I believe in evolution. I don’t know that Darwin’s hypotheses on the subject are unequivocally factually correct, but I do believe that a species adapts to its climate over time, primarily through survival of the fittest. It’s a process that takes generations upon generations to complete, however, and as a result there is no real chance for us to observe any discernible difference in the character of a species, particularly our own, in a single lifetime.

In 1985, William ‘Refrigerator’ Perry was the largest player in the NFL. He entered the league at a playing weight of 325 pounds. The next largest player on that Super Bowl winning Bears squad was offensive lineman Mark Bortz, who clocked in at a svelt 282. Perry was primarily a defensive lineman. He outweighed the next largest Bears’ defender, nose tackle Steve McMichael, by 55 pounds. More famously, he was also occasionally used as a fullback. He outweighed starter Matt Suhey by over 100 pounds.

At his rookie playing weight, The Fridge wouldn’t be the largest player on most NFL teams today. In Philadelphia, he wouldn’t crack the top five. He was one of 10 players over 300 pounds in 1985 and one of only 16 between 1920 and ’85. By contrast, 305 players topped 300 last season. In 2004 there were a record 325. A Florida newspaper performed a study last year and concluded that between 1970 and 2006, the average weight of an NFL offensive lineman increased by 62 pounds.

The cause for this meteoric increase in the number of jumbo-sized players is no secret. The same phenomenon occurred in baseball around the same time. NFL players aren’t shattering the records of beloved players, however. John Welbourn is nobody’s childhood hero. Bill Romanowski isn’t a national treasure. Ergo, no congressional hearing is needed. The risk to a player’s health is inconsequential. The fans turn a blind eye, and in the player’s eye, the long term repercussions don’t outweigh the short term gains.

As I have stated before in other articles, I do not believe that athletes should be considered role models. Thus, I won’t make the assertion that professionals need to stop this behavior for the sake of keeping children from following suit. High school football players don’t acquire this behavior because they see it in the ranks of the NFL and tacitly accept that it’s okay. They know it’s not. They do it to improve their chances of playing in college. College athletes do it to improve their chances of playing in the pros. The effect begins at the top and trickles down. How much further it will trickle remains unclear. The use of diuretics is already pervasive in youth wrestling. It’s more than plausible that the same will eventually occur even in Pop Warner football, provided it doesn’t already.

The epidemic can only be self-corrected. Only greater incidence of injury, concussion, and premature death will bring it to an end. It will take a social awakening on a scale much larger than a stock HBO after school special to slow the pressure placed on players to succeed at any cost. It won’t come about as a means of self preservation on the part of the players either. It will come only with extreme cultural stigma, just as it did with baseball.

Until then, keep turning that blind eye, and never mention that dirty word when talking about football. Euphemize it if necessary, but don’t speak it aloud. Just pretend you don’t see it at all. Not in the game we love most. After all, all love is blind.

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