Football Has Obvious Violence, But Hidden Virtues

Murphy is tired of fielding questions about the quality of his football team.

How does this year’s Crimson compare to the 2015 version (9-1, defined by a senior class with 14 All-Ivy players) or the 2014 version (10-0, defined by a last-minute win over Yale)? Can we expect another victory in The Game, another unbeaten campaign, another champagne shower?

And what of the offensive line—how was that unit reloaded? How’s the secondary? The linebacker core? Is sophomore wide receiver Justice Shelton-Mosley an NFL prospect?

To his credit, Murphy answers these questions—all of them—with the patience of a diplomat. But beneath this professional veneer, there must be a core of frustration. There must be a nagging internal voice that responds to every question in the same way: “What a dumb set of questions,” the voice says. “Just wait 10 weeks, and everyone will have the answers.”

Unfortunately for badgering reporters such as me, this internal voice is correct. Harvard football has played three contests against inferior opponents and won all three. Ho hum.

The known superstars (Firkser, Shelton-Mosley, and captain Sean Ahern) have played like superstars. The defense has baptized a class of new starters and recovered a portion of the dominance from last year’s unit. The offense consists of a sure-as-taxes running game and a quick-release passing game.

After three games, the Crimson is good but certainly not great. Consistent but certainly not invincible. Harvard may still evolve into a leave-no-doubt championship team, but at this stage, doubts surround the program like mist on an autumn morning. Once again, ho hum.

Let us defer, then, to the nagging internal voice. On Saturday the Crimson will face off against Cornell (3-0, 1-0 Ivy), and that game marks the start of a conference stretch that will determine the true abilities or inabilities of the 2016 Harvard team.

Until then, however, we have a rare chance to ponder larger questions. For example: Do the benefits of college football merit the violent costs?

The Crimson team provides an extraordinary window into this debate. These players are smart individuals—smart enough to take on perhaps the most high-powered college education in the world. During interviews they speak in full sentences and look you in the eye.

How perplexing it is that these Harvard students have volunteered for an activity that’s so dangerous that all participants must stuff their brains inside plastic cages.

Unqualified critics of football stop at this observation. No one can deny the physical toll of the game. Less obvious, but maybe just as insidious, is the symbolic toll: the culture of hero worship, the celebration of male aggression, and the distraction from more serious concerns. Under this logic, Crimson players are not just harming themselves; they are also harming society at large.

Yet these arguments often fail to consider the benefits of playing on a football team.

Start here: Humans are social beings; we derive innate pleasure from belonging to a collective. A football team is an especially intense example of a collective, and Harvard football is an especially intense example of a football team.

Every morning Crimson players assemble for a 6:30 a.m. lift. That kind of commitment requires enormous amounts of daily discipline. It tests personal fortitude and builds familial feeling.

The rest of football involves sacrifice, too. In one sense, the whole purpose of the game is sacrifice: to follow group orders even at the expense of personal pain. Repeatedly you make this decision, and you do so next to 10 other players who are willing to do the same.

Everyone knows that it’s noble to constrain self-interest for the sake of some positive outcome. Fewer people acknowledge that the mere act of constraining self-interest is noble. But I believe this to be true.

Football discipline may (and does) amount to points on an electronic board. But this discipline still has inherent value. It strengthens determination and underlines the importance of community. It pushes players to become men of character.

In no way should this realization acquit football. It does not negate the need for improved player protection, and it certainly does not prove that the benefits of football outweigh the costs. But when considering the question of football, one must acknowledge the essential dignity of the game along with the essential violence.

There’s a reason that so many players leave the sport, rightfully angered by the cruelty and danger. But there’s also a reason that so many stick around, choosing to wake up at 6:30 a.m. just so they can work hard—again and again and again.

–Staff writer Sam Danello can be reached at sam.danello@thecrimson.com.