Solution to NFL over-officiating: armless linemen!

It was another weekend of the ruling elite infuriating the 99 percent of Americans who feel helpless about doing anything in the face of tyrannical oppression.

I’m talking about the officiating in the NFL.

We can disagree about income disparity, presidential politics and whether God’s playing favorites with the Denver Broncos because Tim Tebow’s such a Savior suck up (my take, “Jesus, Tebow’s a winner”).

But I think we can all agree NFL over-officiating is ruining the game. Calls are excessive and confusing and now every scoring play is under review. That makes sense until you realize the next logical step is reviewing goal line plays that don’t involve scoring but, upon further review, might have.

Some fans say this is good because getting it right is essential.

Well, no, it isn’t. If it was, we’d have cameras isolating every single player to ensure they weren’t committing an infraction.

What’s essential is getting it as close to right as possible without making the games last even longer than they already do.

You may not have noticed amidst all the beer and truck commercials, but the typical 3:15 minute football broadcast has just 11 minutes of action.

That’s right. This January 2010 Wall Street Journal report found the ball is in play for just 11 minutes. That means for every 60-minute game we’re getting 49 minutes of foreplay.

That’s a lot of teasing anticipation for a game that considers itself manly.

Speaking of foreplay, let me get to the point and -- fear not -- this won’t take long. I’m one to talk when it comes to delivering a full 11 minutes of satisfying action.

I have several radical solutions to over-officiating.

First, get rid of instant replay and all but two officials -- one for the offense, one for the defense -- and ask the players to agree to play under the honor system.

That means if a player commits a foul, he needs to raise his hand and confess his sins. Then he needs to apologize to the player he’s victimized while one of the two referees steps off the penalty yardage.

Introducing a player honor system would flip the culture of showboating and finger pointing on its head and provide exemplary role models for an America starving for them.

My friend Ron at the bar has a good suggestion. He usually does. In fact, he’s the inspiration for many of these posts. If Ron ever decides to give full sobriety a shot I might have to spend half my time blogging about something like gardening.

He suggests changing the rules so the only time a penalty is called is when a player uses both hands. This would eliminate many questionable calls.

But this has about as much chance of succeeding as does players conforming to the honor system -- although it would be hilarious to see the reaction to insufferable goody-goody Roger Goodell announcing the change.

Using just one hand goes against a lineman’s nature. We need something to ensure a player can’t use either hand in blocking.

We need armless linemen.

Every 11 man squad should have five lineman who for the good of the game have either lost or had team-approve doctors sever the limbs above the elbow.

I haven’t looked into, but I imagine there is a deep pool of armless and otherwise able-bodied men who have fought and sacrificed in our recent wars.

The flag wavers at the NFL should jump on this. This would be giving our disabled vets a place to excel where we can honor their service and allow them to be shining examples that nothing can stop men so motivated.

And think of what it would do to our fighting forces. Imagine the heroic risks they’d take on the battlefield if just the right injury might lead to a spot on an NFL roster.

I offer this idea knowing full well it is controversial and will be picked apart by critics who fail to realize NFL over-officiating is killing the game.

I’m going to spend the rest of the day trying to resolve some of the more obvious questions.

And I promise to get right back to you as soon as I figure out how an armless center can snap a football.

Seeing red over NFL pink

A flamboyant shade is making an unwelcome intrusion amidst all the splendid fall foliage.

It’s pink and it’s everywhere. It’s on buildings, advertisements and all over every aspect of the televised extravaganzas that make up the manly broadcasts involving the NFL.

Has anyone else noticed this or am I the only one?

Of course you have and of course you know the reason why.

The panoply of pink is in support of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It is the third leading killer cancer (second is colorectal whose awareness month is March, by the way). The National Cancer Institute says about 40,000 women will die from breast cancer this year.

I remember being devastated 30 years ago when my Mom was diagnosed. It was a grim 18 months of fears, false hopes and tenuous success that cost her both her breasts. She’s been cancer-free ever since.

So please believe me when I say I adore breasts and the women who sport them.

What I despise is symbolism.

And the epidemic of pink infuriates me because it allows people who should be doing more to fool people into thinking they’re doing anything.

Of course, I’m thinking primarily of the craven greed maestros who run the NFL.

They dress their players, their coaches, their referees, their goal posts and every aspect of their telecasts in pink. There are pink towels, pink cleats, pink hats and pink jerseys you can purchase with the proper credit card at NFLSHOP.com

Understand, this isn’t about women’s health. This is purely about marketing.

