In defense of blue and white

Huddled together under the fluorescent lighting, they form a jumbled pattern of blue and white. They can hear the low boom of the announcer’s voice, and then they are through the double doors, flooding into the bright October sunlight. As they walk down the ramp, their minds reel with anticipation. Rewinding, they recall the hours of 6 a.m. meetings, full-pad practices, and lifts, which have come together to bring them to this moment. Their muscles, which are forced to walk where their minds can run, yearn to strain and pull, but are forced to keep pace behind their teammates as they file—in what seems like slow motion—toward the field.

After the perfunctory coin toss, which granted them possession and the kick-off, where they advanced the ball to their own 40-yard line, the offensive and defensive linemen face off, driving their fingers into the turf, feeling the fakeness of the artificial grass. The black beads stick to their sweaty fingers, their eyes locking confidently. In the milliseconds before the snap, they harness their muscles and become fully attuned to every twitch and spasm, and as they anticipate the play, they breathe as if in one cohesive inhale and exhale.

And then…the center snaps the ball. The offensive and defensive lines collide, modern gladiators straining against each other, and the sharp crack of helmets being propelled together emanates from their midst. Confidently, the receivers make their cuts and weave through the defense in an organized frenzy, trying to get open. The quarterback scans the field looking for an open pair of hands. He registers those of a wide receiver and launches the ball, which falls neatly into the waiting receiver’s grip…touchdown!!!

The Columbia University football team has often received criticism for what ignorant observers see reflected in the scoreboard at the end of the fourth quarter or in the sports column the Monday after a game. What they don’t see, because they are blinded by numbers and end results, are the private struggles that each member of the team undergoes—struggles that will never add points to the final score or be visible to the untrained eye, but will relentlessly challenge these young men. This is because, in addition to the strenuous course load and the obligatory demands that come with an education at this level, there is the pressure of being on a team where coaches are irrational and domineering, where extracurricular activities consist of curfews and early morning runs in the off-season, and where Sundays are surrendered to the peal of a bedside alarm clock and “optional mandatory” lifts.

None of these things are understood by people who make comments about how awful Columbia football is or who decide not to attend a game. None of these things are comprehensible to people who remark that these athletes should not be allowed to attend our prestigious university. None of these things even register a retrospective feeling of guilt to the people who criticize without knowing. This is because it is easy to detest what we barely understand.

Perhaps if these criticizers would stop their defamations to assess the superficiality of their statements, there would be fewer detractors. If only they would take the time to fully understand what it means to be a football player at this prestigious university, they would see that it is not a job for the faint of heart. Many have quit and more will follow because they cannot take the pressures of so consuming a commitment. And who can truly blame them? For those who remain, there awaits no scholarship or devoted fan following. Most of the time, criticism and a lack of appreciation patiently loom. Even after last Saturday’s incredible defeat of Princeton by a spread of 38-0, most people have no greater appreciation for what they do. It is a travesty that such a situation exists, but it does. These men, who put their bodies through forced weight gain and loss and fall prey to injuries at the expense of their future qualities of life, do it for…

Whom or what do they do it for? A love of the game is what motivates most of them. But what of those who go out to practice and to games, knowing that their jerseys will stay crisp and clean and that their cleats will never touch the turf beyond the boundary lines? For these players, the reasons for continuing to be a part of the team constitute a wide spectrum of rationales. Some play for the sense of camaraderie they gain from their fellow teammates, some do it out of the need for security, which arises from the confines of a well-founded habit, and still others stay on because they refuse to quit what they have already begun.

Regardless of the disparity among their reasons, they all go through the same inner mental and outer physical turmoil. The least we, as a collegiate community, can do is show our respect. Before we reach for the effortlessness of criticism, maybe we should take that extra second to try to comprehend, if not relate.

The author is a Columbia College senior majoring in psychology.