There are some things about sports that don’t blow me away. Some things that are sick and represent the worst aspects of humanity. One of those things is the NFL draft scouting combine. I love sports. You hear me? Love them. I don’t care if it’s the World Series or men competing over how long they can keep a ferret in their pants (it’s called Ferret-Legging, and yes, you guessed it, it’s British), I’m in. That’s me: the idiot dissecting every angle, contemplating whether having lots of leg hair would be an advantage, and more than likely writing about it.
But there are some things about sports that don’t blow me away. Some things that are sick and represent the worst aspects of humanity. One of those things is the NFL draft scouting combine. In my mind, there’s nothing that better demonstrates the factory-like nature of football and for that matter, all of professional athletics.
Granted, the commercialization of sports is already a well-documented subject, but some stuff doesn’t require an academic to see how wrong it is.
For example, if “forty” times, weigh-ins and cone drills aren’t enough and combine doesn’t trigger the word bovine in your head, perhaps you haven’t heard of the Wonderlic test. Simply put, it’s a comprehensive analysis of players’ mental capacity, fortitude and durability. Having never taken the test (I run the 40 in like 12 seconds), I can’t verify this, but for many of these individuals it could be the most challenging examination they’ll go through in front of legions of drooling scouts, agents and assorted hangers-on. And strangely, it may also be one of the most heavily weighted.
Within two months of almost single-handedly taking his Texas Longhorns team past powerhouse USC; Vince Young appears to be proof of just that. Early reports from the 2006 combine at Indianapolis’ RCA Dome have Young’s Wonderlic score at six. To put things in perspective, six was the lowest score in 2005 (Frank Gore) and significantly less than the other two top quarterbacks this year, Jay Cutler (29) and Matt Leinhart (35).
Never mind that Young routinely put up 300 yards a game in the Big 12 and that the entire Rose Bowl knew he was keeping it on the game-winning touchdown (which made absolutely no difference). Nobody could stop him. Nobody in NCAA football, anyway. Of course NCAA football is sport, the NFL is business. Yeah, college football is a racket too, but it’s more like your local supermarket.
We’re talking about The Show now. This is Wal-Mart, baby.
And at Wal-Mart you’ve got to be perfect. There’s no room for weakness. If you can’t sell big and long, if there’s any indication you’ll be too expensive or defective, nobody’s buying. At Wal-Mart, all they want to see are sell outs. And who can blame them, there’s a lot a stake and it’s all larger than even the most freakishly monstrous offensive lineman.
But it’s still sick. What do you want to bet less psychological testing goes into the average civil servant, and many of the above-average ones? Then again, more people care about football than they do about getting their mail. Even so, why does it need to be on TV? I know the NFL Network has hours to fill, but watching linemen do sprints for 40 minutes in a completely empty RCA Dome is tough to take when you a) aren’t getting paid for it and b) have to listen to two guys desperately try to offer insight into it.
Look, I’m not stupid. I know how much is invested in professional athletes, how many jobs and lives are inseparably tangled in these “games.” But I guess my problem is the NFL scouting combine seems to emphasize the investment aspect a lot more than the life aspect, and I think we already get more daily lessons than we need in that department.
I’m also very familiar with the dark side of sports. I’m not naïve: I’ve stood in the Toronto Raptors dressing room and seen some of Jalen Rose’s sweaters. But sometimes, thanks to a face-contorting dunk, entertaining press conference comment or 80-yard flea flicker, we can forget for a moment and pretend it’s really all that simple. Every once in a while I like to think there are no investments, which combines quickly remind me is an ideal being put through its own vomit-inducing workout inside my head (which is only marginally more full than the RCA Dome).
It’s official. I’m canceling the NFL Network.