This is part of the NFL scheme to feminize our most masculine game. They’re eager to to cultivate the nearly 50 percent of the population that doesn’t reflexively reach for the remote every Sunday at 1 p.m. Plus, every time they release a new jersey, they know many of their loyal fans will shell out money to buy the trendy new color schemes.

Not wishing to be so cynical, I thought it wise to do a little research before I began tossing around inflammatory accusations about such a sensitive topic.

And I found out I was wrong.

I’m not cynical enough.

See for yourself at www.nfl.com/pink. It has important health messages, but the quoted gist of the month-long program is: “To help support this important cause, purchase your NFL pink merchandise at NFLSHOP.com.”

It says nothing about “a portion of proceeds will go to benefit . . .” or if the NFL will match any donations.

No, the colossal organization that spent the summer childishly arguing about how to divvy up $9.3 billion in revenue wants you to write a check, but seems reluctant to write one of its own.

Rather than a month of garish gridiron pink, I’d prefer seeing Roger Goodell announce, “Today the NFL owners and players together presented the American Cancer Society with a check for $50 million. We are asking the companies that run beer, car and sneaker commercials during our broadcasts to do the same.”

I guess I’m just like Cosmo Kramer from “Seinfeld.” And, really, the parallels are many. We’re both terrific mooches, devote our days to harebrained schemes and skate through life without any visible means of support.

But I’m talking primarily about our refusal to wear the ribbon. It nearly cost Kramer his life in the 1995 episode “The Sponge.”

He generously devotes his morning to an AIDS walk, but begs off when he’s asked to wear the AIDS ribbon. Whether it’s for reasons of fashion or if, like me, he has a philosophical aversion to symbolic gestures, it doesn’t say.

All we see is that two militant gay men named Cedric and Bob attack Kramer for refusing to wear the ribbon.

At least I’m inferring they’re militant gays. That too is left unsaid. All we know is the men act like an affectionate couple, are ribbon bullies and in a previous episode showed an affinity for Elaine’s antique armoire.

And when they find out Kramer won’t wear the ribbon they go medieval on his ass.

I wouldn’t want that to happen to me. And I wouldn’t want to slight anyone who may be going through the very real tribulations of breast cancer.

I just want everyone to understand nothing’s really being done about breast cancer just because Steeler coach Mike Tomlin wears a ballcap with pink accents.

I’ll be more impressed when October is more about giving the green than wearing the pink.

Am I ready for some football? Nope

Our great national nightmare appears to be over and a downtrodden constituency will again receive just compensation.

I’m talking about NFL commissioners earning $1 a year.

That was Roger Goodell’s grand gesture when he and the NFL owners locked out the players 4 1/2 months ago.

It was one of the oddest PR moves in labor history. He said he’d stop taking his $10 million salary and instead take just a buck.

My first thought was, “Gadzooks, he’ll have to work eight years before he can hope to afford a warm domestic beer at an NFL stadium.”

In a league that couldn’t figure out how to divvy up $9 billion in revenues, he was trying to show solidarity with, well, who?

Billionaire owners? Millionaire players?

Those were the two parties who declared the negotiations resulted in a win-win.

From Sports Illustrated’s Peter King: “No one in the NFL will be eating on the cheap now, especially with the players getting a hefty 55 percent of all network TV money -- which could reach $8 billion in 2014. Imagine that: The players’ share of the TV revenue that year will likely be more than the total league revenue of $5 billion 15 years earlier. The nation is recovering from the worst recession since the Great Depression. This new deal proves the NFL is immune to it.”

Well, hold on, Mr. King.

It’s not with me, and I assume it won’t be with fellow rationals.

I’ve had it. For the first time in almost 30 years, I won’t be attending any games this year and I intend to wean myself off my Sunday fix.

When owners and players say the agreement means both won, it can only mean one thing:

The fans lose.

It’s gone unmentioned in nearly all the news reports, but one of the major issues instigating the owner lockout was the NFL desire to extend the regular season from 16 to 18 games.

The reason according to Goodell? It’s what the fans want.

He said fans like me, a second generation Pittsburgh Steeler season ticket holder, were tired of paying $85 per seat for two meaningless pre-season games.

He was right.

I made the local news in 2009 when I was arrested for trying to “scalp” $300 worth of Steeler pre-season tickets to an undercover cop for $200. The actual “crime” was selling tickets without a $300 vendor’s license.

It was a situation that would have had even an absurdist like Kafka slapping his head in disbelief.

Every single poll said a lop-sided majority of fans didn’t want more regular season games. We wanted fewer pre-season games or the same number of pre-season games for something like half price.

