Imagine, for a moment, that you are a perfectly serviceable offensive lineman currently employed by an NFL franchise. Not an All-Pro, but a fine journeyman hunk of hostility. (If it helps, take a moment and remove all the cartilage from your right knee. I’ll wait.) So, on the morning of the conference championship game, you decide you need to relax. You drive to a nondescript strip mall somewhere in Florida, wherein you pay some ladies who may or may not be willing employees to help you relax in the oldest possible ways. (Hey, kids read this column. I’m doing what I can here.
Robert Kraft, Roger Goodell and the NFL’s Discipline Double Standard
