New retirement plan proves Goodell reacts with heart and mind
by David Haugh
Chicago Tribune
Published May 25, 2007
By now you know the name Larry Morris.
The most valuable player of the 1963 NFL Championship game for the Bears, Morris has become an aged, sad face of neglect by the league. Unfortunately, every NFL city has at least one. Morris, 73, is Chicago's.
He now lives with his wife, Kay, in Georgia, but dementia has robbed him of the ability to recognize her or the world once at his feet. It's a pitiable tale chronicled before on these pages.
But the real news is that NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell knows Morris' name too.
Goodell brought it up last month in a meeting with Associated Press sports editors in New York when he spoke of a multi-tier program to improve retirement benefits for retired NFL players announced Tuesday.
With no cameras to grandstand for, a leader of a $6 billion enterprise mentioning by name a needy person he wants to help means something.
That Goodell also knows many personal details of some of the other 54 applicants to "The 88 Plan" for retired players with dementia suggests the league's investments on Goodell's watch will be emotional as well as financial.
There was sincerity in Goodell's voice that day when he spoke of Morris and how examples like his give the league a mandate to help the NFL's old guard.
There was just as much cynicism is Mike Ditka's voice Wednesday when he questioned whether the new NFL measures were little more than a PR stunt.
Ditka, using his rebellious instincts for good intentions these days, backed up his vitriol with valid reasons to doubt anything the league has promised its most disabled retirees. The organization Ditka and Jerry Kramer formed, "Gridiron Greats," employs people who speak to penniless, helpless former players every day who feel shut out by the NFL, so his skepticism is understandable.
But something about Goodell says he will pay more than lip service to his commitment to improve the lives of guys like Larry Morris and Harlon Hill and hundreds more like them. Expect Goodell to pay attention too.
In only nine months on the job, Goodell has shown more than anything that he plans to be a responsive commissioner. He identifies a problem and acts, it appears, by allowing his heart to walk in lock step with his head. He not only thinks, he feels.
Many people point to the NFL's new personal-conduct policy as the best example of Goodell making his mark. How he decided to toughen the penalties after seeing arrests of NFL players double, from 24 to 48, over a two-year period from 2004-06.
That's true. Goodell already has people so used to his swift brand of justice that Bears fans are wondering what's taking him so long to rule on Tank Johnson, though it has been only nine days since Johnson met with the commissioner. (Be patient, everybody: Next week's suspension will come soon enough.)
But Goodell also has shown a willingness to react quickly and adjust to the contemporary climate. He accepted proposals to shorten the NFL draft after the longest first round ever last month and established new procedures for reporting concussions. Under the new policy, any player returning to action from a concussion who feels he is being pushed back onto the playing field quicker than is safe can report the team anonymously to the league office.
Granted, none of these changes help Bears Hall of Famer Doug Atkins down in Knoxville, Tenn., figure out how he's going to pay for his next operation out of his dwindling pension savings. But it suggests forgotten retirees such as Atkins and so many others have an ally in Goodell, and help could be on the way.
Why the confidence? Goodell has earned it so far by displaying a promising mix of innovation and integrity.
He's an idea guy, a bright bulb whose background in economics might make him more inclined to act boldly than predecessor Paul Tagliabue, a lawyer's lawyer whose legacy wasn't expediency. Or as one longtime league observer recently remarked about the biggest early difference between Goodell and Tagliabue: "He doesn't have a law degree, so he's not afraid every time he makes a move."
Just as significant, when Goodell speaks of defending "the shield," of the league, it has nothing to do with profiting from the NFL trademark and everything to do with restoring pride in the brand. Nothing would accomplish that more than remembering the players who helped build that brand to the status it enjoys today, a reality Goodell seems to grasp.
Challenges mount. Access to quick cash for those in dire need must become simpler for a generation that isn't Internet-savvy or cell-phone friendly. Building up the kitty for retired or disabled players means nothing if nobody knows the combination to the vault.
Outreach programs also must aggressively find the retirees who are too proud to ask for assistance and work with all 32 teams to account for every one of their retired players—especially the ones older than 55.
Awareness needs to be raised. The NFL Network should devote a couple of its 24 hours of daily programming each week to telling the stories of guys like Morris and Atkins and Conrad Dobler. There are many more names for Goodell to learn.
Even if the network's publicity occasionally risks making the league look bad, at least that honesty would be respected. Respect for the NFL is something the league's oldest generation has begun to lose at an alarming rate.
Goodell won a little back this week with promises of better days for those men and more like them who will follow.
