Morbidity

So, NFL players are too fat—or at least, many NFL players are too fat, particularly offensive linemen.  Is that the end of the world?

It could very well be the end of theirs.  That study by the New England Journal of Medicine found that obesity significantly increases the chances of dying within ten years, and morbid obesity really increases the odds of death.  For individuals who are only slightly overweight (with a BMI of 25.0-27.4) the odds of dying within ten years are only about 1%.  For those who are obese (BMI’s between 30 and 34.9), the chances rise to about 1.4%.  But for those who are morbidly obese (BMI’s 35-39.9), the risk jumps to 2%, and when the BMI to 40-49.9, the odds of dying within ten years are essentially 3%.

Grave and spoon.

Obese people were 40% more likely to die than those who were simply overweight.  Morbidly obese people were 100% more likely to die, and super obese people were three times as likely to die—even when compared with overweight individuals.

Connect the dots.

We have made a national religion of a sport that rewards and glorifies obesity.  Across America, thousands of young men—virtually none of whom are underweight, and many of whom are already so heavy that they put their health at risk—are being asked to pack on the pounds.

This is a travesty.  A coach who asks an overweight young man to become even fatter ought to be decried as abusive.  Instead, our culture glorifies and rewards these coaches—we are willing to sacrifice the health of young people so that they can help move that oddly shaped inflated bladder more effectively. 

In 2009, I read an article by Mike Herndon, a journalist with the Press-Register in Mobile, Alabama.  He wrote about the “success” the Auburn Tigers had in identifying players who would be able to gain weight.  Knowing the impact of obesity on life expectancy, his examples sound downright macabre:

Spencer Johnson once weighed 240 pounds; his BMI was 30 and his odds of dying in the next ten years were only 1.3 percent.  Auburn got him up to 291 pounds and a BMI of 36.4; his odds of dying in the next ten years increased to 1.9 percent—and increase in his risk of death of about 46%.  Success!

Jay Ratliff came to Auburn weighing 230 pounds with a BMI of 28.  He had about a one-in-a-hundred chance of dying in the next ten years.  He went on to play for the Dallas Cowboys at 300 pounds with a BMI of 36.5.  For his efforts, he increased his odds of death by 66%.  All right!

Sen’Derrick Marks owes fair Auburn for increasing his risk of death by 37%.  Over at Alabama, they made Evan Mathis 40% more likely to die, Chris Samuels 42% more likely to die, and Jay Ratliff 52% more likely to die. 

Things are even more grotesque in the professional game.  The Green Bay Packers wanted nosetackle Howard Green to play at 360 pounds, with a BMI of 46.2. 

I am 6’2” and weigh 180 pounds.  My BMI is 23.1; within the normal range, but not exactly underweight.  I have about a 0.8% chance of dying in the next ten years.  They are asking Howard Green to weigh twice as much as I do, and to have a risk of dying of approximately 3.1%; compared to me, he’s almost four times as likely to die—and similar examples are easy to find across the NFL.

For the sake of comparison, the pain-killers Darvon and Darvocet were pulled from shelves in 2010.  Some studies estimated that for each 120 million prescriptions, the drug may have caused as many as 2,000 deaths. 

If you prescribed Darvocet to 240-pound Spencer Johnson, you increased his risk of death by, at most, 0.0015%.  If you switch him to the offensive line and make him gain fifty-one pounds, the effect is over 30,000 times more dangerous.

At the time of this writing, the makers of Darvocet were fighting a lawsuit which some experts said might have bigger repurcussions than the famous lawsuit against Vioxx. 

Each year, coach Joe Whitt at Auburn prescribed something thousands of times more dangerous to several of the young men placed in his care.  He is not alone.  Thousands of professional, college, and even high school coaches are giving young men the same unbelievable, deadly prescription: bulk up.  Gain weight.  Get heavier.

Why do these men ask their athletes to assume risks that the FDA would leap to ban?

To win a child’s game.