But that sensible solution would have sliced into greedy owner profits.

So one of the alleged main reasons for starting the lockout -- fans upset over paying for tickets no one wants -- has gone unaddressed. Guaranteed, in five years the tickets for those meaningless games will be $100 each.

Heinz Field in Pittsburgh, a taxpayer financed stadium, opened in 2001. My ticket for the inaugural game was $46. Those tickets have in 10 years nearly doubled in price.

Attendance at regular season games will continue to erode as fans choose to stay home and watch infuriatingly officiated games on HD. TV black-outs will rise along with pay-per-view football via NFL Network.

Illicit off-field behavior by renegade players will likely only worsen with added income.

The new labor deal runs through 2021.

Each year the players will be making more. Each year the owners will be wanting more.

Where do you think that’s going to come from?

Who’s to say?

But this much I know: if it’s ever going to come from regular guys like me, we won’t have enough left over to pay Roger Goodell’s saintly salary from the past four months.

This needless lockout didn’t cook the goose that lays the NFL’s golden eggs.

But by doing nothing to address growing fan disgruntlement, it puts it in the pot.

The NFL sacks itself

Prediction: in five years someone is going to offer you a cushy seat to an NFL game for just $25 and you still won’t go. Neither will the diehards who paint their faces and torsos in team colors to depict their fanaticism.

In five years, it will be impossible for the most powerful enterprise in all professional sports to give away tickets to attend games in their state-of-the-art tax-payer financed stadiums.

I know this because I am one of the most privileged people in all American fandom: I am a Pittsburgh Steelers season ticket holder.

Have been for 20 years. My father held the tickets for 40 years before that. When he died, it was understood he’d hand the tickets down to me in a way other parents hand down deeds to lakeside cottages and heirloom strings of pearls.

That’s how valuable these tickets were.

But in the last 10 years, we’ve all enjoyed a technological advance that’s rendered attending a game meaningless.

It’s the high-def big screen TV.

What was once unthinkable has become fact: people would rather watch the games on TV than attend them in person.

Who can blame them?

There’s no traffic, no miserable weather, no lines at the bathroom and the only way you’re likely to encounter a vomiting drunk is if you’re reckless with the jello shots.

I have here on my desk four tickets to Sunday’s home opener against the Atlanta Falcons. Three days before kickoff and I can’t find a buyer for the four $81 seats in section 507, row JJ. 

I’ve called all the people who always say, hey, lemme know if you ever get spare tickets. I’ve sent out word in my bar full of sports nuts.

I’ve received no offers, only lame excuses.

Now, I must face the unthinkable. I might actually have to attend the game myself.

Understand, I’ve been to over 250 professional football games in my life. I’ve been going since I was 7 and have seen and done everything there is to do at an NFL game.

In fact, by many standards I could be considered one of the NFL’s most loyal fans.

Know how they reward that devotion? They screw me every chance they get.

When Pittsburgh opened the new Heinz Field in 2000, they made me and every other season ticket holder shell out for Personal Seat Licenses that line the pockets of owners that hold cities hostage with their franchises.

They’ve steadily raised my ticket prices from $46 in 2000 to $81 this year. 

They charge me $7.50 for a glass of warm beer.

For TV purposes, they hold games on Thursdays nights and holidays when people want to be home with their families.

They make me pay full price for two meaningless pre-season games.

But now the tables are turning. One of the big stories of this year will be empty seats at these palatial stadiums. It’s happening already.

People are staying home in droves and guys like me, the canaries in the mines, understand there is a significant problem. If I can’t find a buyer for my opening day seats then the league is in trouble.

And this is when the weather will be mild and enthusiasm high. Guaranteed, if the forecast had been for 22 degrees and slushy December snows and the Steelers were out of playoff contention, I wouldn’t be able to sell my tickets for less than half face value.

But what makes my prediction so salient is the NFL is about to commit one of the most egregious self-inflicted wounds in sports history. Owners are about to lock out the players in the hopes of getting a larger share of the revenue pie.

Yes, during a down economy in a sport where rookies earn $50 million signing bonuses and owners revel in $1 billion stadiums, they’re going to tell their fans, sorry, it’s not enough.

And they’re tinkering with the integrity of the already injury-riddled sport by lengthening the seasons by two games to 18. 

So, mark my words, we are about to witness the unthinkable: The mighty NFL is on the verge of an historic tumble.

Me, I lifelong fan, will still be cheering. Only instead of yelling, “Go Steelers!” as I have my whole life, I’ll be yelling, “Go Screw Yourselves!”

Because there won’t be anyone left to screw in the stadiums.