It's a good start.
by David Haugh
Chicago Tribune
Published May 25, 2007
By now you know the name Larry Morris.
The most valuable player of the 1963 NFL Championship game for the Bears, Morris has become an aged, sad face of neglect by the league. Unfortunately, every NFL city has at least one. Morris, 73, is Chicago's.
He now lives with his wife, Kay, in Georgia, but dementia has robbed him of the ability to recognize her or the world once at his feet. It's a pitiable tale chronicled before on these pages.
But the real news is that NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell knows Morris' name too.
Goodell brought it up last month in a meeting with Associated Press sports editors in New York when he spoke of a multi-tier program to improve retirement benefits for retired NFL players announced Tuesday.
With no cameras to grandstand for, a leader of a $6 billion enterprise mentioning by name a needy person he wants to help means something.
That Goodell also knows many personal details of some of the other 54 applicants to "The 88 Plan" for retired players with dementia suggests the league's investments on Goodell's watch will be emotional as well as financial.
There was sincerity in Goodell's voice that day when he spoke of Morris and how examples like his give the league a mandate to help the NFL's old guard.
There was just as much cynicism is Mike Ditka's voice Wednesday when he questioned whether the new NFL measures were little more than a PR stunt.
Ditka, using his rebellious instincts for good intentions these days, backed up his vitriol with valid reasons to doubt anything the league has promised its most disabled retirees. The organization Ditka and Jerry Kramer formed, "Gridiron Greats," employs people who speak to penniless, helpless former players every day who feel shut out by the NFL, so his skepticism is understandable.
But something about Goodell says he will pay more than lip service to his commitment to improve the lives of guys like Larry Morris and Harlon Hill and hundreds more like them. Expect Goodell to pay attention too.
In only nine months on the job, Goodell has shown more than anything that he plans to be a responsive commissioner. He identifies a problem and acts, it appears, by allowing his heart to walk in lock step with his head. He not only thinks, he feels.
Many people point to the NFL's new personal-conduct policy as the best example of Goodell making his mark. How he decided to toughen the penalties after seeing arrests of NFL players double, from 24 to 48, over a two-year period from 2004-06.
That's true. Goodell already has people so used to his swift brand of justice that Bears fans are wondering what's taking him so long to rule on Tank Johnson, though it has been only nine days since Johnson met with the commissioner. (Be patient, everybody: Next week's suspension will come soon enough.)
But Goodell also has shown a willingness to react quickly and adjust to the contemporary climate. He accepted proposals to shorten the NFL draft after the longest first round ever last month and established new procedures for reporting concussions. Under the new policy, any player returning to action from a concussion who feels he is being pushed back onto the playing field quicker than is safe can report the team anonymously to the league office.
Granted, none of these changes help Bears Hall of Famer Doug Atkins down in Knoxville, Tenn., figure out how he's going to pay for his next operation out of his dwindling pension savings. But it suggests forgotten retirees such as Atkins and so many others have an ally in Goodell, and help could be on the way.
Why the confidence? Goodell has earned it so far by displaying a promising mix of innovation and integrity.
He's an idea guy, a bright bulb whose background in economics might make him more inclined to act boldly than predecessor Paul Tagliabue, a lawyer's lawyer whose legacy wasn't expediency. Or as one longtime league observer recently remarked about the biggest early difference between Goodell and Tagliabue: "He doesn't have a law degree, so he's not afraid every time he makes a move."
Just as significant, when Goodell speaks of defending "the shield," of the league, it has nothing to do with profiting from the NFL trademark and everything to do with restoring pride in the brand. Nothing would accomplish that more than remembering the players who helped build that brand to the status it enjoys today, a reality Goodell seems to grasp.
Challenges mount. Access to quick cash for those in dire need must become simpler for a generation that isn't Internet-savvy or cell-phone friendly. Building up the kitty for retired or disabled players means nothing if nobody knows the combination to the vault.
Outreach programs also must aggressively find the retirees who are too proud to ask for assistance and work with all 32 teams to account for every one of their retired players—especially the ones older than 55.
Awareness needs to be raised. The NFL Network should devote a couple of its 24 hours of daily programming each week to telling the stories of guys like Morris and Atkins and Conrad Dobler. There are many more names for Goodell to learn.
Even if the network's publicity occasionally risks making the league look bad, at least that honesty would be respected. Respect for the NFL is something the league's oldest generation has begun to lose at an alarming rate.
Goodell won a little back this week with promises of better days for those men and more like them who will follow.
It's a good start.
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