, 

I gave you a life, 

how dare you 

                 destroy 

    it. 

Diagnose me when I’m dead, 

when I can’t run any longer. 

Diagnose me after overdosing frees my brain from its bony shell   

and I’m untethered from a body that will never be fast enough, 

strong enough, 

good enough. 

“It was scary and we tried to reach out, but could not get him to open up,” Marie Aiona confesses.

I’m terrified.

“The care and support you need is available. No one should suffer alone,” Brian McCarthy advises.

Reference(s)

Belson, Ken. "A Football Player's Descent Into Pain and Paranoia." The New York

Times, The New York Times Company, 27 Sept. 2018, https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/09/27/sports/football/nfl-cte-daniel-teo-nesheim.html. Accessed 23 Jan. 2023.

Natalia Salinas

(CW: Death, Mentions of addiction/overdosing)