“Pain is temporary; pride is forever.”
Although this statement adequately fits on the walls of weight rooms and the backs of Nike T-shirts everywhere, it is not inherently applicable in the modern game of pro football. In fact, the ongoing painkiller issues in the National Football League has reversed this statement entirely.
Painkillers have a longstanding history in the NFL. Since the post-World War II era, the human behemoths that clash on the gridiron have consistently relied on the aid of painkilling supplements to combat the ongoing aches of playing the world’s most dangerous game. Regardless of pain or risk of injury, the expectations of the sport require players to put their bodies on the line and “play hurt” for the sake of the team.
The American football culture calls for players to be “men.” No excuses and negligible sympathy. The vast majority of NFL athletes will do whatever it takes to see the field. Players who portray weakness, those who succumb to pain, risk ridicule from the public and the slandering of their reputations. For a recent example, just ask Jay Cutler.
For marginal players experiencing potentially sidelining injuries, painkiller use is hardly a question. Receive medication or risk unemployment. The window of opportunity to crack the 53-man roster closes significantly, if injury pains prevent you from exhibiting your skills during practice sessions. Football is a business, after all, and playing is a livelihood. Coaches and managers desire players who they know will do everything in their power to perform. If that entails receiving an otherwise inadvisable number of injections per week to numb a broken clavicle or torn ligament, so be it.
Of course, painkillers are not inherently dangerous in safe, recommended quantities. Millions of non-athlete Americans around the nation routinely use medications to relieve the discomforts that develop with age and everyday life; but in the NFL, painkilling drugs flow like Clay Matthews’ golden locks.
Before the mid-2000’s, powerful pain relievers were administered so casually that former New York Jets’ Neuropsychologist, William Barr, described the drug Toradal being stored in a “huge candy jar,” free for the taking. If a player had a pain issue, drugs were available to get someone through the game and to ease the recovery afterwards. There was minimal, if any, hesitation from trainers or official team doctors prior to the mid-2000s to withhold painkillers from athletes. The danger of substance abuse and addiction due to weekly overuse was not disclosed to players, resulting in thousands of NFL retirees suffering from incredibly detrimental dependencies later in life.
The three main variants of painkillers NFL players so widely utilize include narcotics (e.g. Vicodin, Oxycodone), injected local anesthesia, and Toradol. Just a few years ago, each of these three types of medication were distributed indiscriminately before practices and games. Essentially, a player could approach the training staff with anything from minor soreness, to a broken limb, and receive medication to the point of full-bodied numbness.
Toradol is an especially notable all-purpose drug now connected to kidney failure and other serious health issues. In use since the 1950s, Tony Dungy confidently stated that “practically everybody in the NFL is using Toradol” during his coaching tenure with the Indianapolis Colts. Toradol has established itself as a player favorite for its high effectiveness, especially when injected.
The active ingredient in Toradol, Ketorolac, prevents pain, swelling, and inflammation by blocking a self-produced chemical called cyclo-oxygenase (COX). Cyclo-oxygenase helps generate the body’s prostaglandins, injury response lipids produced in response to injury. When injected either intravenously or intramuscularly, Toradol directly prevents the body’s natural injury response process. As a result, pain, swelling, and inflammation become non-factors for a short period of time, allowing athletes to play through otherwise excruciating pain.
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To better understand players’ painkiller dependency, it must be noted that drugs, like Toradol, are shot into players, even when they feel fine. Toradol allows players to battle on the field with reckless abandon. As spectators, the willingness of these pro athletes to throw their bodies so impetuously around the field emits the illusion that these men have some superhuman resistance to pain.
Tragically, this is far from reality.
Still, the NFL lacks regulatory standards involving prescription drug use among players except that drugs must be obtained legally, by prescription. Team physicians follow different philosophies; and the injuries and outside pressures to forfeit your body for the game create disparities in how painkillers and other medications are administered.
Unfortunately, decades of franchise medical staffs mishandling medication distribution has prompted the latest, large-scale lawsuit against the NFL.
This past May, 500 former NFL players joined in a lawsuit, claiming that the league allowed team physicians to illegally dispense massive quantities of potent narcotics and other drugs as a means to keep players on the field, without prescription or regard for their long-term health. In June, roughly 800 more NFL retirees united with the original 500 to set the total at 1,300 plaintiffs.
The suit looks to expose the malpractice of NFL trainers over the span of four decades, 1969-2008; and is fueled by the 1.300 players, who now, or at one point, suffer from painkiller abuse and addiction, as a result of negligence during their playing careers. Notable players include Jim McMahon and Richard Dent, members of Mike Ditka’s legendary 1985 Chicago Bears, and Marcellus Wiley, Co-Host of ESPN’s SportsNation.
These retired players played through pain during their careers. Not simply bumps and bruises, but injuries and impairments that would prompt cubicle workers to call Aflac. Outspoken plaintiff and former Pro Bowl Offensive Tackle Kyle Turley mentioned in an interview with ESPN’s Colin Cowherd that not only does he need a daily dose of Vicodin to sleep at night, seven years into retirement, but several of his teammates were downing a startling 30 Vicodin pills before games–about four times the maximum recommended daily dosage. In McMahon’s case, he developed a 100 pill-a-month reliance on the narcotic Percocet.
Such immense abuse of potent medications eventually backfires; and the consequences are life altering. NFL retirees constant need to mask their chronic pains takes a toll on both their bodies and their personal lives.
Former San Francisco 49ers Pro Bowl center Jeremy Newberry was an avid supporter of Toradol, until his kidneys began to rapidly deteriorate following retirement. Arguably the most notable draft bust of all time, Ryan Leaf, abused painkillers during his short tenure with the San Diego Chargers to play with a broken wrist. As we all know, Leaf’s abysmal performances resulted in an early ousting; and as of September 2014, he is currently serving a multi-year sentence after multiple arrests, all relating to controlled substances. Players still suffering from these addictions later in life typically acquire breathing problems, increased risk of comas, and are liable to overdose.
In recent years, Toradol use remains prevalent, but not to the extreme of decades passed; and in 2012, the NFL Physicians Society recommended that Toradol only be provided to treat existing injuries. Narcotics have been removed from “candy jar” status in the locker-room, but remain widely abused throughout the league.
For a number of the retired NFL players currently engaged in a lawsuit against the league and many other retirees, such as legend Earl Campbell, the only way to overcome their addiction to pain relievers is through a painfully long withdrawal process in a rehabilitation clinic.
From the painkiller perspective, the NFL is a breeding ground for future rehab patients. Players innate desire to play through pain and injury for football glory more frequently results in brokenness and addiction.
Sadly, the substance abuse culture in pro football is so ingrained that change will likely be marginal for years to come.