The Strength of Vulnerability
By Don McPherson
‘Hey Dad, who are these guys?’
It was a long-handwritten list on a notepad sitting atop the clutter on my desk that caught the eye of my fourteen-year old daughter. Thirty-three former teammates and other players I knew from my days in college and professional football. All of them dead before their 50th birthday.
I am rarely at a loss for words, however, at that moment I did not know how to tell her that it was a list of dead friends. More troubling than that macabre explanation was telling her why I was keeping the list. Next to each name were letters; “b” and “w” for black and white, other initials for position played and whether they were “c” or “p” (college or pro players). Then there was “s” for suicide. There were six “s’s.” I couldn’t tell her that when I learned about one of the guys who committed suicide, I was sitting in my car outside of her elementary school and became panic-stricken, with an irrational but real fear to have her in the car with me. It was easy to identify the physical pains and scars of playing the game but understanding the emotional toll was less tangible and that’s what made it so frightening.
Recently, Dallas Cowboys Quarterback Dak Prescott publicly disclosed the depression and anxiety he experienced in the early days of the pandemic and, the emotional devastation following his brother’s death by suicide. I only heard about his disclosure after sports commentator Skip Bayless admonished his speaking publicly, saying he had “no sympathy” for Prescott because he is the leader of young men; suggesting his personal “issues” be kept silent in deference to that role. Many were grateful for the quick and unequivocal rebuke from his co-host and NFL Hall-of-Famer Shannon Sharpe, who only just defended Prescott’s disclosure but praised his courage.
I am grateful for Dak Prescott. As a professional football player, he thrives in the unforgiving and hyper-masculine environment that is as rigid as it is critical. He knew the likes of Bayless would frame his truth as a weakness. But his disclosure was a demonstration of tremendous strength and remarkable honesty of his vulnerable humanity.
In his push back to Bayless, Sharpe recognized the novelty of Prescott’s honesty and that it would not have been as well received when he played in the 1990’s. I agree. Most of the 33 men on my list played in the 1990’s and I write about them in my book:
“Whether their deaths were self-inflicted or caused by some other ailment or life decision, they were all warriors—men who disregarded their physical and emotional well-being to play a game that required they push harder, feel less, and ignore all that distracted them from the pursuit of the game, including themselves. In the end, they were made vulnerable by the very thing that made them warriors . . . and I was no different.
I was no different. And that is partly why I kept the list and moreover, why I am grateful for Prescott’s honesty.
The subtitle of my book is “The Blind Spot of Masculinity.” The blind spot is that which many men don’t see because we are busy living the narrowness of masculinity that lends to our success. Men like Bayless profit from the machine-like ways that athletes routinely show up and perform in a time frame that fits a seasonal calendar and three-hour television time slot with near robotic accountability to the business. Bayless, adhering to a brand of “tough-guy” masculinity while simultaneously critiquing and perpetuating the myth of masculinity, was playing a role, dramatic antagonist to the warrior athlete. He stated, ‘…if you reveal publicly, any little weakness it can effect your team’s ability to believe in you.’
I hope young football players will learn that being an athlete and vulnerable human being are not mutually exclusive. I hope Prescott’s leadership frees boys from the dogma of “tough-guy” rhetoric that asks them to advance the performance and lie of masculinity at the expense of themselves.
The National Football Foundation proudly states as part of its mission, is to “build leaders through football.” Dak Prescott’s leadership embodies that precisely. While he was simply speaking his truth, his example reaches far beyond the game. At a time of tremendous uncertainty and pain due to the COVID-19 pandemic, raging fires incinerating western states and the scourge of racism and violence throughout our society, anxiety and depression are more certain for most of us than if another football game is played. The example of Prescott’s story is not just that things are going to be okay but that right now, all is not okay…and that is okay too.
The reason I kept the “list” was not just in remembrance of friends lost but as a reminder of all those who suffer in lonely silence; incapable or afraid to say, “I’m hurting and I need help.” And my hope that when they are inspired to do so, their voice is heard, respected and met with support and love.
Don McPherson is the author of You Throw Like a Girl: The Blind Spot of Masculinity, chronicling more than thirty-eight years, using sports to address social issues and focused on a quarter century of work on gender violence and aspirational masculinity. His programs have reached more than one million, throughout North America. A member of the College Football Hall of Fame, McPherson was a highly decorated All-American quarterback at Syracuse University
