Middle school is a time of dumb decisions and lively discovery. I soaked it all up. Thinking I would be the next Barry Sanders or Emmitt Smith, I tried out for the football team. Taking hit after hit, I proved myself to be pretty tough. I think my coaches were surprised that so much strength could come out of such a little body. I made the team. I was so excited. They told me I was the smallest kid to ever be on the team. About halfway through the season, my career changed. In the midst of practice, I decided to go up against the biggest guy on the team. He came at me as hard as he could. When he hit me, I’m sure I flew backward about 20 yards. Lying on my back, I came in and out. In addition to the stars, I think I saw Jesus too. My coaches were yelling at me to see if I was ok. The stars didn’t stop. Everyone seemed really happy that I was alive. That was my last play of organized football. Scared that I would get hit even harder, my coaches benched me for the rest of the season. Bored, I started thinking about the many ethical problems with football. The thoughts lingered.
After decades of watching football, my former thoughts started to reemerge. While studying at the University of Mississippi, I attended a game at the football-crazed school. I will never forget what I saw. Afterword, I wrote the following…
Letter to the Editor of The Daily Mississippian
September 30, 2011
The Editor:
I experienced my first football game at Ole Miss not too long ago. Buying into the national advertising campaigns and recent attempts to modernize campus symbolism, I expected to see a modern multiracial environment. What I saw was quite the contrary…
I arrived in The Grove to see thousands of white people celebrating their money and football with exotic drinks, expensive clothing, and the finest tailgating tents money can buy. I stopped at my first tailgate to hear discussion of the joys of not being from Utah. To which a young man, donning a pledge pin from a large campus fraternity, replied, “…at least they don’t have all these niggers.” Honestly, looking around, I had no idea who he was talking about. The only persons on The Grove were members of Mississippi’s white privileged elite. The Mississippians this young man seemed to be speaking of are unable to afford the tickets or comforts he and his buddies enjoyed. Somewhat shaken, I continued to journey toward the stadium. Upon gate arrival, I became more frustrated when I saw African-Americans filling most of the menial/servant tasks of cleanup and security. I bought a program from a vendor and wasn’t surprised to see most of the players were also African-Americans. When I got to my seat, I noticed the crowd around me was all white. The longer I sat the more I realized where I was…the Roman Coliseum. Mississippi’s white elites scream for blood as mostly young African-Americans place their lives on the line (see former player Bennie Abram / who incurred deadly injuries while playing football) for collective white entertainment. I left knowing, despite trite cosmetic efforts to the contrary, the historical traditions of oppression are alive and well at Ole Miss.
The entire experience made me wonder when people will get as upset about inequality as they do loosing football games.
Rev. Jeff Hood
People were not happy that I wrote this. I didn’t see how I couldn’t. I began to realize that all of my experiences helped me to realize how antithetical football is to Jesus.
At every level of the game, players are exploited. They are consistently asked to make astronomical sacrifices with insufficient rewarded. How much is a brain worth? How much is a life worth? Every play is a risk. Every hit could be the last. Catastrophic injuries and shortened lives are a part of every level of football. I just can’t see Jesus promoting something that leads to the destruction of one’s neighbor.
Oppression is a part of football. Minorities are asked to make great sacrifices for entertainment of the majority. The only people getting rich off of football are the rich. Poor folk get left out as always. At every stadium in the country, poor folk are made to be slaves to keep the show going. The culture of domestic violence and assault that festers in all levels of the game is intimately connected to the misogynistic violence of football. I could go on and on. I just can’t see Jesus promoting all of this mess.
I think Jesus is begging us to stop the brutality.
Don’t forget about Jesus as you watch the big game.
Amen.
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