Like an unfathomably large number of my fellow American sports fans, I spent quite a bit of time last week watching the NFL
slave auction amateur player draft. The best young football players in the country, having previously been weighed and measured, raced against each other, challenged to weightlifting contests, given the Wonderlic Cognitive Ability Test, interviewed extensively and investigated by teams of private detectives, were selected by the 32 teams in the NFL, teams representing cities where, if selected, the young men will be required to live and work without any say over either circumstance, compensated only by all of them becoming millionaires. The worst teams got to pick first, in an effort at competitive balance. Despite this, the two teams generally thought to have drafted most effectively were the San Francisco 49ers and the Green Bay Packers, both perennial winners. And this exercise in compensatory socialism represents the highest triumph of capitalism imaginable; the NFL’s business model is universally admired in the world of professional sports. There isn’t any part of the NFL draft that’s not insane.
I watched, for example, watched for hours. And I don’t even like football that much. And for the most part, the telecast is unimaginably dull.
Which is not to say it’s lacking in drama, or in human interest. The biggest speculation over the early stages of the draft was over who would draft Johnny Manziel. ‘Johnny Football’ as he came to be known, and marketed. He was the best college player in the country over the past two years, but also possibly too small and slight to succeed in the pros. Plus, he’s a fun kid, charismatic and charming, but also perhaps too avid a partier for everyone to be completely comfortable picking him. As team after team passed on him, the camera increasingly followed his every grimace and grin. Finally he was picked, by Cleveland. And immediately, all the commentators agreed it was a perfect fit for him, Cleveland, a developing team in need of some excitement, with a fanatical fan base, and also excellent receivers for him to throw to, and also simultaneously a terrible fit for him, because Cleveland’s line isn’t very good and he’s going get killed back there.
And a similar dynamic played itself out on Saturday, the third (!) day of the draft, in the seventh round, as team after team passed on Michael Sam. And then, finally, seven picks from the end of the entire draft, the St. Louis Rams took the plunge. And America was treated to the genuine emotion of a fine young man achieving a dream, and responding by kissing his romantic partner. Who, in Sam’s case, happened to be another young man.
Sam is a barrier breaker, the first openly gay player to be drafted into the NFL. He won’t be the first gay player. In 2003, Kwame Harris was drafted by the 49ers in the first round, and played for six years. Harris came out after his career was over, and now says he regrets not doing so while playing. There have undoubtedly been many others. Sam absolutely deserves kudos for coming out openly. But times have changed; I don’t think there’s any doubt that locker room culture is more welcoming to gay players today than even eleven years ago. Or, also, that it’s not entirely welcoming.
Like most of the players drafted, Sam finds himself in a perfect situation for him, and also a terrible one. Jeff Fisher, the Rams’ coach, is a very strong personality, who has already made it clear that in his locker room, Sam will be treated as just another player. The Rams’ team is young, and St. Louis is close to the University of Missouri, where Sam played his college ball. There’s already a fan base in the area ready to root for him. That’s all true. And Michael Sam was a tremendous college player. But lots of great college players can’t hack it in the NFL. Sam did poorly at the combine; was demonstrably slower and less agile than other guys competing as defensive linemen. And the Rams, the team he’s joining, already is loaded at defensive end, Sam’s position. Robert Quinn and Chris Long, the Ram’s starters, are outstanding players–Quinn’s probably the best end in the league. Their backups, William Sims and Eugene Hays last year, were also excellent, and would start for any other team. Sam is probably too slow to make an impact on special teams. If the Rams carry five defensive ends on their roster, Sam might make the team as the fifth guy there. If they decide to carry four, he’s likely to be the odd man out. That’s not homophobia; just the harsh reality of life in the NFL. His best chance of playing in the NFL would be if one of those players were injured. And, of course, that’s also, brutally, possible.
One comparison I’ve heard is to Jackie Robinson. And there’s some validity there. Michael Sam is a pioneer, as was Jackie. Some people compared Sam to Kenny Washington, the first black player signed to an NFL contract. (And Washington also was signed by the Rams, same franchise). But there are a number of significant differences.
Not many fans know this, but the NFL beat major league baseball to integration by a year. Jackie’s debut was in 1947; Kenny Washington’s was in 1946. But Washington was only the first black player to sign; three others joined him in the NFL in ’46. Washington was joined by Woody Strode, Bill Willis and Marion Motley, playing professional football together. (FWIW, Willis and Motley were superstars; Washington was a good player, and Strode’s career was short, just that one season. Strode made his mark in movies; he was nominated for an Oscar for his performance in Spartacus).
But Jackie Robinson faced it all alone. And baseball was a much bigger deal back then than football was. And the baseball season is longer, and the player uniforms don’t hide the man behind padding. Jackie was always a target, and racist idiots had 154 games to unleash their bile on him. I rather liked the movie 42, which came out last year, but my main criticism of it was that it never came close to capturing the sheer hatred Jackie Robinson faced every day of the ’47 season. I don’t mean to diminish the struggles of Washington, Willis, Motley and Strode, but I don’t think they faced anywhere close to the sheer hatred that Jackie Robinson did. But of course we should honor them all. Their courage remains an inspiration.
The other thing about Jackie Robinson, though, was that he couldn’t just be a ballplayer. He had to be a star. He had to dispel the widely circulated myth that baseball really didn’t discriminate; that black players just weren’t good enough to play at the major league level. In the meritocracy of professional sports, black guys hadn’t been signed or scouted for a reason–there really were substantive racial differences that made them unlikely to succeed. And so on. That specific pile of racist BS was the main one that Jackie Robinson had to flush away, and the only way he could flush it was to excel, to be, not just an exciting and capable player, but a superstar. And he did it. He’s not in the Hall of Fame as a symbol or as a pioneer. He’s in the Hall, absolutely legitimately, as a ballplayer.
Not only was Robinson an incandescent talent, he had also to exhibit near-saintly deportment. Faced with endless taunts and provocations, he had to . . . turn away, to not respond, to not strike back. For a proud and intelligent and ferociously competitive young man, that had to be incredibly, even incomprehensibly difficult. But Robinson was carrying the freight for his entire race. He pulled that off too.
I don’t think Michael Sam will have to face anything like that today. Sam just has to be a football player. The struggle, to be a good player but also a gay pioneer, probably ruined Kwame Harris’ career. Harris was a first round draft pick, expected to be a star. He was, as a player, a disappointment, and he now says that the subtle homophobia of the locker room was a reason he could never quite find his way professionally. That might happen to Sam too, but I think times have changed enough that it might be easier for him than it was for Harris.
Right now, Sam’s just fighting to make the team, like any other rookie. (Also, in interview after interview, impressing people with his intelligence, passion and poise). He has to demonstrate, in the locker room, that he’s just another player. He doesn’t have to be superhuman. He doesn’t have to be Jackie Robinson. Everyone at Missouri says that last year, he was a team leader, a locker room enforcer, a good guy. His sexual orientation matters, because it’s not going to matter. Anyway you look at it, that’s progress.