Last weekend, for the first time in almost thirty years, I turned the TV off during a good football game. I felt sick to my stomach. And it had nothing to do with Colin Kaepernick.
It was a college game, and in the span of about 20 minutes, I watched two different young men get hit so hard that they had to be carried off on stretchers. Both times the game stopped for ten minutes, as players circled around and dropped to a knee — a gesture that’s explosive during the national anthem, but dead-somber during an injury stoppage. Some players clasped hands. It was like a prayer vigil. I’d seen gesture before, but never really thought about it. But now it was clear: It was like they were praying their teammate wasn’t dead or paralyzed.
And so — for the first time — was I.