On May 11, thousands of fans filled the seats at Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego for a “celebration of life” honoring the memory of long-time Chargers linebacker Junior Seau.
Seau, a beloved sports figure around the world, had committed suicide nine days earlier. His sudden death came as a shock to anyone who knew the vibrant and personable All-Pro, and though it’s unclear exactly why he chose to take his own life, Seau had battled depression and told friends he suffered from constant headaches. Family, friends, and fellow teammates attributed the symptoms to the repeated brain injuries he suffered during his days battling in the National Football League’s trenches.
What was once lightly referred to as “punch drunk” in the boxing world is finally beginning to be taken seriously in professional sports. In medical terms, it’s known as Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (C.T.E.), a degenerative brain disorder linked to multiple concussions. C.T.E. can cause depression, dementia, and memory loss in sufferers.
Seau’s was the latest in a string of pro athletes who appeared to become suddenly suicidal after describing symptoms of C.T.E. In 2004, former Steelers lineman Justin Strzelczyk, who’d been experiencing hallucinations, crashed his car and died after leading police on a high-speed chase. In 2007, WWE wrestler Chris Benoit strangled his wife and son before hanging himself. Two years later, Cincinnati Bengals wide receiver Chris Henry was killed after either jumping or falling from a moving truck during a domestic dispute. According to brain researchers, all three had C.T.E. at the time of their deaths, thought to be caused by repeated
blows to the head.
Even more tragic, Seau’s suicide was the third by an NFL player within the past 18 months. Former Chicago Bears safety Dave Duerson killed himself in February 2011, as did ex-Atlanta Falcons safety Ray Easterling in April. They, like Seau, shot themselves in the chest.
Duerson, who’d complained for months about his mental condition, wrote a note to family members saying he wanted his brain left to science. Boston University researchers later confirmed what he’d suspected; he had in fact suffered from C.T.E. In Easterling’s case, his widow told reporters her husband “felt like his brain was falling off,” suffered from severe memory loss, and was diagnosed with dementia in 2011. She’s now advocating for better medical coverage for the NFL’s retired players.
Currently, neither the league nor the players’ union monitors the health of players after they’ve left the game, and insurance benefits for retired players are poor. It’s unknown how many former players might be suffering from C.T.E., but some estimates put the number at two dozen or more. Additionally, more than 200 retired players have joined a class action lawsuit accusing the league of improperly caring for head injuries. Players claim coaches and league officials pressured them to return to games too quickly, and were told the concussions they suffered would have no lasting ill effects.
The NFL has repeatedly denied disability claims from its former players, and has called studies linking C.T.E. to football “speculative and unscientific.” The league’s own concussions committee concluded on several occasions that there are no cumulative effects or links to permanent brain damage from multiple concussions from football.
Despite the denial, the NFL has taken steps to protect its players from head injuries. Fines and suspensions have increased in recent years for players who aim for the head on tackles, and last season, the league sent a memo out to team doctors and trainers forbidding them from allowing concussed players to return to the same game, or return at all, until cleared by team physicians and an independent neurologist.
Rules regarding concussions have also changed recently in California high schools. Assembly Bill 25, implemented in January, requires schools to immediately remove players suspected of having a concussion from games. Players are not allowed to return until being cleared by an independent medical doctor.
With a new scientific study under way into the long-term effects of head injuries in the NFL, some players who haven’t got that far yet are simply choosing to walk away from the game rather than take the risk. This off-season, two undrafted rookies—former Clemson fullback Chad Diehl and Ohio State linebacker Andrew Sweat—opted out of the NFL rather than chase a roster spot, citing past concussions as the reason.
Whether definitively linked to C.T.E. or not, Seau’s suicide was a wake-up call for athletes to the physical toll of playing a violent sport and led many to think about life after football. Once the career is over and the cheers have faded for a professional athlete, what’s left? Most players retire from the limelight by age 33 (if they’re lucky), and suddenly they’re thrust back in society with the rest of us, albeit with greater instances of injury-related health problems.
In the NFL, retired players don’t qualify for full pensions unless they played three seasons; the average length of a career is three and a half years. According to recent estimates, players with 10 years in the league can expect about $30,000 per year, and those with less experience can get about $14,000 annually—hardly enough to support a family. A 2009 Sports Illustrated report found that 78 percent of NFL retirees have either gone bankrupt or are under financial stress due to joblessness or divorce.
Some pro athletes have more difficulty making the transition to “normal life” than others. Recent examples include former Detroit Pistons and Chicago Bulls’ forward Dennis Rodman, who was one of the NBA’s most recognizable star players and is now reportedly penniless, sick, and owes nearly a million dollars in back child support. Former San Francisco 49er Terrell Owens, once one of the NFL’s elite receivers and highest-paid players, is also reportedly broke and facing foreclosure on one of his last homes. Neither athlete is a particularly sympathetic case, but you get the point.
Besides walking away from the adoring public to resume a quiet life, it must be difficult for athletes to deal with the fear of losing their financial security and health beyond retirement. Perhaps this is why some athletes have to be forced out, even in the face of repeated concussions, age, or other logical reasons. If any good can come from Seau’s death, hopefully leagues of all-pro sports will stop turning blind eyes to the struggles of their retired players, and take better care of those who gave up their bodies so they could turn a profit.
But what do I know? I’m just a bum. And that’s my view from the bleachers.
The Bleacher Bum wears a helmet to the dinner table. Contact him at jthomas@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in May 24-31, 2012.