Some weeks —well, in my case, maybe even most weeks—things get all jumbled up.
In the past patch of recent days, a steady dose of daily news about the sorry state of the NFL has been accompanied by the mesmerizing nightly drama of The Roosevelts: An Intimate History. Strange bedfellows, indeed. Try as I might, I can’t keep them apart, 
like peas and potatoes resisting the directive to stay in their distinct locations on my plate. In my dreams, I think I’ve even spotted the bullish Teddy on the line of scrimmage and Roger Goodell wandering around at Sagamore Hill, trying to stay behind his shield. What, I wonder, might one story have to say to another? I’m pretty sure it’s not quite so simple as the statuesque Eleanor Roosevelt waving her finger at a bunch of players who don’t seem to understand the rules that really matter in life. No, I think it has more to do with the fact that we are all engaged in some kind of battle against demons that threaten to pull us down; we just need to recognize them first.
In the car for a long drive the other day, I stumbled upon a radio show called “In the Market with Janet Parshall.” Have any of you ever had the pleasure? I know, the first thing that’s confusing about it—especially in the context of a conversation about football—is that her name sounds really close to “Bill Parcells,” the famous coach of many successful teams. The show is part of Moody Radio, a network of 36 Christian stations nationwide; according to the website, Janet “evaluates newsworthy topics with guests and listeners using the Bible as a framework for discussion.”
This past Saturday, not surprisingly, Janet was evaluating the bleak situation within the NFL, on the heels of Goodell’s press conference on Friday, and asking her listeners whether they thought the measures he was announcing would be enough. Maybe this happens a lot on talk radio, but I was particularly amused by Janet’s proclivity to take a caller’s comment and then go on and on with it, pretty much forgetting the caller, almost as if she herself were running the ball downfield all the way.
At one point she really took off with the idea that what NFL players need most is more “self-control.” So far so good, but then—in my opinion, anyway—she went out of
bounds. She recommended that all the pro teams would be well-advised to involve chaplains and other “believers” in the effort to demonstrate the crucial link between Christ and self-control. And then, apparently, we’d be on our way to ridding the league of this scourge of domestic violence.
Now I heartily agree that chaplains do very important work, and if in fact they work in the NFL, they sure could help lead the charge against domestic violence. Furthermore, Christ may have been a champion of self-control, and many other qualities too; but with all due respect I really don’t think Christians are necessarily first in line when it comes to recognizing that hurting others— particularly members of one’s own family—is wrong, wrong and wrong.
Frankly, this use of “believer” has always rankled me. Does the word connote a very specific kind of belief? From what I can tell, each one of us develops something like a moral code over time and then we do our best to live by it, stumbling and trying to make corrections in course along the way. If our particular beliefs hold any water, they enable us to be productive, generous and kind members of our communities–starting in our own living rooms. Perhaps, sometimes, even despite the challenges we are dealing with at home.
What was so compelling about The Roosevelts (besides just about everything— the photographs, film clips and actual words of the characters) was that we got to see what was actually happening in their private lives against the backdrop of huge and transformative national and world events. For example, the fact that Theodore Roosevelt, just starting out in politics, had to find a way to absorb the enormous grief of losing his wife and his mother to typhoid on the very same day; or that FDR was coping with polio, and the need to never appear weak in public, while leading the country into the New Deal; or that Eleanor was both a tireless advocate for the disadvantaged as well as a stern taskmaster to her husband, who at times in their marriage betrayed her.
These were remarkable people; that is for sure. They were all three fighters, too. As they take their bows, humbly of course, football will rush in, despite feeling a bit wobbly at the moment. The sport is–everyone would surely agree–engaged in the fight of its life, really the fight for its life. This has happened not because football players are any more culpable than the rest of us, but because their falls always loom larger. Domestic violence, a demon that smashes into far too many families everywhere but most often out of the public eye, has come under the full glare of the lights. Nobody better let it scamper out of the stadium unscathed now. As the Roosevelts would attest, we’ve defeated some other pretty big foes in the history of this country.